Chapter 12
Edmund stepped away from Cecily Vane, forcing his hands to remain casually behind his back when every instinct demanded he wipe the cloying scent of her French perfume from his coat.
He had managed the extraction with a perfectly delivered excuse about the Earl of Ravenswood requiring immediate assistance.
With ruthless efficiency, he had deposited her beside a cluster of gossiping matrons who would undoubtedly keep her occupied dissecting the latest Mayfair scandals for at least the next quarter of an hour.
He turned sharply on his heel, putting a solid wall of aristocrats between himself and the copper-haired threat before she could find a reason to attach herself to him again.
She is playing a deeply complicated game, Edmund thought, his jaw locking tight as he navigated the suffocating, crowded drawing room. And I do not yet know the rules. But I will learn them. I have absolutely no choice.
He needed air. He needed distance. More than anything, he needed to find Julian and remind him, with whatever blunt force was necessary, that they were balancing on the edge of a precipice, and a single misstep would destroy them both.
He circled the perimeter of the room, scanning the shifting sea of velvet and satin, until he spotted Julian tucked into a quiet, shadowed alcove near the conservatory doors, half-hidden behind a sprawling potted fern.
Julian was not alone. Arabella was standing right in front of him.
They stood barely a hand’s breadth apart, their heads bent toward one another in a posture of quiet intimacy that made Edmund’s stomach drop straight to the floorboards.
Julian was speaking in a low, quiet murmur.
He wasn’t wearing his practiced, dazzling Earl-of-Ravenswood smile.
The aristocratic angles of his face were completely relaxed, and his dark eyes were fixed entirely on Arabella’s face with a focused intensity.
It was not the careless flirtation he employed with every other woman in the room, nor was it the manufactured charm he aimed at Vivienne.
It was a look of unguarded, dangerous sincerity.
Arabella’s face was tilted up toward him, her features entirely open. The nervous tension she usually carried around the ton was completely gone. She smiled at something Julian said, a small, bright, genuine smile that transformed her quiet face into something undeniably beautiful.
Edmund stopped dead in his tracks. He is not pretending, he realized, a cold wave of dread rushing through his veins as he watched Julian lean a fraction of an inch closer to her.
And Arabella was looking right back.
No, this can’t be happening, Edmund thought, his heart sinking as he stared at his sister’s flushed face.
He stepped forward into the alcove, making sure his boots clipped loudly against the parquet floor.
He did not want to startle them. He simply wanted to remind them, as sharply as possible, that they were in a room full of people who would not hesitate to destroy their family if they caught a glimpse of something they shouldn’t.
“Julian,” Edmund interrupted. “There is a matter that requires your immediate attention.”
Julian flinched. The relaxed line of his shoulders vanished instantly.
He snapped back into the rigid, aristocratic posture of the earl, but not before Edmund caught the violent flash of irritation in his dark eyes.
It was the distinct look of a man deeply resentful that his private sanctuary had been breached.
Arabella took a jerky step backward, putting a respectable distance between herself and Julian. A flush crept up her neck, staining her cheeks. She refused to look at the floor, instead meeting Edmund’s gaze with an expression that was equal parts guilt and stubborn defiance.
“Edmund,” she said quietly, smoothing the front of her silk skirts. “We were just talking.”
“I can see that,” Edmund replied, keeping his expression entirely blank. “But the conversation will have to wait. Julian is needed elsewhere.”
Julian stared at Edmund for a long, tense second. Then he offered Arabella a remarkably gentle smile. He stepped past Edmund and walked out of the alcove, his strides stiff and his shoulders braced for a fight.
They walked in silence through the crowded drawing room, weaving quickly between clusters of laughing gentlemen and card tables, until they reached a quiet, empty corridor near the library doors. Edmund stopped, turning to face his friend.
“What in God’s name were you thinking?” Edmund demanded, his voice dropping to a harsh, biting whisper. “She is my sister, Julian. She is the most vulnerable person in this entire house, and you were standing there looking at her like—“
“Like what?” Julian interrupted, stepping directly into Edmund’s space, his eyes flashing with defensive fire. “Like I actually care about what she has to say? Like I find her company infinitely more pleasant than anyone else in this suffocating building? Is sincerity a crime now?”
“It is a catastrophe,” Edmund snapped. “You are playing the role of a wealthy English peer. You are actively supposed to be courting Vivienne Ashwell. The entire ton is watching your every move. Do you have any idea what would happen if someone noticed you looking at Arabella the way you were just looking at her?”
Julian’s jaw locked tight. He did not look away. He did not offer a charming deflection or a smooth, practiced excuse to lighten the mood. For the first time since Edmund had known him, Julian simply stood his ground, eyes burning with stubborn resistance.
“I cannot simply turn it off,” Julian said, his voice stripped of all its usual bravado, leaving only a rough, strained honesty. “I have tried. I have spent every moment of every day trying to play this part perfectly. But I cannot help it, Edmund. I look at her and I see—”
“Stop,” Edmund ordered, holding up a hand to cut him off.
“I do not want to hear this. Whatever you think is happening, it does not matter. You may not be able to control your thoughts, but you can control your actions. You can choose to stay away from her. You can choose to protect her from the absolute ruin that would follow if anyone discovered who you really are.”
Julian went very still. His expression did not change, but the defiant fire in his eyes went dark and distant, replaced by a hollow sort of resignation.
“You can control what you do,” Edmund repeated, his voice hard and uncompromising. “And what you do, from this moment forward, is stay far away from my sister. Do you understand me?”
Julian stared at him, the heavy silence stretching between them. Finally, Julian gave a single, tight nod.
Edmund turned and walked away, his chest feeling tight and restricted. He had done what was necessary. He had protected Arabella from a disaster she could not possibly see coming. But the hollow, wounded look in Julian’s eyes haunted him as he made his way back into the glittering crowd.
He will not stay away from her, Edmund realized, the cold certainty settling over him like a lead weight.
He found Arabella a few minutes later. She was standing near a tall window in the main drawing room, her back to the party, staring out into the dark, lamp-lit street.
She looked so young in the soft candlelight, her posture stiff and isolated, and Edmund felt a surge of protective fury that Julian had dared to blur the lines of their arrangement.
“Arabella,” he said quietly, approaching her with careful steps. “I need to speak with you.”
She turned slowly to face him. Her brown eyes were completely guarded, her expression composed. “I thought you might.”
“About Mr. Marsh,” Edmund began, keeping his voice low and carefully measured. “I need you to maintain your distance. He is not… he is not what he appears to be.”
Arabella looked at him for a long, silent moment. She didn’t blink. Then, she spoke, her voice completely calm, deliberate, and utterly devastating.
“You have constructed an elaborate, massive lie, Edmund,” she said quietly, her words cutting through the air like a knife. “A lie that is actively hurting innocent people. You have absolutely no standing to instruct anyone on what to be careful about.”
Edmund opened his mouth to respond, but his throat seized. He had expected her to be upset, to be confused, or perhaps to offer a tearful argument. He had not expected her to dismantle his entire moral authority with a single, precise sentence.
“You are deceiving the Ashwell family,” Arabella continued, her voice remaining perfectly steady.
“You are deceiving Vivienne, who genuinely believes she is being courted by a wealthy earl. You are deceiving Corinna, who has no idea that the man she is growing attached to is not a secretary at all. And you are deceiving yourself, Edmund, if you actually think that any of this is justified.”
Edmund stared at her, the brutal truth of her words settling over him like a physical blow. He had no defense.
“I am doing what I must do,” he finally managed to say, his voice rough. “I am trying to protect this family. I am trying to ensure that I do not make the same catastrophic mistake I made with Cecily.”
“By making an entirely different mistake?” Arabella asked, her eyes flashing with anger. “By lying to everyone around you and convincing yourself that you are doing it for their own good?”
Edmund had no answer. He stood there, his hands clenched tightly at his sides, listening as his quiet sister delivered the truth he had been running from for weeks.
“I saw Cecily tonight,” Arabella said, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper.
“I saw the way she walked into this room and touched Julian. I saw the way she looked at him, like he was a possession she had every right to claim. And I saw you standing in the corner, Edmund, doing absolutely nothing to stop her.”
“She is a complication,” Edmund said stiffly. “I am handling it.”