Page 252 of Ashen Torment

“Richard?”

“Am I not sufficient?”

I take a sip to hide the smile that rises.

“My brother will arrive shortly,” he says, his eyes scanning the room. He pulls off his gloves and rests them on the marble, rubbing his hands together lightly.

His gaze settles on me. “Is all well?”

I set the cup on the marble, the steam dispersing slowly.

“Yes, why do you ask?”

He narrows his eyes. “You seem troubled.”

It is difficult when he sees through me like that.

“Do not worry, Nathaniel.”

He seems about to say something, but remains silent.

“Is everything progressing well at the estate?” I ask, changing the subject.

“Well enough.”

“You seem very tired.”

A wry smile curves his lips, the scar on his cheek tensing slightly.

He lowers his gaze.

“You wore it.”

“What?”

He points to the Bohemian garnet pin held between the folds of my cravat.

“Oh, yes... I thank you again.”

Nathaniel’s eyes slide past me, fixing on a point in the room. His jaw tightens, his gaze becoming thin and rigid.

I turn my head and, amidst the white marble tables and trays of sweets, Lavinia’s red mane glitters in the warm light of the gas chandeliers; golden curls fall over Elijah’s shoulders; and between them is Julian, so flamboyant in his attire that he draws the eye effortlessly to the point that I wonder how I did not notice him immediately.

The latter is leaning forward, fingers interlaced beneath his chin, observing Elijah intently. His smile opens only on one side of his mouth; every so often, the tip of his tongue grazes his canine.

Elijah moves his hands slowly, as if dancing for someone; his gaze seems distracted from the surrounding world, directed at no one in particular.

Lavinia, however, is hunched over the page of a notebook; she lifts her head, and our eyes meet. She kicks Elijah under the table, and he turns toward them with the air of one who endures the banality of the gesture until his gaze falls upon Nathaniel.

His eyes narrow slightly, and for an instant, boredom gives way to a new curiosity. He rises from the table with fluid movements; Julian watches him for a moment, confused, before his eyes slide to Nathaniel and me. A thin smile curves his lips.

Elijah halts beside our table. The air moves with him, the scent of lilac invades the space.

“Viscount Evander.”

He turns his face toward Nathaniel, a rebellious curl escapes his low ponytail, held by a black velvet ribbon, and grazes his cheek as he passes.

“Tell me,” he adds in a light voice, “by whom are you accompanied?”