“You handled it well,” James praised. “That dinner. I heard about it from four separate people, which means by now the whole of London has heard about it, which was presumably the point.”
“It was not a strategy,” William said. “It was simply what happened.”
“Things that simply happen with you tend to have considerable effect.”
“I did not want her to stand there and take it.”
James nodded his head. “No,” he said quietly. “I imagine you didn’t.” He stood, set down his glass, and firmly clapped William once on the back. “I’ll wait by my carriage. Give you a moment.”
William looked at him.
James smiled. Not the practiced smile, but the real one, which appeared rarely and meant more for its rarity.
“Don’t do anything I would do or say anything I would say,” he said, then picked up his coat and was gone before William could respond.
The room fell quiet. The fire flickered. Downstairs, William could hear the carriage being brought around—the sound of hooves on gravel, a footman’s voice.
The house held the energy of an evening assembling itself, staff moving with the quiet efficiency of a household that knew what was expected and was delivering it.
William turned to look at the stairs. And stopped.
Cecily stood at the top of the stairs.
He had known the gown would be beautiful. Deep blue silk, simply cut, the kind of simplicity that required perfection to carry and carried it. Her hair was pinned up, with a few curls loose at her neck, and she wore the ring he had chosen in the jeweler’s shop in twenty-five minutes of pretending he wasn’t choosing it.
She was looking down at him with the composed expression she brought to rooms she was uncertain of.
He forgot to breathe.
Not figuratively. His chest simply stopped moving for one full second, the physical fact of her at the top of the stairs in the candlelight doing something to his capacity for basic function that he was not prepared for and could not immediately address.
He heard his own heartbeat.
He cleared his throat to recover. He was practiced at recovery. He schooled his features into something that gave nothing away and looked up at her with the crooked smile that had gotten him out of a great many difficult situations.
“You seem determined to distract half of London this evening,” he said as she descended.
She reached the bottom of the stairs and looked at him with the arched eyebrow she reserved for remarks that didn’t fool her.
“Half of London,” she repeated.
“At minimum.”
“And the other half?”
He offered his arm. “Will simply have to manage their disappointment.”
She took his arm. Her hand settled on his sleeve, a familiar cool light touch, and he was aware of it with the disproportionate clarity that had become standard where she was concerned.
“I was under the impression that you preferred distance,” she said as they moved toward the door.
“I prefer what is appropriate to the occasion.”
“And what is appropriate to this occasion?”
He glanced at her. The teasing glint in her eyes definitely tightened the knot in his chest, and he almost groaned.
“That remains to be seen,” he said instead.
