Chapter 23 #2
Meaning finding his uncle and cutting ties with Carrington. And perhaps even cutting ties with me.
Kissing his neck, Ellie slipped off his lap and, with a resigned sigh, left for her rooms, calling her maid along the way.
It was in the late afternoon when they were headed to the ball at Vauxhall. Evelina had wanted to take the boat there, but Dorian had refused. In the wake of Carrington’s implied threat, to watch his back and hers, he could not allow open space for gunfire.
They were on the Grand Walk, and Evelina’s head was snapping left to right. The pure delight he saw on her face, the slight part of her lips, and her widened eyes birthed a flutter of pride under his breastbone.
The map of the park dangled in her hand. “Are we going to the Lovers Walk?”
He smirked, “Do you want to see debauchery of all kinds, sweetheart? Because that is what we will see if we stay late enough and do venture down those walks. For now, we are bound for the Rotunda, but let us take our time there. I would hate for Wellington to mistake us for punctual.”
“Speaking of Wellington,” she sidestepped a pool of melted orange ice on the cobblestone, “Isn’t it sad that his boat lost after the speech he gave on its legacy and how he hoped to do his father proud?”
Dorian snorted. “I’d wager that was by design. Knowing Wellington, he probably made his men lose the race on purpose to collect the bets against him. He’s likely earned a hundred thousand on tonight alone. The man is as cunning as a fox.”
“That is a windfall.”
“With his wealth? It is next to nothing.”
A brisk wind with hints of sea salt buffeted them as they headed for the Rotunda. As they approached the white marble structure, her head tipped up to the rounded roof, then down to the columns.
Hundreds of lamps illuminated the trimmed grass and bushes around the magnificent dome.
They handed in their invitations to the liveried footmen manning the rope entrance, and soon, they were stepping into an open-air ballroom in the middle of a Scottish reel.
The lively tones floated down from the orchestra above as couples swirled around, the women in jewel-toned dresses, the men clad in grave black and white.
Evelina reached for Dorian and laced her fingers with his. “Seems like the waltz is next,” she whispered, then reached up and used her two fingers to press the knots in his forehead. “You are going to give yourself a conniption if you keep worrying.”
“I am not worrying,” Dorian tried to lie.
“At the regatta, you made sure to keep us with our backs to the walls of the boathouse and nowhere near any windows.
“You’ve angled your body between mine and everyone else, and I can see the handle of the weapon you have in your jacket pocket,” she tugged the lapels of his jacket tighter. “You’ve never been armed before, so why this time?”
“I always travel armed,” he muttered. “Only, this time, I have it on me.”
I have lived in the stews long enough to know when a cutthroat’s insinuation is also a promise. Carrington will not get ahead of me this time.
“Why?” she asked.
His inscrutable look had her sighing again. “Another thing you cannot tell me, I suppose.”
“Let’s just enjoy the evening,” he said as the strains of a waltz began, and he whisked her off to the floor. He led flawlessly, and she followed with equal grace. Their bodies swayed together in perfect, sensual synchrony; one he wished could be mirrored in other parts of his life.
Even as they danced, he could not help but feel utterly exposed—and tired. For the past few days, he’d avoided Evelina, stewed in his own doubts, shifting memories, and clamoring regret.
He felt like a bloody jackanapes for avoiding his own wife. The tottering house of cards he had built was unsteady and was almost ready to collapse. The secrets he’d kept were building. The death, the deception, so many betrayals…
He spun them in dizzying turns, and when the crescendo crashed over them, he pulled her into him, and his arms tightened around her back. Highly inappropriate, yes, but did he care—no.
She cupped his face. “Let me in, Dorian. Let me help you.”
He let out a long breath, then pulled away. “The evening has escaped us. We should return home.”
“Not before we find Wellington, and—” Her eyes lifted over his shoulder and then widened, “Oh, heavens.”
Dorian’s body seized up momentarily. “What?”
“Harriet is here, with Benedict,” Ellie pulled away from him and crossed the rotunda’s floor to where the two had just entered.
The coil in his spine slacked as relief washed over him.
Dorian turned to find the two just gliding in through the lavish entrance.
The girl’s dress was stunning, but his attention was on Benedict.
The man had the traits of the boy he had once known— but was so alien to him now.
Benedict had betrayed him; wittingly or unwittingly, he had been a part of the plot.
He snagged a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and stepped away from the dance floor, simply watching the three. He would let them have their fun, then steal Evelina away and back to their home.
Benedict’s head lifted, and his eyes met Dorian’s gaze; he held it. Slowly, Rothwell nodded his acknowledgement and then turned away. That was the best he could expect from the man after all.
When Ellie returned to him, she had the brightest smile he had ever seen on her face. His soul shriveled. Such happiness and peace on her face actively battled the darkness and tumult under his breastbone.
She tipped on her toes and kissed his cheek, “They’re courting.”
He almost said something acerbic but swallowed it with a mouthful of champagne. “I hope he’s good to her.”
“He’s a good man,” she said. “You know he’s a good man.”
Throwing back the rest of the champagne, Dorian said, “Another dance? And then we can go meander the lovers' walk you mentioned before.”
“I’d love that.”
Half an hour later, Ellie was pulling Dorian down the shadowed walk, her steps light with champagne. A breeze shivered against her cheek, and the shock of the dropped temperature made her shiver. He hugged her close, and she wrapped an arm around his middle.
“I know you do not approve, but I have known Benedict since probably a year or two after you left him,” she was murmuring. “He’s been nothing but the most perfect gentleman and kindest soul as far as I have known him.”
Colored lights winked from the boughs of the trees on the sprawling lands that flowed away from the walk. The breeze carried the faint music from the rotunda and the scent of night flowers. Moonlight filtered through the drifting clouds, illuminating the cobblestones.
“When you were of age, did you think he was a viable husband?”
Dorian asked, hiding any hints of jealousy.
“Benedict?” Ellie shuddered. “Egad. Goodness no. At that age, and with our connection, he was more of a brother to me. Besides, he was too busy pulling Victoria away from their parents and finishing university at the time.”
Dorian slowed his steps. “What happened to Lady Victoria?”
Ellie bit her lip, “T’is not my story to tell, but suffice to say, she’d lost a chance she wanted to have.”
“I see…” Dorian swallowed. He tilted his head to the sky and let out a long breath. “Evelina, there are things I need to tell you that—”
A low moan reverberated from the bush, and Dorian’s hand dropped to her arm. “We have to be quiet….” He led her around the bush. “Unless they are exhibitionists, I doubt they would enjoy being seen.”
A scream—a familiar scream— suddenly rent the air, and both heads snapped to the direction.
“That’s Harriet!” Evelina grabbed at Dorian.
They sped off, she hiked her skirts up, and the swift clack of her half-boots echoed in the air as they made for the sound. Halfway there, Dorian stopped and looked around.
“This is not the way—” He looked to the east through a thicket of bush. “It is that way.”
Dorian broke through the thicket and held it for her, but even as she ran through, the brambles scraped her.
They dashed into the clearing where three men were attacking Benedict. Dorian lurched into the fray while Ellie went to get Harriet.