Page 71 of A Single Thread of Moonlight

“Of course we are,” I said.

“Of course we are, Stefan,” Stefan corrected me.

“Of course we are, Stefan.” I smiled. “Then I suppose in private, you must call me Serena.”

“Serena.” Stefan rolled the name around in his mouth like a fine wine he was tasting for the first time. “A beautiful name, for a beautiful young woman. From the Latin, I believe, for tranquillity.”

“I believe so,” I agreed, feeling anything but tranquil.

Stefan sat down opposite me and we began our breakfast.

“Did you enjoy the ball last night?” Stefan asked.

“Very much.”

“And this time you did not turn into a pumpkin at midnight,” he teased.

“Cinderella doesn’t turn into a pumpkin,” I replied, smiling at him. “Her carriage does.”

“Ah, yes,” Stefan twinkled. “You are quite right, and I am glad to hear it. Turning into a pumpkin would be most inconvenient.”

“Pumpkins don’t get to eat potted ham,” I agreed, spearing some with my fork.

Stefan laughed. “You are an absurd creature.”

“So are you!”

“What a pair we make.”

He was so easy to talk to and he made me laugh. I felt comfortable with him. I tried not to let the guilt tie my insides into knots.

We had both finished eating and were nursing our cups of tea when we were joined by another guest.

To my astonishment, it was Nick. He was dressed as elegantly as ever, but there was a crease between his eyes. He looked as though he hadn’t slept.

“My god!” Stefan exclaimed. “My friend, I had not thought to see you until well into the afternoon. Is this not positively daybreak for you?”

Nick shrugged. “Last night’s festivities were quite bracing,” he said. “I found that I woke earlier than usual this morning.”

He had barely glanced at me and I felt a strange sense of disappointment. I didn’t know what had happened between us last night, but something surely had? I remembered again the look on his face when he realized I had made the shot – the gleeful recognition; that somehow, something about us was the same. That, in spite of the layers of deception between us, Nicholas Wynter truly saw me, as no one else had. And I saw him. Despite his posturing, despite the mask of indifference he wore. I saw him.

Or, at least, that was what I had thought last night. Now, though, I was less sure.

“Ah,” Stefan said, gesturing towards the door. “Here is Lottie. Perhaps a cup of coffee for my friend Lord Wynter, to help him ease into the day.”

Nick turned to see the maid standing in the doorway, and a look of intense displeasure fell across his face. I could hardly blame poor Lottie for standing pale and trembling under such a gaze. The girl looked as though she were about to burst into tears.

“You should not be waiting on us at breakfast,” he said coldly. “Where is the footman? Please go and inform the butler at once.”

I scowled at him. Lottie sketched the briefest curtsey and turned in a swirl of skirts to leave the room as quickly as possible.

“That was a harsh, Nick,” Stefan said. “The household is probably at sixes and sevens after last night’s party. What need have we for a footman?”

Nick’s gaze returned to the prince. “It is the way things are done,” he said finally.

Nick turned his attention to the rack of toast on the table, and Stefan caught my eye, giving me an amused look.

“I see someone overindulged last night,” Stefan said, pushing back his chair and getting to his feet. “You always were like a bear with a sore head in the morning. I must leave Miss Fox to tease you out of your bad mood, however; I have an appointment with my groom.” He turned to me, executing a bow. “Miss Fox, I hope I shall have the pleasure of your company later, perhaps for a walk in the gardens?”