A brisk wind with hints of sea salt buffeted them as they headed for the Rotunda. As they approached the white marble structure, her head tipped up to the rounded roof, then down to the columns.
Hundreds of lamps illuminated the trimmed grass and bushes around the magnificent dome. They handed in their invitations to the liveried footmen manning the rope entrance, and soon, they were stepping into an open-air ballroom in the middle of a Scottish reel. The lively tones floated down from the orchestra above as couples swirled around, the women in jewel-toned dresses, the men clad in grave black and white.
Evelina reached for Dorian and laced her fingers with his. “Seems like the waltz is next,” she whispered, then reached up and used her two fingers to press the knots in his forehead. “You are going to give yourself a conniption if you keep worrying.”
“I am not worrying,” Dorian tried to lie.
“At the regatta, you made sure to keep us with our backs to the walls of the boathouse and nowhere near any windows.
“You’ve angled your body between mine and everyone else, and I can see the handle of the weapon you have in your jacket pocket,” she tugged the lapels of his jacket tighter. “You’ve never been armed before, so why this time?”
“I always travel armed,” he muttered. “Only, this time, I have it on me.”
I have lived in the stews long enough to know when a cutthroat’s insinuation is also a promise. Carrington will not get ahead of me this time.
“Why?” she asked.
His inscrutable look had her sighing again. “Another thing you cannot tell me, I suppose.”
“Let’s just enjoy the evening,” he said as the strains of a waltz began, and he whisked her off to the floor. He led flawlessly, and she followed with equal grace. Their bodies swayed together in perfect, sensual synchrony; one he wished could be mirrored in other parts of his life.
Even as they danced, he could not help but feel utterly exposed—and tired. For the past few days, he’d avoided Evelina, stewed in his own doubts, shifting memories, and clamoring regret.
He felt like a bloody jackanapes for avoiding his own wife. The tottering house of cards he had built was unsteady and was almost ready to collapse. The secrets he’d kept were building.The death, the deception, so many betrayals…
He spun them in dizzying turns, and when the crescendo crashed over them, he pulled her into him, and his arms tightened around her back. Highly inappropriate, yes, but did he care—no.
She cupped his face. “Let me in, Dorian. Let me help you.”
He let out a long breath, then pulled away. “The evening has escaped us. We should return home.”
“Not before we find Wellington, and—” Her eyes lifted over his shoulder and then widened, “Oh, heavens.”
Dorian’s body seized up momentarily. “What?”
“Harriet is here, with Benedict,” Ellie pulled away from him and crossed the rotunda’s floor to where the two had just entered.
The coil in his spine slacked as relief washed over him. Dorian turned to find the two just gliding in through the lavish entrance. The girl’s dress was stunning, but his attention was on Benedict. The man had the traits of the boy he had once known— but was so alien to him now. Benedict had betrayed him; wittingly or unwittingly, he had been a part of the plot.
He snagged a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and stepped away from the dance floor, simply watching the three. He would let them have their fun, then steal Evelina away and back to their home.
Benedict’s head lifted, and his eyes met Dorian’s gaze; he held it. Slowly, Rothwell nodded his acknowledgement and then turned away. That was the best he could expect from the man after all.
When Ellie returned to him, she had the brightest smile he had ever seen on her face. His soul shriveled. Such happiness and peace on her face actively battled the darkness and tumult under his breastbone.
She tipped on her toes and kissed his cheek, “They’re courting.”
He almost said something acerbic but swallowed it with a mouthful of champagne. “I hope he’s good to her.”
“He’s a good man,” she said. “You know he’s a good man.”
Throwing back the rest of the champagne, Dorian said, “Another dance? And then we can go meander the lovers' walk you mentioned before.”
“I’d love that.”
Half an hour later, Ellie was pulling Dorian down the shadowed walk, her steps light with champagne. A breeze shivered against her cheek, and the shock of the dropped temperature made her shiver. He hugged her close, and she wrapped an arm around his middle.
“I know you do not approve, but I have known Benedict since probably a year or two after you left him,” she was murmuring. “He’s been nothing but the most perfect gentleman and kindest soul as far as I have known him.”
