Page 97 of Ashen Torment

No, Richard.

Not today.

“Heaven help me, I’d be lost without you.”

From the side, I catch Lord Dorian’s body stiffening. His gaze slides to the arm resting on my shoulders.

I motion for Richard to go, we take the first steps toward the exit of the winter garden, the slightly fogged glass reflects the movement of the guests behind us. Before crossing the threshold, I feel a prickling at the back of my neck. I turn, my mother, standing between two pots of gardenias, is watching me.

The sharp pain in my head tightens into a thin ring.

I need brandy.

Or more laudanum.

Something, anything, as long as it makes the pain stop.

We exit. In the corridor, the footsteps of someone else join ours.

Richard turns. “Lord Dorian, are you leaving too?”

“No. I am accompanying you.”

“Did you not fear an epidemic?” I retort.

He remains unfazed. “I am concerned for Richard.”

“How kind of you.”

Richard laughs, but the laugh breaks into a cough.

“You are truly kind, Lord Dorian. It’s no surprise my sister Isobel harbors a certain liking for you.”

Another lash.

My temples burn, as if an invisible whip were striking the same spot over and over.

“Your sister is unfortunate.”

Behind me, Dorian stops for a second. His fingers slide from the seam of his waistcoat and close into a fist.

“Come now, Evander,” Richard reproaches me in a whisper. “That isn’t nice to say.”

We emerge into the courtyard. The fresh air pricks my forehead, but it is not enough to dispel the pressure. Étienne is already there.

“Do you desire something, Viscount?”

Then, with a quick bow to the others: “Gentlemen.”

Lord Presumption doesn’t even grant him a look. Richard does, just a polite nod.

“Lord Brownell is not well, Étienne, help him into his carriage.”

“Yes, Viscount.”

Richard lifts a hand in protest.

“Evander, I’m not that bad. I could manage on my own.”