Page 120 of Ashen Torment

Lord Dorian’s hand brushing the hair from my ear with a delicacy that does not belong to him, a touch that seems to violate the entire world while remaining invisible to everyone else.

My stomach tightens.

I banish the thought before it flares up and I realign myself in my chair.

The Duchess flutters her lashes, picking up the thread.

“Exactly, Count. You have understood perfectly what I mean to say. Furthermore, there will also be—”

The sentence breaks. The butler appears at the threshold.

“Mademoiselle Lavinia Duprés is here.”

She enters, the crimson jacket hugs her shoulders in a masculine cut that would draw an indignant whisper from other women, but on her, it bestows the air of someone who has never asked permission to exist. Her red hair, loose and disheveled, looks like a fire that no one has truly tried to tame. She is a woman who breaks the rules as naturally as she breathes.

Lavinia crosses the room without hurrying, her gaze sliding over those present. “Duke Durant, forgive the delay.”

She tilts her head slightly toward Maurielle.

“Duchess.”

The Duchess lights up with a smile that softens even her ringlets.

“Enfin tu es là, mon orage, you know I was waiting for you.”

Lavinia says nothing more, she simply pulls out the chair next to Elijah and sits with a quick, clean movement.

He barely looks at her.

Count Nádasdy observes her as if he were evaluating a racehorse rather than a person.

“Duchess, do you not wish to introduce us?”

“Mademoiselle Lavinia Duprés, celebrated French pianist. I am surprised, Count, that her name is not already known to you.”

He gives a slight nod, but his eyes remain fixed on Lavinia, glistening. “An unforgivable lapse... at least on my part.”

He already wants her in his collection.

My mother, who never loses the thread of social combinations, interjects with a voice smoothed by breeding.

“So, the performance will include Mr. Lirael... Miss Duprés on the piano... Evander on the violoncello... and Mr. Saint-Clair with his... art.”

The Duchess nods. “Precisely so, Viscountess. Tell me, my dears, does this seem suitable to you?”

Elijah lifts his gaze toward me, then toward Lavinia, he nods without adding anything else. Lavinia, by contrast, leans back into her chair with ease, her fingers drumming an invisible rhythm on her leg.

“It is perfect for me. I have already played with the Viscount and with Mr. Lirael.”

The Duchess observes me.

“I shall be delighted, Your Grace.” I take another sip of wine.

Then her eyes slide over to René. He holds his napkin tight between three fingers, looking at no one directly; he turns his face just enough not to seem rude.

“Mr. Saint-Clair, do you accept?”

René nods without a word.