Page 15

Chapter Fifteen

“… a nd of course,” the Viscount of Firth drawled, swirling the wine in his glass with theatrical flair, “while my family’s title may only be viscountcy, our bloodline is unquestionably royal. My grandmother was third cousin to the Queen herself, on her mother’s side, naturally.”

Robert didn’t look up from his glass. “Naturally.”

A quiet chuckle rippled from one of the lesser lords seated down the table, but it died swiftly under Robert’s gaze.

Ashworth seemed unbothered. If anything, he took the silence as admiration.

“It’s a shame, really. Had my father not been driven to an early grave by certain…

unfortunate financial strains, I might have been groomed for a position at court, but alas…

I vowed to make something of myself. For his sake. ”

Robert raised an eyebrow. It was the first outward reaction he’d allowed all evening in that man’s presence. He could, in a different life, have respected that sentiment. A son chasing shadows to restore a dead father’s name, it was familiar enough to taste bitter. But this man…

He hated him.

Not loudly or with passion but in the cold, silent way that mattered most. Ashworth was the sort of man who twisted tragedy into narrative, who wielded charm like a knife and expected the world to bleed for him.

“I’m sure he would be proud,” Robert said evenly.

Across the table, Lord Brimwood shifted in his seat. His jaw was tight, and his wine untouched. He had not once addressed his son-in-law. Not even when Ashworth directly referred to him.

Robert noticed. Everyone noticed.

Brimwood’s deliberate distance from the man he had once been forced to accept as a son-in-law was…

pointed. Understandable, of course. If Robert had been in his position, if his daughter had been stolen away in the dark by a smirking narcissist who wrapped betrayal in roses, he’d likely have done the same… or worse.

But Robert said nothing.

Instead, he let the Viscount talk. Ashworth liked the sound of his own voice too much to stop. Bragging came as naturally to him as breathing.

“I suppose not all men are meant to rise on merit,” the Viscount said, grinning over the rim of his goblet. “Some of us are born for better things.”

Robert’s lips curved, almost imperceptibly.

He took a long, quiet sip of his drink, but he didn’t get to finish it as the dining hall doors opened without warning.

Everyone’s gazes shifted in that direction, only to find Evelyn standing framed in the doorway.

The soft light from the corridor behind her cast a faint glow, making her appear almost ethereal.

She looked startled to find herself the center of so much male attention but only for a moment. Her chin tilted upward, the faintest flush dusting her cheeks, and when her eyes found Robert’s, something unspoken passed between them.

She smiled with a silent breath of relief.

It wasn’t the practiced smile of a duchess hosting her wedding dinner. It was smaller and slightly tremulous but meant for him alone. She walked forward with measured steps. Robert stood up before he even realized he had moved. That was when a trembling hand came to rest on his elbow.

“My Lords,” she said gently, “I’ve just come from the parlor. The ladies were wondering…” She paused, glancing around at the assembled men, then met Robert’s eyes again. “They would be delighted if the dancing were to begin early.”

Robert opened his mouth to respond, but Mason, quick as ever, pushed his chair back and rose with a theatrical groan. “Heavens, yes. I’ve been sitting far too long. If I stay any longer, I might turn to stone.”

A few of the other men chuckled. But Robert caught the edge in Mason’s voice. He knew, just as Robert did, that Evelyn had not come merely to extend a social courtesy. No lady would interrupt the gentlemen’s dinner without cause.

Something was wrong.

Robert’s hand found hers, curling around her fingers, and though her composure held, he felt how she trembled, ever so slightly.

He glanced toward Ashworth, who remained seated, watching Evelyn with veiled amusement and a faint smirk.

Robert tamped down the urge to break his wineglass across the man’s face.

Instead, he remained calm and composed. Even the corners of his lips curled a bit.

“Well,” he announced, “you’ve all heard the lady of the house.” He looked around the table, his hand still firmly holding Evelyn’s. “And as is the case in every house, we must obey.”

A ripple of laughter followed, but Robert was already guiding Evelyn away, her hand tucked tightly into the crook of his arm.

She didn’t speak, and neither did he, but as they entered the corridor that would lead to the ballroom, he slowed his pace just enough so that they walked side by side, no rush and no pressure. Her fingers tightened around his.

He said nothing about the way her lips pressed into a tight line. She said nothing about the warmth in his palm. But in that silence, a thousand things passed between them.

Several minutes later, the music began, and soft strings started rising from the corner of the ballroom.

Robert took Evelyn in his arms, steadying his gloved hand on her waist as they moved into the waltz.

She felt light in his hold but tense. Her frame was controlled, elegant, and poised as always, but he could feel it in the way her shoulders held too straight, the way her fingers twitched against his.

He looked down at her and found her gaze fixed somewhere past his shoulder.

“You’re not all right,” he said quietly.

Her eyes snapped to his, but he continued before she could protest.

“I mean…” He exhaled slowly, adjusting their turn to avoid another couple. “I know you can’t possibly be all right while the Viscount is still under this roof, but I had to ask.”

That startled look in her eyes softened. Her lips parted then curved faintly. It was an expression somewhere between gratitude and resignation.

“You’re right,” she said. “It is exactly that man I wish to speak to you about.”

Robert’s jaw flexed, the rhythm of his steps slowing for just a fraction of a beat.

Of course, it was.

He didn’t trust himself to speak for a moment. His mind leapt to the worst possibilities. Had the bastard done something? Said something? Had she come to him not merely to escape discomfort but danger?

He forced himself to breathe, to guide her into the next turn with practiced ease.

“Would you like to speak privately?” he asked at last, his voice lower now, gentler beneath the swell of the music.

She shook her head. “No. This will be all right.”

Her gaze lifted to meet his again, steadier now, the hint of vulnerability tempered by something else, something akin to determination.

They danced in silence for a few moments more as the soft strains of music wrapped around them like a comforting embrace, but Robert’s mind was no longer on the steps or the tempo or the eyes watching them from every corner of the ballroom. It was on her and on what she was about to say.

She was quiet for a moment, her gaze on his shoulder rather than his face. Robert said nothing, letting her gather her thoughts in the small pocket of space between them though it was filled with music and murmured voices and the sweep of silk across polished floors.

“I know I asked that we lead separate lives,” she said at last, almost cautiously, “but I need your help.”

He blinked, surprised. It wasn’t the words themselves. Rather, it was the hesitation behind them, the rare note of vulnerability in her voice.

“You can speak freely to me,” he assured, dipping his head lower, keeping his tone quiet. “You must know that by now.”

She nodded slowly, then met his eyes. “I think… I think my brother-in-law is hurting my sister.”

For a second, Robert stopped breathing. The floor still moved beneath them.

His feet continued to step and turn out of sheer discipline.

But inside, something scorched and unraveled.

He pulled slightly away from her, his muscles coiling and his teeth clenched.

The intent was clear in his blazing eyes.

“I’ll put him through the damned window?—”

“No.” She gripped his coat, tightening her hold before he could take another step. “No, you can’t. Not while she’s still in danger.”

His fists curled at his sides, but he forced himself to still. Her hand remained pressed to his chest, the only thing tethering him to reason.

He nodded, just once. “All right,” he replied. “All right. You’re right.”

She drew in a shaky breath, glancing down again. “I was so determined to hate her forever, to never forgive what she did,” she admitted. “But then I saw the bruises. And the way she looked at him like a cornered thing. How could I still hold that grudge after that?”

“You couldn’t,” he agreed quietly. “And it’s the right thing, Evelyn. To protect her now, despite everything.”

She looked up at him then, clearly moved by his words. He, on the other hand, studied her face, his gaze resting on the subtle cracks in her composure, on the sheen in her green eyes.

“I’ll help,” he said without hesitation. “In every way I can. But I hope,” he added in a voice soft but charged with something far heavier, “that I can count on you to do the same.”

She blinked, looking startled. “What do you mean?”

He leaned in, lowering his lips to the shell of her ear. His breath was warm, and his words were spoken with clear conviction.

“I want you to get me into your father’s study,” he whispered. “Because I suspect he is the man who killed my parents.”