Page 56

The tip of his shoe brushes mine.

He signals the valet, who this time approaches with the full silver tray, carrying several glasses. Simultaneously, we reach for the tray to take a brandy, we touch the same glass.

The liquid should be cool, but the only thing I feel is heat.

I withdraw my hand, he takes that brandy and sets it down in front of me, then takes another for himself.

I ignore the gesture and place an Eight on the table.

He settles into his chair. “You may drink it, I did not touch the rim.”

Edmund tilts his glass, then plays the Ten of Clubs.

“I beg of you,” he sighs, “do not make me regret inviting you.”

Julian remains undistracted. “Your calmness surprises me.”

“Do not mistake control for fear.” I take that glass of brandy, bring it to my lips, and let the liquid slide down.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see that smug half-smile from Lord Dorian. As if it weren’t enough, his knuckles graze my wrist. A quick gesture, but enough to make me perceive every vein on that cursed hand.

“Always so... attentive to everything?” he breathes.

“Always.”

Vane lets another card fall, the Ten, and turns a curious look toward me. “Is there any other book that would interest you, Viscount?

“I will let you know if I require anything.”

Lord Dorian shifts slightly, just enough to reduce the air between our hips to a veil. I draw the Ace of Clubs and play it.

I fix my eyes on him. “Concentrate on the game.”

He barely lifts his chin, and a corner of his mouth rises again without hinting at a response. I shift in my chair.

The game is broken by footsteps, Idris approaches the table.

“Have you changed your interests, Lord Vasiliev Ashford?” he asks with a smile. “I thought you were dedicated to Lady Isobel’s graces.”

Julian straightens up. “Idris!” He raises a hand toward him in an affectionate gesture.

Idris returns the nod. “Julian.”

Lord Dorian’s gaze becomes razor-sharp. His lower lip twitches. “There are presences that weary one from the very first breath.”

Mr. Edmund turns to him. “My lord, I gather your patience is quite limited.”

Julian laughs softly, lifts his glass, and offers it to Nabil.

He tilts his head toward Edmund, and the flash in his gray eyes is icy.

“Perhaps it would suit you, Mr. Vane,” he says with that polite voice that heralds a low blow, “to stick to your parchments and ciphers, instead of venturing into the interpretation of men.”

Then he turns back to Idris.

“As for you, Mr. Nabil,” he adds, “I fear the Duchess would be quite displeased to know you are diverting your zealous attention from her graces to mind my business.”

I let my gaze slide toward the room for a moment, trying to ignore the irritation rising in my throat. Idris twitches his lips, a brief expression of annoyance, but his gaze immediately returns to me.