Leticia nodded. “Then we play the part they expect. Until they show their hand.”
He offered her his arm. He imagined this was when he’d step in,the moment she would need him. But she had never needed him to stand in front of her. Only beside.
She rested her hand against his sleeve, not as a plea, but a choice.
She wasn’t alone. Not in that salon. Not in danger. Not now. She had her aunt at her back. Barrington and Mrs. Bainbridge holding the line. And Gabriel, even though he hadn’t yet known how to stand with her.
He took her arm, gently. Their steps matched in perfect rhythm. They crossed the floor together, past whispers, glances, and candlelight.
And behind them, the soiree swirled on.
But ahead, somewhere in the circle of polite conversation and too-sweet champagne, was the one who believed the brooch still belonged to the Order.
Leticia scanned the crowd.
There was Erica, chin dipped, smile too practiced. Professor Tresham, at ease, unreadable. Townsend, near the window, sipping his drink with the careless grace of a man watching everything. Maybe it was none of them.
Gabriel’s hand rested lightly at her back. She didn’t speak. Neither did he. They stood together in the hum of music and polished civility.
And if the Order meant to take her brooch, they would have to go through both of them.
Chapter Thirty-Two
The music fromthe quartet curled beneath the chandeliers, graceful and measured, never still in Lady Eastbury’s salon. Guests clustered in conversational knots beneath glittering sconces, the hush of silk and the clink of porcelain weaving a pattern of civility over the tension rising beneath it all.
She moved with deliberate ease, Gabriel a quiet presence beside her. They played the part well. A recently engaged couple basking in polite attention. She inclined her head to those who offered congratulations, accepted compliments on her gown and smile, and allowed the glances at her shoulder to speak for themselves.
The brooch glittered high on her bodice. In any other light, it might have passed as ordinary. Here, among crystal chandeliers and social scrutiny, it sparked like flint against stone.
The hum of conversation thickened with curiosity. Smiles were too bright, laughter a note too sharp. “Every gaze in the room is focused on you,” Gabriel murmured, offering her a fresh glass of champagne.
Leticia accepted the glass but didn’t drink. “That was the idea.”
He gave the faintest nod, his gaze drifting to the periphery where footmen moved with mechanical precision. The crowd had grown, but not by much. There were only a few unfamiliar faces.
Gabriel inspected the edges of the room as if measuring the room for movement. The posture, the stillness of some guests, the way one man near the terrace doors kept glancing at Leticia without everapproaching. It all built a pattern. He wasn’t certain what he was looking for, only that he’d know when something slipped out of place.
One man leaned against a column near the musicians. Nondescript, but too observant. Gabriel recognized him, Barrington’s man. One of three embedded in the crowd. Leticia was being watched by more than the Order tonight.
“Anyone of concern?” she asked softly.
“Not yet,” he said. “But I don’t think we’ll have to wait long.”
Leticia turned to acknowledge Lady Marchmont, who swept over with a smile and an assessing gaze.
“My dear, your engagement is the topic of the evening,” she said. “And that brooch, how bold. It catches the light magnificently.”
Leticia offered a soft smile. “It belonged to my mother.”
“And looks as if it was meant for you,” Lady Marchmont replied, her tone kind but curious. “I daresay you’ll start a fashion.”
She moved on before Leticia could answer.
Gabriel leaned slightly closer. “That was subtle. For her.”
“She’s deciding whether I’m reckless or fashionable.”
Leticia felt the eyes. Dozens. Not all unfriendly. Not all known. Her pulse skated beneath her skin. If she faltered, even slightly, it would be noticed.
