This was the plan. Hugo’s plan.
The satisfaction he expected did not arrive. What arrived instead was a hot, corrosive twist in his gut that tasted like bile and felt like fury, and he wanted, with a violence that startled him, to step between Lily and Wilfrey’s gaze and block the man’s view entirely.
He did not. He smiled. He led Lily into the drawing room and introduced her to the assembled guests with the pride of a man presenting his future wife, and if his hand pressed a fraction too firmly against the small of her back, no one noticed.
No one except Lily, who glanced up at him with a question in her eyes.
He answered it with a smile that gave away nothing.
The house party had begun.
CHAPTER 16
“You have been to Naples, Lady Lily?” Lord Wilfrey set down his wine glass and turned to her with focused attention.
The candlelight from the dining table’s silver candelabra softened his features, and his eyes held a warmth she had not seen since their waltz at the Fenwick ball, the one that had ended with a scandal sheet and a world turned upside down.
“I have.” Lily smoothed her napkin across her lap. She wore the burgundy velvet tonight, the one with the bare shoulders, and the fabric caught the light each time she moved. “My aunt and I spent three weeks there. The bay at sunset is unlike anything I have ever seen.”
“I have read extensively about the geological formations along the coast. The volcanic activity in the region has created a landscape that is, I believe, unparalleled in Europe.” Wilfrey leaned forward. “Did you visit Herculaneum? I understand theexcavations there are less advanced than at Pompeii, but the preservation of organic materials is extraordinary.”
“We did. The wooden structures were remarkable. I had not expected wood to survive under volcanic ash.”
“It is the pyroclastic flow that accounts for it. The rapid burial at extreme temperatures carbonized the materials before they could decompose.” He paused, and something eager flickered behind his composed exterior. “I have a theory about the harbor structures that I have been developing for some time. The angle of the boat sheds suggests a different prevailing wind pattern than what the historical accounts describe.”
Lily tilted her head. The gesture came naturally now, the slight incline that Hugo had taught her, the one that signaled interest without desperation.
“That is a fascinating observation, my lord. What led you to that conclusion?”
Wilfrey launched into an explanation involving wind angles and archaeological diagrams, and Lily listened with careful attention while being genuinely interested in roughly half of what he was saying and strategically interested in the other half.
When he confused Pliny the Elder with Pliny the Younger in his account of the eruption, she caught the error the way one catches a fly.
She smiled. “Pliny’s account is one of the significant documents of the ancient world. I could listen to you discuss it all evening, Lord Wilfrey.”
Wilfrey straightened in his chair. The tips of his ears colored, and the eagerness in his expression deepened into something that looked, for the first time, like genuine pleasure in her company.
She felt Hugo’s gaze before she saw it.
He sat six chairs away, on the opposite side of the table, flanked by Lady Hale and Mrs. Thorne. He was engaged in conversation with Lady Hale, his body angled toward her, his expression carrying the warm attentiveness of a perfect host.
But his eyes told a different story.
They found Lily across the silver and crystal and candlelight with a frequency that could not be accidental, quick glances that lasted a heartbeat each, cataloging the tilt of her head, the curve of her smile, the way the burgundy velvet framed the bare line of her shoulders.
Each glance landed on her skin like a fingertip.
She returned her attention to Wilfrey. “Tell me more about your Mediterranean expedition, Lord Wilfrey. Have you settled on an itinerary?”
Wilfrey’s face lit. He leaned closer, closer than he had at any previous conversation, and his words tumbled out with unguarded eagerness. “Naples first, then south along the coast to Paestum. The temples there are, by all accounts, better preserved than anything in Athens. And then by sea to Sicily if the weather permits.” His eyes remained fixed on her face. “I have dreamed of this journey for years, Lady Lily. It means a great deal to discuss it with someone who understands the pull of such places.”
The scent of his cologne reached her, clean and faintly herbal, nothing at all like sandalwood.
She pushed that thought aside.
Further down the table, Lady Stapleton sat beside Edward, her posture elegant, her conversation pitched at a volume calculated to carry without appearing to project. Miss Beatrice Stapleton occupied the seat beside Wilfrey’s chair, her napkin untouched, her attention divided between the plate in front of her and the conversation her target was having with another woman.
Lily caught Miss Stapleton watching her. The younger woman’s expression was pleasant, composed, and entirely unreadable. She offered Lily a small smile and returned to her soup.
