Chapter 32
LILY
Iswallowed, suddenly hyper-aware of every place we touched—the heat of his palm against my back, the way my hand rested against the solid breadth of his shoulder, the tension coiling between us like a thread pulled too tight.
He leaned in slightly, close enough that I could feel the whisper of his breath against my temple. “Tell me, did you enjoy making me watch?”
Heat crept up my neck. “I don't know what you mean.”
“Don't you?” His thumb traced a slow circle against my back.
“Dancing with him. Smiling at him. All while knowing exactly where my attention was.”
Damn him for being right.
“Maybe I was simply enjoying a pleasant dance with a polite partner.”
“Polite.” He exhaled a low chuckle that vibrated through me. “Is that what you want, Lily? Polite?”
No. God help me, no.
“What I want,” I said carefully, “is to not be commanded around like property.”
“Would you have preferred I let him keep touching you?”
I stopped, because we both knew the man's hand had drifted lower than appropriate. I'd been about to extract myself when August appeared.
“What are we doing?” The question escaped before I could stop it.
His expression shifted—something vulnerable flickering across his features. “I don't know,” he admitted quietly. “But I know I couldn't watch him touch you for another second.”
My breath caught. “And what about tomorrow?” I whispered. “What happens when the dance ends?”
“I don't know that either.” His hand flexed against my back. “I just know that right now, you're exactly where I want you.”
“I don't trust you.”
“Good.” His lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile. “I don't trust myself around you.”
The waltz ended, and for a moment neither of us moved. Then August's hand slid from my waist, and he offered his arm. “Let me escort you back.”
I hesitated, then placed my fingers in the crook of his elbow.
He guided me through the crowd back toward our table where Adeline sat watching us with barely concealed amusement. August pulled out my chair, his hand lingering briefly on my shoulder before he stepped back.
“I need to speak with someone,” he said, his tone suddenly distant, controlled. “I'll return shortly.”
And just like that, he was gone.
I watched him disappear into the crowd, confusion twisting in my stomach. Then I saw where he was headed.
Constance Sterling stood near the edge of the ballroom, her red dress perfectly tailored, her dark hair swept up elegantly. She smiled as August approached—the kind of smile that spoke of familiarity, of history. Of intimacy.
“Business, not pleasure,” Adeline murmured beside me.
I glanced at her. “What?”
“Constance.” She took a sip of wine.
“She has connections. Information. August uses her when he needs to know what the prominent families are saying.” That shouldn't have made me feel better. But it did.
Garrick scooted his seat closer to mine. “Enjoying the show?”
I'd written a paper once on the performative nature of Victorian dining rituals—how the placement of a fish fork could communicate class anxiety more efficiently than a hundred words. Now I was living inside my own footnotes.
“What show?” I asked.
“All of it.” He gestured vaguely at the ballroom. “Though I'd wager August's father is enjoying it most of all.”
A chill ran down my spine. “What do you mean?”
“Elias Hawthorne doesn't attend social events for pleasure.” Garrick's expression turned serious.
The name hit me like ice water. Elias. Elias Hawthorne.
My breath caught as fragments slammed together—Elowen the Weaver, the one who had unintentionally created this mess. Created the Unraveler. The man who'd turned her death into a reason to kill a whole group of women.
Elias. August's father. The Unraveler.
“Lily?” Reality snapped back. Adeline's hand was on my arm. “Are you alright?”
I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think past the sudden, horrifying clarity. I'd been living in the Unraveler's son's house. Dancing with him. Letting him touch me, hold me, look at me like I was something precious instead of something to be erased.
All while his father—the man who'd weaponized his grief into genocide—waited.
“You knew.” I turned to Adeline, barely able to get the words out. “You knew who his father was.”
Her expression went carefully blank. “Lily—”
“Don't.” My hands were shaking. “Don't lie to me. Not about this.”
Garrick's gaze sharpened, flicking between us with sudden interest.
Adeline's jaw tightened. “This isn't the place.”
“Then where?” The question came out louder than I intended. I forced myself to breathe. “When were you planning to tell me I've been letting his son—” I stopped myself.
“Letting his son what?” Garrick asked quietly.
I didn't answer.
“August is not his father,” Adeline said, each word deliberate. “Whatever you're thinking right now—”
“I'm thinking that I've been a fool.” I reached for my wine glass with trembling fingers. “That I let myself believe—” I stopped again. “It doesn't matter.”
“Doesn't it?” Garrick leaned forward. “Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like it matters quite a lot.”
I met his gaze. “Where is he? Elias Hawthorne.”
“Near the far corner. Don't look.” Adeline's hand found mine under the table, squeezing hard. “Dark graying hair, black coat. Speaking with Lord Pemberton.”
I didn't look. But the weight of his presence now, like a physical thing pressing against my skin.
“You should have told me,” I said to Adeline.
But even as I said it, I was beginning to understand why she hadn't. Because if I'd known—truly known—who August was, who his father was, I would have ran. Or panicked. Or done something that would have exposed the lie keeping me alive.
I'd thought I was playing a part. The visiting cousin with unconventional views. But August hadn't just given me a role to play. He'd put himself between me and his father who would have unraveled me the moment they suspected I was anything but.
I’d misjudged it all. The cold interrogations, the probing questions, every moment August had pushed me away—he’d been maintaining the lie. Keeping me at arm’s length so his father wouldn’t suspect how much I’d gotten under his skin.
And tonight, he'd brought me here. To his father. To the Unraveler. Had danced with me in front of everyone who mattered, making a public claim I hadn't understood until now.
This is Adeline's cousin. She's mine to vouch for. Mine to protect.
“The danger I'm in,” I said finally, meeting Garrick's gaze. “The real danger.”
Garrick's expression softened slightly. “You're only just now realizing that?”
“No.” I reached for my wine with trembling fingers. “I'm just now realizing how much danger August has been keeping me from.”
The table went quiet.
I'd been so angry with him. For the interrogations. For the distance. For dancing with me like I mattered and then walking away like I didn't. But he'd been walking a tightrope. Trying to keep me alive while keeping himself from falling so completely that his father would notice.
And I'd made it harder. By challenging him. By getting under his skin. By making him care when caring was the most dangerous thing he could do.
“I need to leave,” I said suddenly. “I need to—”
“You need to sit still and smile,” Adeline said firmly. “Because Elias Hawthorne is watching. And the moment you run, the moment you show fear, he'll know something is wrong.”
She was right. I knew she was right. But knowing what I now knew made staying still unbearable.
August had built a house of cards around me. And I'd been shaking the foundation without even realizing it.
If his father discovered what I was—what August had been hiding—it wouldn't just be me who was unraveled. It would be August, Adeline, and Garrick too. And that thought terrified me more than my own death ever could.