Page 50 of Ashen Torment

I stare at him, incredulous. “Richard... what are you saying?”

But he has already vanished into the crowd with a light step, agile as if gliding through the figures. I sigh, feeling the silence fill the remaining space.

“Do not worry,” I say, my fingers still clenched around the brandy glass. “I have no need for company, especially yours.”

He briefly touches his nose, his gaze fixed on my wet lapel.

“You are soaked, Viscount.”

“It’s raining outside.”

His eyes drop back to the brandy glass.

He reaches out and slides a fingertip along the rim of my glass.

“Changed your taste, then? This seems a bit too severe a spirit for you.”

I move the glass away from his fingers, gripping it tighter.

“I fail to see why it should be considered excessive. And as for my taste, my preferences have not shifted.”

He shifts slightly, crossing his arms. “You do not care to cross new horizons, then?”

“I appreciate things already known,” I remark, setting the glass down on a nearby cabinet. “Things I understand, and that do not betray me.”

I slide off my black gloves and tuck them carefully into my jacket.

“I would appreciate it, Lord Vasiliev Ashford, if you would stop overstepping the boundary of my space.”

“I am overstepping your space?”

I fixate on a lock of his hair falling over his forehead, following it with my eyes, then shift my gaze to the brandy I left on the cabinet.

“Because of you, I can no longer drink it.”

He blinks slowly. “For what reason?”

“You touched it.”

His body tenses. He takes a step toward me, his jaw flexing and hands clenching slightly.

“Do you think, Viscount, that I have smallpox or cholera?”

I look away, avoiding the heat of his eyes on me.

“Would you drink it, then, in my place?”

He doesn’t answer.

I reach toward a tray held by a passing valet and take a flute of champagne. I wait for the young man to withdraw under Lord Dorian’s inflexible gaze. I give my wrist a slight turn, letting a finger touch the golden liquid.

His eyes widen, surprise flashes across his face.

I hold the glass out to him.

“Drink, then. Do not fear any disease from my side, either.”

He stares at the crystal for an instant, then my eyes, and the crystal again. I tilt my hand slightly, ready to set it on the cabinet, but he reaches out. He brushes my fingers as he takes the glass, bringing it to his lips without looking away from me. The golden liquid slides slowly down his throat. I feel heat spread across my face, the longer I watch him, the more obscene it feels.