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Dorian, a few paces from me, casts an accusatory look at her.

“If you were more covered, it would not happen.”

I turn toward him.

“You are being rude.”

A sardonic smile curls his lips, his pearly eyes narrow.

I would tear those lips away by force of bites.

Agnes, trying to lighten the tension, offers a smile.

“Such concern, Lord Vasiliev Ashford. Perhaps you should taste a sweet, so as to sweeten yourself a little.”

He rotates his body slightly toward me, his eyes gleaming with malice.

“Do not fear, I have recently tasted something... tremendously delicious.”

I feel the heat rise to my cheeks, the freezing air around us seems to have no effect anymore.

Then he leans even further toward me.

“And you, did you enjoy your fruit?”

“Certainly.”

She observes me with a slightly furrowed brow, her gaze betraying a hint of confusion.

“It was delicious,” I say to Agnes.

Nathaniel and Isobel return from the gazebo. Julian, with a slight bow, turns to me.

“Viscount, now it is your turn.”

I take a step back, hesitating.

“No, I...”

Dorian points to the gazebo.

“Let us go, Viscount.”

I feel all eyes fixed on me; to avoid further attention, I move forward. As we approach the gazebo, Dorian murmurs from my side: “You did not really eat that stuff she sent you, did you?”

I do not answer.

Stepping onto the gazebo, he insists. “Well?”

Exasperated, I let out a sigh.

“Thanks to someone, it was not possible for me, but I certainly could not tell her that.”

We position ourselves before the camera. Monsieur Viande approaches, the black cloth covering his head as he bends behind the lens.

“This is ridiculous... I do not know what expression to assume,” I whisper.

“Gentlemen, a little closer, if you please,” Monsieur Viande orders. “Viscount, slightly to the right. The composition must be impeccable.”