Page 84

Still, she laid her hand on his sleeve and let him lead her out.

The first guests arrived at half past eight. Tyrone and his wife came first, followed by the Ashtons, the Gages, the Clydesdales, and a few older couples, the Hexleys among them.

It was an intimate evening, two dozen guests at most—the ones his mother had coaxed through their invitations or cornered into attending at the theater.

Also among them, by Sutton's quiet design, were Everly and every other man from the list he and Temperance had drawn up, any of whom might want him dead. The evening served a double purpose: it would pave Temperance's way back into society's good graces, and it would gather every suspect under one roof, where they could be watched.

Temperance smiled brightly, but Sutton knew her well enough to see in her eyes that she was incredibly nervous.

Then her eyes flicked to the side, and she stilled. Sutton followed her gaze to a tall figure next in line.

Viscount Landen.

As the line shuffled forward, Temperance clutched Sutton's arm.

He did not know whether she realized she was doing it, or whether her nerves had simply gotten the better of her.

Sutton had pictured this moment many times in the last week. In every version, Landen had been old, with crooked teeth and a balding head.

The truth could not have been further from that. Landen had a full head of dark brown hair, with no silver or thinning at the crown. He was broad-shouldered and in good spirits, strong and young, in the prime of his life.

Damn him.

On his arm, a composed, bright-eyed woman looked at her husband with adoration.

An uncomfortable prickle started in Sutton's chest.

Jealousy, because Temperance had loved this man and not him.

Envy, because Landen's wife so clearly adored him, and so, once, had Sutton's own.

He swallowed the feeling, then bowed over Viscountess Landen's hand.

That was when he noticed her rounded stomach, the fullness of her figure. He was hardly an expert, but she looked to be in the family way.

He glanced at Temperance, wondering if she, too, might be with child at this very moment, and instantly regretted the impulse.

She was looking at Landen with such wonder in her eyes, a way she had never looked at Sutton. Her breath caught, and she seemed suspended in time as she stared at him.

Landen stared back.

There was nostalgia in their gazes, and a quiet sadness. Seven years of it, passing between them in a single glance.

Landen bowed over her hand. "Lady Sutton. It is lovely to meet you again."

There was a pause before Temperance cleared her throat. "Lord Landen. Welcome."

"We are so happy to be here, Lady Sutton," Landen's wife said warmly.

Temperance blinked, as if coming out of a trance, and smiled at her. "It is a pleasure to welcome you."

The moment they moved away, Temperance let out a deep sigh. Her hand slid over his and squeezed. He understood that she meant to reassure him.

It did not work.

"Lady Sutton!"

Lucien Drake, Sutton's longtime friend, swept into a bow. He took Temperance's hand and pressed his lips to her knuckles, lingering well past decency.