She had always been like this. Unshakable. Fierce. And for too long, he had tried to shield her from the storm, not realizing shewasthe storm.
If anyone reached for her, he would cross the room in a heartbeat. Protocol be damned. This was no longer about the plan.
She wasn’t his to protect. She was his to stand beside.
The quartet played on. Laughter spilled around them. And somewhere nearby, a decision was being made.
Leticia let her breath settle, slow and measured.
If the Order wanted the brooch, and if Erica was ready to make her move, it would not be in shadow. It would be here, in the light. The first move was no longer hers. But the final one might be.
The snare had been laid. And the game had begun.
Chapter Thirty-Three
The air shatteredwith a scream, a high, ragged wail that split the music and froze conversation mid-word.
A bowstring snapped against a violin, releasing a discordant screech that hung in the air. Someone gasped. A chair scraped backward. Silver clattered against porcelain. A delicate chime of crystal hitting marble rang out, followed by a glass that toppled and broke.
Silence followed for a single heartbeat.
Murmurs rose, soft at first, scattered across the room. “Did you hear that?” “Who screamed?” “Did someone fall?”
The musicians faltered, fingers hovering just above their strings. The conductor turned, searching for guidance. Near the head of the room, the hostess was already on her feet. Somewhere near the card tables, a servant dropped a tray. The second crash was louder, clumsier. The scent of spilled wine joined the perfume-laced air as liquid spread like blood across the polished floor.
Chairs scraped. Fans snapped shut. Every sound after struck too loud.
Leticia’s fingers gripped Gabriel’s arm more tightly. Beneath her hand, his muscles had gone taut. He scanned the room, surveying exits, gauging expressions, estimating distance. He was not alarmed, but alert.
At the far end of the ballroom, another gasp rippled through the guests. A footman hurried past, calling for fresh linens. Someone sobbed, the sound too raw for theatrics.
From the open terrace doors, a draft swept in, sharp with night air. One candle flickered. Followed by another. Half the room shifted their attention toward the source of the cold, toward the open doors and the garden beyond.
Gabriel leaned down, his voice low against her ear. “Stay close.”
She nodded once. Her lips pressed into a line, but her jaw did not tremble. The weight of the brooch at her throat was suddenly heavier and warmer, as though it knew what it had drawn. She had agreed to this. To be the spark. To lure the Order into the open. She had accepted the risk.
But she hadn’t expected it to be like this, as though the rules had shifted before the first move had been made.
They moved with the crowd, edging toward the terrace. The surge of guests pressed in from all sides. Shoulders jostled her, perfume mixed with cologne, and the air grew thick with murmurs and heat. A heel caught the toe of her slipper. Her breath caught. Her balance tipped for a moment before Gabriel steadied her.
Ahead, the garden flickered with lantern lights, but shadows stretched long between them. Too many lanterns remained unlit. The night was uneven, too quiet in places, too loud in others.
She didn’t look away. Not from the garden. Not from the press of shadows beyond the terrace. Something in the air had turned.
It wasn’t fear. Not yet. But her skin prickled with awareness, and the back of her neck tightened in warning.
“Leticia!”
A hand brushed hers.
Erica.
Her voice trembled with urgency. She looked flushed, breathless, dark strands of hair loosened from their twist, clinging to her cheeks.
“Your aunt, Lady Eastbury, she’s in the garden. She slipped.”
Leticia blinked. “What? Where?”
