Page 40 of The Girl Who Fell Through Time (To Fall Through Time #1)

“You can’t love him,” her mother says after a drawn out pause. “You never even spoke about him before the day you were supposed to get engaged to the Duke. You loved Drakefell . I made sure—I was sure of it—”

“Well, you were wrong,” Selene says simply. “Likely not for the first time, or the last. Have a good evening, Mother.”

Selene waits until her mother backs down, refusing to move, barely even blinking.

It takes what feels like a full minute until Lady Duskbriar turns, shocked, and moves back into the throng of dancers .

Selene takes a moment to steady her breathing.

“I’ve found it,” says a voice behind her.

Selene jumps. Dorian appears at her elbow. “By the Divine Four, you can move as quietly as Soren!”

Dorian smiles weakly. “Come on.”

They slip out of the ballroom together, Dorian leading the way through a dimly lit corridor. The music and laughter from the party fade with each step, replaced by the quiet hush of polished floors and flickering lamplight.

Selene’s pulse is still unsteady, but not from the usual thrill of sneaking about. Her mother’s words linger, digging beneath her skin like splinters.

Dorian keeps his gaze ahead, his posture unbothered, but she knows him well enough now to recognise the tension in his shoulders.

“Did you… did you hear my conversation with my mother?” she asks quietly.

Dorian glances at her. “Hear what?” His voice is far too breezy.

It’s a careful answer, one that leaves her uncertain. If he had overheard, would he admit it? Or is he sparing her the embarrassment?

They stop before a heavy oak door.

“This is it,” he murmurs, kneeling before the lock.

Selene shifts her focus, casting a wary glance down the corridor. Dorian pulls out two tiny pieces of metal and clicks them into the lock.

“You can pick locks?”

Dorian hums in mild amusement. “Wouldn’t be much of an investigator if I couldn’t.”

Selene watches as his fingers work, the metal picks moving with quiet efficiency. What else doesn’t she know about him?

“How do you know which room it is if it’s locked?”

He doesn’t look up. “Had to climb out a window to be sure. ”

She blinks. “You what? ”

“Climbed out the parlour window earlier to see where it was positioned from the outside.” The lock clicks, and he rises, dusting off his hands.

Selene stares at him. “You make that sound so normal .”

He smirks, pushing the door open. “Normal for a spy.”

“Is that what you are? A spy?”

“No, my lady,” says Dorian, smiling as he holds the door for her, “tonight, that’s what we are.”

She exhales sharply and steps inside, leaving the door slightly ajar after him.

The room is cool and shadowed, illuminated only by the dim light spilling in from the corridor.

Selene watches it intently, her senses straining, listening for any hint of movement outside.

She can hear nothing but the soft rustle of Dorian’s movements as he sifts through the papers and bookshelves, each drawer he opens and each file he inspects producing a soft click or rustle of parchment.

He’s meticulous, his fingers brushing over documents as he scans them, his eyes narrowing in concentration. Selene has always admired his thoroughness, but tonight, it feels like an eternity. Her stomach tightens as the minutes stretch on, the weight of the night pressing on her chest.

She hears voices at the end of the corridor.

They don’t have much time.

“People are coming,” she hisses quietly.

He doesn’t seem to hear her, or at least, he doesn’t acknowledge her impatience. Instead, he pulls a thick book from the shelf, flipping through its pages.

Selene closes the door and backs into the room, figuring that an open door is more suspicious than a closed one.

“Dorian!”

Someone is outside the door. Her heart skips a beat .

“Dorian!” she hisses, more urgently now. “We need to move.”

He stares at the door, then at the window.

Selene is absolutely not climbing out of a window.

Her breath quickens, her pulse racing. There’s no time to waste.

They can’t afford to be discovered—or at least, they can’t afford to be discovered snooping .

Her eyes dart to the door, then to him. Without thinking, she crosses the room in a flash, closing the distance between them.

Before Dorian can turn, she takes him by the collar of his coat, pulling him toward her and crashing her lips to his in a desperate kiss. It’s reckless, a bold move born of necessity rather than desire, but the moment her lips meet his, the world outside the study falls away.

For a split second, Dorian’s body stiffens in surprise, but then he responds, his hand coming up to cradle her face as he deepens the kiss.

Voices are talking outside the room, but in the haze of heat and urgency, they fade to nothing.

Selene presses herself closer, her pulse thundering in her ears as the seconds stretch on, her only focus on keeping him distracted long enough to stay unnoticed.

The footsteps draw near the door—so close now.

But just as quickly, they pass. The sound of retreating steps echoes down the corridor. Selene pulls away reluctantly, gasping for breath.

“They’re gone,” she says. “We can stop now.”

Dorian’s eyes are still fanned shut, his mouth open, lips red. “We don’t have to,” he whispers into her.

Selene can’t help but laugh. “Dorian!”

Something in her voice reaches him. He straightens up, pushing his glasses up his nose. They’re misted up. “Right, yes, of course,” he says, tugging on his cravat. “I apologise.”

“For that kiss?” she tells him. “I wouldn’t.”

His cheeks heat, and his dimples crease .

“Did you find anything?” Selene asks.

Dorian shakes his head. “Nothing. That doesn’t necessarily rule him out, but… it’s a good start. I consider him on my ‘unlikely’ list.”

Selene nods. “I have to ask… is my father on your list?”

“He was,” Dorian admits. “He seemed a likely suspect for a time, what with his friendship with the Duke being well-known and his willingness to marry his daughter off to him, but nothing about his correspondence suggested he was in league with him.”

Selene nods, then frowns. “How?”

“Come again?”

“How did you investigate my father, when I think the first time I’ve ever seen you at Roselune Abbey was the day we eloped?”

Dorian smiles. “I have my ways.”

“Dorian! Stop being so elusive!”

He moves towards the door. “I’m more attractive that way.”

Selene doesn’t think Dorian needs to tease to make him more attractive. She doesn’t think he needs to do anything but exist in her general proximity, which is a slightly frightening thought.

She follows him to the door. “Are you sure you have what you need?”

“I think so.”

“You’d stay longer if Soren was with you, wouldn’t you?”

“Soren is a ghost,” Dorian reminds her. “He can practically move through walls. Do you blame me for being a little more cautious when it comes to you?”

“You’re sweet when you’re protective.”

“Selene, please.”

Selene takes a moment to enjoy his bashful expression, before sobering up. “What if there was another way?”

“Another way of what? ”

“Of trying to ascertain what Lord Dashridge may be involved in without rifling through all his belongings?”

Dorian raises an eyebrow. “Go on.”

Selene guides them back towards the ballroom, keeping her voice low. “Dashridge has a weakness.”

Dorian folds his arms. “Does he?”

She smirks. “Drink. And flattery. He likes to talk when he’s indulged. If we guide the conversation carefully enough, he may give us what we need without ever realising it.”

Dorian considers this, his gaze flicking back towards the ballroom where Dashridge is now leaning heavily against a column, speaking animatedly with a group of equally inebriated men. “You think he’ll just confess his crimes over brandy?”

“Not outright,” Selene admits. “But men like him always want to impress. They like to boast. If I ask the right questions… if I stroke his ego a little… he may let something slip.”

Dorian exhales through his nose. “And you’d rather dance circles around him all night than let me break into his study?”

“It would be far less dangerous.”

“Debatable.”

Selene rolls her eyes. “Just trust me.”

“I do trust you.” Dorian sighs, adjusting his cuffs. “It’s most other people I have a problem with.”

Selene leans up and kisses his cheek. “You pick locks, husband, but I can pick at people. Watch and learn.”

She steps into the ballroom, where the evening is winding down, guests growing looser, laughter more raucous. Dashridge is easy to find—his cheeks flushed with drink, his movements just a little too slow. Selene steps towards him, smiling as if she’s simply enjoying the party.

“My lord,” she says sweetly. “I wanted to thank you again for such a lovely evening. ”

Dashridge grins, straightening. “The pleasure is all mine, Lady Nightbloom.”

She gestures for a servant, effortlessly ensuring his glass is filled once more. “I was actually just speaking with my husband about potential business opportunities. You seem like a man with an excellent head for investments. Might you have any recommendations?”

Dashridge puffs up slightly, pleased by the flattery. He launches into a rambling answer, something about shipping routes and luxury imports, but Selene listens carefully for anything of use. Nothing yet.

She laughs at the appropriate moments, nods when required, keeping him engaged.

She responds enthusiastically to his request for a dance.

Then, with a subtle shift, she steers the conversation.

“I imagine a man in your position must have so many connections. So many fascinating people passing through your doors.”

Dashridge swirls his brandy. “Oh, you’ve no idea. The deals I’ve seen made in this very room…” He winks. “I doubt a lady like yourself is interested in any of them, however.”

“No, of course not. My husband could be persuaded, however…”

The dance ends. Dashridge returns to his friends, and Selene lets him go.