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Elijah breaks the balance with a sharp smile.

“I see you are all singularly interested in what Viscount Rochefort allows his body to consume.”

Nathaniel turns toward him, his face hardening.

“Do not take it out on the others,” Dorian says, “if for once you have encountered someone who does not consider you.”

I rest my hand on his knee before he can add more. I feel the muscle beneath the fabric stiffen, then yield slightly.

I take the brandy cream and pour it into the chocolate.

Richard observes the movement, curious. “Do you believe the result will be agreeable?”

I continue to stir the spoon. “Yes. I have had occasion to try it before.”

Isobel looks at me, piqued. “Do you make a habit of mixing what is offered to you?”

I lift my eyes to her.

“Do you make a habit of looking at what belongs to others?”

Dorian tightens his hand over mine.

Nathaniel rebukes his sister. “Isobel.”

She lowers her gaze.

As I said before, my patience is particularly thin today.

Julian rotates his cup between his fingers. “The true pleasure lies right there: discovering new flavors.”

Elijah turns toward Richard with a sharp snap.

“Tell him to speak to me.” His finger jerks toward Nathaniel.

“I do not have the power to impose conversation upon my brother, Mr. Lirael.”

Elijah crosses his arms, his gray eyes, already light, narrowing until they become paler.

“You are ill-bred.”

Nathaniel slowly lifts his gaze. “What is it you desire?”

Elijah leans toward him. “Consideration.”

Nathaniel inclines his torso forward just enough to be heard.

“I do not intend to grant it to you. You are behaving inopportunely.” Then he straightens, already distant.

“Elijah, enough,” Lavinia intervenes, setting down her spoon. “You are making yourself ridiculous.”

Beneath the table, I feel the back of Dorian’s hand move against mine. His thumb follows the line of the vein, counting the beats.

I do not pull away.

I do not want to.

Maybe I have become delirious, but right now, I want his touch.