26. The Spy and his Wife
D ue to a slight delay in their journey, the Dashridge ball was already in full swing by the time they arrived. Dorian and Selene changed quickly and made their way downstairs to introduce themselves to the host. Dorian tried not to stare at how wonderful Selene looked tonight.
She wore a gown of deep emerald green, the fabric rich and heavy, embroidered with gold that shimmered faintly with each step.
Her blonde hair had been swept up elegantly, though a few loose curls framed her face, softening the delicate angles of her jaw.
A fine chain of peridot stones rested against her collarbone, cool and luminous against her fair skin.
She is not yours to stare at, a voice reminded him. This time, no helpful retort came, telling him that she could be.
Afterwards, Selene and he collected drinks and retired to a quieter corner of the ballroom .
“How does this work, exactly?” Selene asked. “What happens now?”
“I’ll go and find his study,” Dorian explained, voice hushed. “Once I have its location, I’ll come back for you. Can you—”
“Mingle and act natural until then? Of course.”
Dorian nodded once, and slipped away into the crowd.
It felt wrong to be leaving her, even though it was a public ball, and Selene was far more adept at societal events than he was. He knew she’d be fine.
But leaving Selene always felt wrong, like casting off a cloak in a snowstorm.
There was no time to focus on that now. He needed to find Dashridge’s study.
This estate was one of the few Dorian had never visited before.
He had no idea where anything was. Luckily, a lot of these old houses followed a fairly predictable pattern.
He made his way to the corridor on the upper floor and started checking the rooms, keeping an eye out for any servants.
A few were locked, but that was hardly surprising.
It wouldn’t stop him. He located an open parlour, opened the window, and slipped out of it, shuffling carefully along the outside of the building and peering into the window of every locked room until he found the one he was after.
He couldn’t open the window from this angle, but he could pick the lock easily enough if someone was keeping a lookout.
He slipped back inside and headed down to the ball.
He located Selene easily enough. She was talking to another blonde-haired woman in a deep violet gown.
He froze. It was Lady Duskbriar. He supposed he ought to be glad it wasn’t the Duke, but still, this was the first conversation she was having with her mother since her elopement.
Dorian did not imagine it was an easy conversation. He moved closer, careful to remain unseen. If she needed someone to support her, he’d be there in a heartbeat. He didn’t want to force a rescue on her.
“It would not be a lie,” Lady Duskbriar insisted, voice forceful. “You eloped, Selene. You are not the sort of girl to do that sort of thing, and no one can work out why. He must have forced you, manipulated you in some way…”
Dorian almost wanted to laugh with the absurdity. He had neither the charm or the charisma to force anyone to do anything.
Selene met her mother’s gaze, and the words that left her mouth hit him like a sudden blow to the chest. “Mother, I love my husband.”
Dorian froze, his heart skipping in a way he wasn’t prepared for.
It was a lie, of course. All part of the act. She couldn’t—he knew she couldn’t love him, not the way he longed for her to. But hearing her say it, even as a lie…
Lady Duskbriar’s face twisted in shock, her expression a mixture of disbelief and affront, as if she had been slapped across the face.
But then, to Dorian’s surprise, Selene seemed almost as stunned by her own confession.
It has to be a lie, Dorian told himself. Doesn’t it?
Lady Duskbriar managed to recover herself first. “You can’t love him,” she said slowly, as if the words pained her. “You never even spoke about him before the day you were supposed to get engaged to the Duke. You loved Drakefell . I made sure—I was sure of it—”
“Well, you were wrong,” Selene replied, cutting her mother off with a quiet sharpness. “Likely not for the first time, or the last. Have a good evening, Mother.”
Selene marched off, taking Dorian’s heart with her. Gods and stars above, he could not love that woman more. Her defiance did something to him, made his insides quake. Half with admiration, and half with something entirely different.
Dorian, unable to stay hidden any longer, stepped quietly toward her. “I’ve found it,” he murmured.
Selene jumped. “Gods and makers of all, you can move as quietly as Soren!” she exclaimed, half-laughing in relief.
Dorian smiled weakly, though his chest still ached with the echo of the conversation he had just overheard. “Come on,” he said softly, pushing the moment aside .
The sounds of the party—the laughter, the music—began to fade as they walked, replaced by the quiet hush of the hallway, the flicker of lamplight casting long shadows along the walls.
Dorian kept his gaze forward, trying to maintain the calm, unbothered air he was so used to, but he couldn’t shake the tension in his shoulders.
“Did you… did you hear my conversation with my mother?” Selene asked, her voice low and hesitant.
Dorian glanced at her. “Hear what?” It wasn’t a lie, but it was better than admitting what he had overheard, and putting her on the spot. If the truth wasn’t in his favour, he didn’t want to hear it.
Selene didn’t reply. They stopped before a heavy oak door.
“This is it,” Dorian murmured, kneeling before the lock.
Selene glanced down the corridor, her instincts alert as he worked the lock with smooth precision. Two tiny pieces of metal slid effortlessly into place.
“You can pick locks?” she asked.
Dorian chuckled softly. “Wouldn’t be much of an investigator if I couldn’t.”
He wondered if that impressed her or worried her. He hoped it was the former. He was also really glad she’d never met him before he mastered the art. It had taken Soren months to teach him the basics, and years before he could call himself skilled at it.
“How do you know which room it is if it’s locked?” Selene asked.
He didn’t look up. “Had to climb out a window to be sure.”
She blinked. “You what ?”
“Climbed out the parlour window earlier to see where it was positioned from the outside.” The lock clicked, and he rose, dusting off his hands.
Selene stared at him. “You make that sound so normal. ”
He smirked, pushing the door open. “Normal for a spy.”
“Is that what you are? A spy?”
“No, my lady,” said Dorian, smiling as he held open the door, “tonight, that’s what we are.”
She exhaled sharply but stepped inside. They left the door slightly ajar .
The room was cool and shadowed, illuminated only by the dim light spilling in from the corridor.
Selene hovered near the entrance, listening intently, but Dorian focused on the task at hand.
He sifted through the desk, each drawer opening with a quiet creak.
Papers whispered under his fingertips as he scanned them, his eyes narrowing in concentration.
He had always prided himself on his thoroughness, but tonight, every second felt stretched thin.
Selene’s voice cut through the silence. “People are coming.”
He didn’t respond, turning instead to the bookshelf, running his fingers along the spines before pulling a thick volume free and flipping through its pages.
Selene let out a quiet breath and moved fully into the room, closing the door behind her.
“Dorian!”
The sound of a door handle creaking made him tense. Someone was coming.
“Dorian!” she hissed, more urgently now. “We need to move.”
His gaze snapped to the door, then the window. Climbing out was possible—for him, at least—but for Selene—
She crossed the room in an instant, grabbing him by the collar and pulling him toward her. Her lips crashed against his.
The world tilted.
For a moment, his body stiffened in shock, but instinct took over.
He responded, his hand rising to cradle her face as he deepened the kiss.
Heat flared between them, drowning out the approaching footsteps.
The sound of boots hesitating just beyond the door sent his pulse hammering—but then they continued past.
Selene pulled away, gasping. “They’re gone. We can stop now.”
His eyes remained half-closed, his breath uneven. His mouth was still tingling from the kiss, and he wasn’t sure if it was the adrenaline or something else entirely that made him murmur, “We don’t have to.”
Selene let out a short laugh, her breath still unsteady. “Dorian!”
Something in her tone stirred him to action. He straightened, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. They were misted over. “Right, yes, of course,” he said, tugging on his cravat as if that might restore some dignity. “I apologise.”
“For that kiss?” she said. “I wouldn’t.”
Heat crept up his neck, and a reluctant smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
“Did you find anything?” she asked.
Dorian shook his head. “Nothing. That doesn’t necessarily rule him out, but… it’s a good start. I consider him on my ‘unlikely’ list.”
Selene nodded, then hesitated before asking, “I have to ask… is my father on your list?”
“He was,” Dorian admitted. “For a time, he seemed a likely suspect—his friendship with the Duke was well known, and he was willing to marry his daughter off to him. But nothing in his correspondence suggested he was in league with him.”
Selene nodded again, though a frown creased her brow. “How?”
He blinked. “Come again?”
“How did you investigate my father?” she pressed. “I think the first time I ever saw you at Roselune Abbey was the day we eloped.”
Dorian smiled. “I have my ways.”
She huffed. “Dorian! Stop being so elusive!”
He turned towards the door, smirking. “I’m more attractive that way.”
She followed after him, and he felt her presence like a gravitational pull. “Are you sure you have what you need?”
“I think so.”