“A wonderful age!” Mrs. Langham exclaimed, making it clear that she had no fourteen-year-olds of her own or must not remember her own youth particularly well. These last years with Cleo had been challenging. An endless mixture of highs and lows, often occurring within moments of eachother. Though I missed living with her very much, my nerves were grateful for the reprieve.
As the woman continued to wax on about the glories of being fourteen, I could still see, out the corner of my eye, Mr. Dorian watching me. However, I would not engage with him any longer. When Mrs. Langham paused to take a breath, I wasted no time cutting in.
“I’m so sorry, but I’m afraid I must be going. This is a terribly late night for me,” I added with a strained laugh. My head was beginning to throb from the champagne, and I could not keep up this pretense much longer.
The woman looked genuinely sorry. “Of course.” Then she turned to Mr. Dorian. “You must let her use your carriage. You’ll never find a hansom here at this hour,” she explained to me. “And we parked just round the corner.”
“I couldn’t possibly—”
“It’s not a problem,” Mr. Dorian insisted curtly.
I let out a weary sigh as I turned to him and nearly reared back at the trace of concern in his dark eyes. How dare he act as though he cared. “Fine,” I said more sharply than I intended. “Do you mind?” I asked Delia.
She had been watching this entire exchange with undisguised interest and quickly shook her head. “Not at all. Thank you, Mr. Dorian. We’re just over in Portman Square and will send the carriage right back for you.”
“No need to rush,” Mrs. Langham said cheerily. “This one never leaves a party early.”
A dry laugh escaped my lips then, which I tried to cover with a cough, but Mr. Dorian wasn’t fooled. He narrowed his eyes at me, and I lifted my chin in response.
“Come along, then,” he muttered. The three of us followed in his wake, while Mrs. Langham stayed behind.
As Charles moved to walk alongside Mr. Dorian, Deliaslid her arm through mine. “You have an awful lot to explain when we get home,” she murmured.
I sighed again. “Must I?”
Delia merely shot me a look in response.
I should have felt vindicated. After all, my worst suspicions about Mr. Dorian and his character had now proved to be true. He was a feckless womanizer. A libertine. And yet I could not deny the heaviness that settled over my shoulders as we made our way towards the exit. My gaze strayed to his tall form just ahead, and my traitorous heart lurched in my chest.
The crowd had grown far more raucous in the time since we arrived, so our progress towards the exit was slow. The baron caught sight of us just as we were retrieving our coats and sauntered over.
“Leaving already?” he said to me.
“I’m afraid so. It is well past this bluestocking’s bedtime.”
He tilted his head and gave me a considering look. “But I haven’t had the chance to engage you in some frivolous debate yet.”
I laughed a little louder than I normally would have, just in case Mr. Dorian was watching. “Another time, perhaps.”
The baron smiled. “I look forward to it,” he murmured before addressing the rest of our party.
When I glanced over, I did indeed see Mr. Dorian glowering in my direction. I raised a questioning eyebrow, and he immediately looked away. I couldn’t help feeling a keen little sense of satisfaction, but guilt quickly followed. For what was I trying to prove to him anyway? That I could garner the fleeting attentions of another man for a few brief moments? That was petty, even for me.
With our good-byes said, we stepped out into the night, and the biting October air sent a shiver through me. I hugged myself and tucked my chin to my chest, but it made little difference.
“Here,” a gruff voice barked, and before I could look up, Mr. Dorian draped his dinner jacket over my shoulders. Just as his all-too-familiar scent began to envelope me, I shrugged the jacket away.
“I’m fine.”
He shot me an irritated look, but relented. “The carriage is just ahead anyway.”
I resisted the instinct to thank him for the gesture and looked ahead to where a black-lacquered coach stood waiting.
“Thanks again, Dorian,” Charles chimed in.
“It’s no trouble,” he said flatly, then moved ahead to speak with the coachman.
“How do you know him?” Delia asked Charles, while we huddled together on the pavement.
