Chapter 2 #2
He blinked again, but the young man holding the jewelry box did not disappear.
He just smiled that double-dimpled smile of his—a famous trait.
At Oxford, it was rumored that Vincent Cain’s grin had made up for more than a few failing grades.
He was a golden boy on campus, both figuratively and literally.
Not much had changed. The gold leaf painted on the dining room ceiling only seemed to accent Vincent’s blond hair.
He cut a fine figure in his velvet suit.
It was made of the same fabric as Biz’s dress—down to the elaborate embroidery on the lapel.
The darker blue matched the color of the young man’s eyes.
Ezra was still too far away to see so clearly, but he remembered swimming in them.
The way Biz seemed to be doing now.
“Elizabeth, my clever darling! You got through my clues too fast—I barely had time to trek from Mayfair to Soho! It takes so much longer without a car, but here you are!”
The Hispano Suiza belonged to Vincent, Ezra realized with a bitter jolt. The clues had been his too—which explained the Ra and Horus eye debacle. How many times had Vincent invited him to his room to look over notes…?
“Here you are, and here I am babbling about commutes when what I really wish to say is that you’re one of the most brilliant women I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing.
Even in a room of Bright Young Things, you stand out.
” Vincent opened the case he was holding.
Gasps, all around. Ezra could see the sparkle of the ring’s central diamond over Biz’s shoulder.
There were emeralds flanking the platinum filigree as well.
The piece had probably cost… well, a fortune.
But Vincent Cain had plenty of that to spare.
He plucked the ring from its case. “I had quite the time, trying to find a ring that might fit you—your wit, your wonder, your ambition. All traits that make us a truly enviable couple. I should like to conquer the rest of my life with you, Elizabeth Ellington. Would you do me the honor of being my wife?”
Ezra was suddenly aware that both Minnie and Rose had faded into the crowd, and he was now the only one standing so close to Biz, close enough to see the muscles of her shoulders squeeze and tense.
Everything inside Ezra was doing the same: wishing to escape this moment.
It wasn’t anything like fighting in a trench, no, but wars took on all shapes and sizes, didn’t they? And here were two of his…
For a halting second, he believed Biz might spin back around to face him.
She lifted her hand out to Vincent instead.
He slipped the ring over her crimson nail.
He kissed her on her crimson lips, so fully that some of the red smudged off onto his, and Ezra had to tear his eyes away.
There was a series of cheers and toasts.
Another band began playing from one of the room’s mirrored corners.
A champagne flute was shoved into his hands by some well-meaning soul, but much of the drink slopped onto his satchel.
The leather would be stained now. That was all he could think as the party unraveled around him.
Biz did turn, finally. There was a strange look in her eyes… Relief, maybe? This hardened as her gaze met Ezra’s.
There was so much he wanted to say to her: about George, about Lord Blackwood, about those eight years that stretched unforgivably between them. But Ezra knew he’d lost his chance—the room was too loud. Too many bombs were going off in his head. His heart. He couldn’t even manage a congratulations.
Biz was made of stronger stuff. She knew exactly how to make her voice pierce through the rest of the noise. “Vincent!” She tightened her hand over her fiancé’s, pulling his attention toward them. “I’d like you to meet someone. This is—”
Vincent lit up like an acetylene lamp. “My God! Ezra Bright!” He dropped Biz’s hand and moved in for a clapping hug—the kind exchanged by long-lost friends.
Ezra was so rattled by this, by the smell of pine and pepper and fresh-plucked lemons all mixed into this man’s cologne, that he did not reciprocate.
He stood as stiff as a Middle Kingdom mummy.
“Is it really you? Have you escaped from that crypt they keep doctoral students in? Blythe was always such a tight-arse.”
Biz’s eyes darted between the men. “You two know each other?”
Was the room getting hotter? Ezra could feel himself starting to flush, and prayed that the lighting would be too dark for anyone to tell. Vincent, meanwhile, was still glowing.
“Ezra and I rubbed shoulders during my Oxford days—short-lived though they were.” His grin turned impish and Ezra decided to finish the remnants of champagne in his glass.
Pins and needles slid down his throat. “Wait—don’t tell me this is your Ezra?
By Jove! I really am thick, aren’t I? Regardless, I’m glad you’re here to celebrate, ole chap!
Here! Let me get you another glass!” Vincent waved and another full champagne flute seemed to materialize from the crowd.
It was always that way with Vincent. The world bent to his expectations—traffic stopped to let him cross the street.
Shopkeepers added extra sweets to his bakery order.
He’d even managed to hang on an entire extra term at Oxford without doing an ounce of actual classwork before declaring that the academic life isn’t for me.
Instead of spreading nasty rumors, the other students in their year threw him a farewell party, though it wasn’t quite as glitzy as this…
“Congratulations.” Ezra accepted the drink, his fingers brushing Vincent’s: more pins, more needles. He tried to focus on the ridiculous smear of lipstick instead of the other man’s mouth, though Biz was riffling through her clutch, digging past the pistol to retrieve a kerchief.
“Here you are, dear.” The fresh diamond on her finger sparkled when Biz moved to wipe the makeup from her fiancé’s face.
“Wounded in the line of duty,” Vincent said, still grinning as the rest of the red got blotted off.
“Speaking of, how’s your shoulder? Does it still get stiff when a storm’s coming?
” He looked back at Biz. “Everyone in our lodgings thought Ezra was magical because he’d tell us to take our umbrellas on a clear morning, and I’ll be damned if it didn’t drizzle every single time. He saved countless tweed jackets.”
“Ever the hero.” Biz smiled too.
“I—” Ezra faltered. The words weren’t coming.
Why weren’t they coming? Why couldn’t he pull Biz aside and tell her that this was a mistake?
All of it. He shouldn’t be here. He wasn’t a hero.
Yes, the government had awarded him a medal for “valor in the presence of the enemy,” but by the end of the war they were handing out medals to pigeons, so Ezra didn’t put much stock in it.
Besides, he hadn’t really saved anyone besides himself…
“How did you two meet?” he managed.
“At some party or other…” Biz gave a little wave—her diamond glaring again. “Was it the one on the airship or the one where everyone dressed up as priests and nuns? Do you remember, darling?”
“I believe those were the same party. Do you not recall being violently ill because of the Aviation punch? I’ve never seen so many nuns retch in unison,” Vincent answered smartly. “Thank goodness we were flying over the countryside.”
Ezra blinked. Inebriated nuns on an airship? Surely not. His eyes fell into Vincent’s, trying to read the truth in them. But it wasn’t quite as easy to translate as hieroglyphics…
“The Aviation punch,” Biz muttered darkly. “Never again.”
“The lavender hue was strangely… beguiling.”
“That is the most bizarre beginning to a love story I’ve ever heard,” Ezra said, his gaze still locked with Vincent’s.
At the word love, the other young man’s jaw ticked. Biz flinched too, but she masked the movement by swinging round to grab two more champagne glasses from a well-wisher.
“Love can be many things,” she said as she handed Ezra yet another drink.
“It’s true, I don’t remember much about that first night, but I do recall that Vincent was valiant enough to make sure I made it home in one piece.
He drove me all the way back to Thornhill because those were the directions I gave him…
And then when he saw the state of the place, he stayed to make sure I ate enough breakfast to head off a hangover. ”
“The state of the place?” Ezra pressed.
Biz flinched again. This time, there was no hiding it. “I don’t stay there, often. There’s too much to do in London.”
“Seems to me all you’re doing is playing dress-up.”
It needed to be said, and so Ezra muttered it softly, trusting the trumpets to blast the words away from Biz’s ears. But there was a sudden dip in the music, and she heard him.
She heard him, and she smiled.
That smile, Ezra thought, was sharper than any knife. Redder too.
Vincent leaned in, his cheek still stained pink from the remnants of Biz’s kiss.
“Speaking of dress-up, I see you’re still into the moth-eaten academic style.
” The other young man adjusted the wilted lapel of Ezra’s outfit.
His touch lingered a bit too long near the collarbone.
“Don’t tell me this is the same jacket from 1919?
My friend! This will not do! Not for London!
Let me introduce you to my tailor and set you up with some proper suits so you can make a real splash. ”
“That’s very generous, Vincent, but—”
“No buts!” the young man broke in. “I won’t take no for an answer.”
“He never does,” Biz said under her breath.
“You’ll need something suitable for our getaway this weekend. Tweed will be too stuffy for the Cotswolds this time of year.”
“My jacket could never be stuffy,” Ezra said. “It has too many moth holes.”