Cocking his head, Dorian asked, “Why do you think she was taken?”
Before she replied, Harriet shot a look at her mother, then said, “Because Ellie is much too polite to run away on her own.”
You mean, the indoctrination your mother drummed into her from day one to do as she was told—yes, I agree.
“I see,” he nodded.
“As a matter of fact, Lady Victoria Rothwell and I were just speaking about it, and she too regrets not staying with hereither,” Harriet replied, her head turning to look over the hall to a lady swarmed with a semi-circle of suitors.
Following her gaze, Dorian saw the lovely Lady Victoria Rothwell flick her shimmering curtain of hair. A ripple of irritation snapped his spine straight; if she was there, her turncoat brother was somewhere nearby.
Carrington snagged a flute of champagne, then took a long sip. “Never fear, we are looking for the poor girl. I happen to think she grew afraid of the mere thought of marriage and ran. I am sure when we do find her, and I explain this is nothing to be afraid of, she will acquiesce.”
You’ll only use her and denigrate her. You and I damn well know it.
“I see,” Dorian threw back the rest of his brandy and savored the slow burn of his drink. The hot tingling was not unlike what he’d felt around Evelina—only then, the sensation evoked from thinking of her warmed more than his stomach.
“If you don’t mind me asking,” Mrs. Langford began, “are you the marrying sort, Your Grace… erm, if that was not too bold of me.”
“It was bold,” Dorian replied curtly. “But I do not mind. I am deeply averse to the matrimonial bug. We rakes have such natural immunity, I suppose.”
The woman’s face turned sour, as if she’d smelled three-day-old sick on her shoes. Surely, she did not want her daughter to marry a rakehell. In a moment, the repulsion vanished and the simpering sycophantic expression engrained itself in her face again.
“Well, we cannot fault you for that, Your Grace,” she gave a strained, braying laugh. “You young men do have the world at your fingertips, after all.”
A sensation ran over the back of Dorian’s neck as a smooth voice said, “An apt statement, as His Grace has properties all over the world.”
Baron Eastbrook, Benedict Rothwell.
Dorian turned to his once-friend, noting the light dancing over the dark waves of his hair and glinting off his round spectacles. His sister was holding onto his arm, her expression placid, but Dorian did not miss how anxiously her eyes flitted between him and her brother.
“Eastbrook,” Dorian greeted him icily. “How is the scientific pursuit of turning iron into gold coming along?”
“As best as my reading my future in the stars is,” Benedict said calmly. “But the pesky planets keep moving.”
The stifling silence and tension would once have intimidated Dorian, but now he was immune. He had no problem lettingothers squirm and fold into themselves, especially those of this family, the ones who had helped his uncle steal from him and his father.
Benedict’s father was also on his list for retribution.
“And before you ask, as I can see the question on your faces, Eastbrook and I were colleagues once, dare I even sayfriends,” Dorian levelled a cold and glittering glare.
“Once,” Benedict agreed.
The air got so coarse, the hairs on the back of his arm began to stand up, until Lady Victoria calmly said, “Lord Carrington, you’ve hired investigators to find her, haven’t you?”
“I have,” Sterling nodded. “But I am sure the poor girl is simply afraid of marriage. When we find her, we’ll have a firm talk and straighten all this out.”
“Yes, yes,” Mr. Langford nodded emphatically, his nervousness almost palpable. “We shall absolutely do so. Erm, dear, did you mention you wanted to greet the hostess?”
“I did,” the woman replied. “Your Grace and your lordship, will you excuse us?”
Dorian gave a permissive wave and when the family went off, Rothwell and his sister excused themselves too, while Sterling stayed behind. In a moment, Sterling’s face hardened. “When Ido find that lightskirt, I will not be as merciful as I told you that I would be. She’ll be latched to my bed or on her knees.”
Throwing back the rest of his drink, Dorian replied, “I expected nothing less from you.”
“I will not be disrespected this way,” Sterling’s hand clenched his champagne flute. “She’ll never know a day of peace in her life.”
Dorian stilled. “You want to take a gentlebred woman and make her into a servant.”
