Chapter 24
Kate
Kate crossed the ballroom at James’s side, her every sense alert beneath her practiced smile.
Music swelled around them, bright and elegant, while conversation and laughter rose and fell in waves.
Candlelight reflected in tall windows and gleamed on jewels while fragrant flowers spilled from ornate vases, filling the air with their perfume.
The atmosphere promised a night of starlight and elegance, but beneath the glamour lay a far more dangerous reality. Only she and her companions knew what the night might truly hold. James leaned down, his voice a whisper. “Time to be bold, Kate.”
Her mother appeared at her elbow. “Your father and I will be with Lord and Lady Haddington.” She gestured toward the far wall with her fan. “Do come join us when you and James have finished your set.”
“Of course, Mother.” A new fear took shape as Kate watched her parents turn toward Lord and Lady Haddington, unprotected and unaware.
Her father’s hand settled briefly at her mother’s back as he guided her through the crowd.
It was an ordinary gesture for what should have been an ordinary evening.
The Arcadian Circle did not need to know their names for them to become casualties.
Hugh threaded his way through the crowd, greeting friends along the way. He stopped to speak with Lord Greystone, whose usual lack of congeniality appeared no match for Hugh’s charm.
Near the south wall, a knot of political gentlemen had formed.
Lord Markham, Sir Geoffrey Cavendish of the Treasury, Lord Barrington, and several men Kate recognized only by reputation.
William had stationed himself at the edge of the crowd, close enough to observe without seeming out of place.
Nicholas was where she would expect him to be, laughing and flirting with two unattached ladies and their mothers.
Poor Alex was outside in the chill wind that had nearly knocked her over when they exited the carriage. She hoped he was warm enough.
Beside the entrance stood a gentleman in dark evening dress, sober amid all the merriment. The familiar set of his shoulders tugged at her memory, but he turned before she could place him.
The crowd pressed in on every side, each stranger a possibility, each closed door and passing figure something to watch. James led her to the edge of the ballroom where they stood shoulder to shoulder, partially hidden by a large potted fern. “Where is Westmarch?” she asked.
“Near the refreshment table,” James murmured.
She saw him then. Westmarch had chosen a position that allowed him to see almost the entire room while still interacting with guests and observing the servants.
The man knew what he was doing. The Veil was here somewhere, but Kate did not know how to find her.
The fern brushed against her as someone walked past, and she fought the urge to stay hidden there. James stood warm and steady by her side, and she drew strength from him. Everyone she loved was in danger, and she would not shrink.
“Would you like a cool drink while we wait for the next set?” James’s question carried its own meaning.
“Yes, please.” They made their way to the refreshment room, Kate watching servants and guests alike: studying patterns, memorizing faces, observing behavior. But nothing, and no one, seemed out of place.
They stood at the edge of the table, sipping their ratafia as they waited for the set to end.
A servant refilled the table with cups of punch from a tray, his hands trembling so much that a bit of punch spilled from the side, staining the pristine tablecloth.
The poor boy was not a threat, only young, nervous, and terrified in a room full of people who would never know his name.
“It’s time,” James said, low and urgent. She took his arm once again, and they walked together to the dance floor, where they could see the room from a new angle. They passed William on their way, the group near him now including the Home Secretary and a duke.
She dreaded something happening, yet the waiting was almost worse.
How could everything seem so normal when it was not?
She faced James in the middle of the ballroom, the lively strains of the orchestra fading into a distant hum.
No matter what happened tonight, she wanted just this one dance untouched by fear.
He held out his arms, and she stepped into them without hesitation. This was where she belonged. He narrowed the space between them far beyond what was proper, but she did not care. In a room with possible assassins, the whispers of the ton were of little consequence.
As the dance began, James drew her into the turns, his touch firm at her back. The adoration on his face almost made her forget everything else. Almost. He guided her through the steps with effortless command.
“Do you remember the first time we danced?” he asked.
“I remember you following me out of the ballroom and intruding where you were decidedly unwelcome,” she teased.
His lips curved. “That is not precisely how I remember things.” He tightened his hold.
“First, I love that you still think I followed you. And second, all I remember is a beautiful woman who drove me to maddening distraction. I couldn’t decide if I wanted to kiss her senseless or carry her out of the room and then kiss her. ”
She shivered at his touch, his words. “Is that a promise or a threat?”
“Oh, that is very much a promise, my darling Kate.” The devotion in his eyes was a silent vow of things to come. Kate let herself memorize his face—every curve, every line—as well as the feel of his hand in hers, the love in his voice.
She let herself believe there would be more nights like this. More dances. More laughter. More promises whispered when no one else could hear. The hope felt fragile with danger gathering around them, but she held it close anyway.
She opened her mouth to respond, but something over her shoulder caught his attention.
When the dance turned her the other way, she saw William nod and disappear from view.
Tension hummed beneath each turn as James maneuvered them toward the edge of the floor.
William reappeared a moment later and adjusted his cravat.
Her hold on James eased by a fraction. A false alarm.
Relief should have followed, but it only made the waiting worse.
As the music reached a dizzying crescendo, a servant entered the ballroom with a tray of ratafia.
He was not the pale young servant from the refreshment room.
He was of medium height with dark hair and features ordinary enough to make him forgettable.
But something played at the edges of her mind, refusing to let go.
He did not glance toward the butler for instruction. He did not edge around guests with the nervous care of a servant afraid to spill, and his path made no sense. He was not stopping to serve anyone, but carefully and methodically making his way around the edge of the room.
As Kate faced the man again, she saw his eyes. They were not lowered like a servant’s should have been. They were observing with a cold purpose. The music faded away, sounding distant.
A maid crossed behind him, carrying a discarded velvet wrap over her arm.
She stumbled just enough to brush his elbow.
One glass tipped, spilling pale ratafia across his sleeve.
The servant’s head snapped toward her. The tray lurched in his grip, the remaining glasses rattling precariously.
The maid dipped at once in apology, but the man did not slow or even glance down at the stain.
He kept moving. Not toward the refreshment table or the cluster of ladies by the terrace doors. He was headed straight for the ministers of the Crown and Members of Parliament.
Kate’s grip tightened on James’s shoulder. “The man. With the tray. He is not serving the guests,” she whispered. “He is moving toward the men near the south wall.”
James tracked the servant’s path. “He’s headed toward Lord Cavendish.”
The music returned with a sudden rush, ending with a dramatic flourish, and James led her off the floor.
He guided her directly to her brother, who would only give chase if necessary due to his injuries.
“Be safe. I have only just found you.” James lingered for only a moment and then he was gone, Nicholas at his heels.
Every instinct screamed at Kate to follow, to keep him in sight, to refuse the plan that suddenly felt impossible to obey. But his task was to pursue the attacker, hers was to watch the room and exits in case there was a second assailant.
Across the room, William acted at once. He moved into Cavendish’s path, drawing the older man aside with some remark Kate could not hear. She gripped Hugh’s arm and forced herself to watch the room, searching for more potential members of the Circle.
Everything around her came into sharp focus.
The raucous laughter of a group of men. The sour note of a violin.
A mother urging her daughter toward a gentleman with painful determination.
The cacophony of sounds was overwhelming.
A door slammed in the corridor, causing the music to falter just for a beat. One word caught in her throat. James.
A short gentleman, dressed in a navy blue coat, spun at the sound of the closing door.
He turned to the corridor James had disappeared through.
Across the room, Westmarch was already waiting for a signal.
She waved her fan near her right shoulder before closing it and pointing it toward the suspicious man.