The music ended. Hugo released her waist and bowed. She curtsied, and when she straightened, the guarded look was gone, replaced by the familiar, maddening smirk.
“Your waltzing has improved,” he said. “Your interrogation technique remains appalling.”
“I was not interrogating you.”
“You were. But you did it with excellent posture, so I will allow it.”
She pressed her lips together against the laugh that threatened to escape and placed her hand on his offered arm. They returned to the edge of the ballroom, where Sophia and Edward waited with the composed patience of people who had been watching every step.
The evening wound down. Hugo handed Lily into the Brimsey carriage, his fingers lingering against hers for a moment longer than necessity demanded. She did not pull away. She told herself it was for the benefit of anyone who might be watching.
She told herself many things in the carriage ride home. None of them were particularly convincing.
The Heatherwell study smelled of leather and good brandy, and Edward poured two glasses with the unhurried ease of a man settling into a conversation he had been waiting to have.
Hugo accepted his glass and dropped into the chair opposite the desk. He stretched his legs toward the fire and let the silence sit.
Edward never rushed. It was one of the things Hugo valued most about their friendship. Edward would circle a subject three times before approaching it, examining every angle and testing the footing.
“You danced with her tonight,” Edward said.
“I danced with my fiancée. At a ball. Scandalous behavior, I know.”
“You danced with her the way a man dances with a woman he wants, not the way a man dances with an arrangement.”
Hugo swirled his brandy. The firelight caught the amber liquid and threw warm shadows across the rug.
“She is my fiancée, Edward. The performance requires conviction.”
“Is that what this is? Conviction?”
“It is what it needs to be.”
Edward settled into his own chair and crossed one ankle over the other. He regarded Hugo with the patient, unblinking attention of a man who had known him since their years at Eton and could read the difference between his masks the way other men read the morning papers.
“Hugo.”
“Edward.”
“I have known you for fifteen years. I was there when you drank an entire bottle of claret on a dare and climbed the chapel roof at school. I was there when Sebastian…” Edward paused. The name landed between them like a stone dropped into still water. “I was there for all of it. You do not need to perform for me.”
Hugo’s jaw tightened. He took a long pull of his brandy and let the burn settle in his chest.
“What do you want me to say?”
“I want you to tell me whether this arrangement is still an arrangement, or whether it has become something else.”
The fire crackled. A log shifted and sent a plume of sparks up the chimney.
“It is an arrangement,” Hugo said. “She wants Wilfrey. I want to find whoever published that forgery and ensure they answer for it. When both objectives are achieved, the engagement dissolves, and we return to our respective lives.”
“And what if she does not want Lord Wilfrey by then?”
“She will. He is everything she thinks she wants. Steady. Intellectual. Safe.” Hugo pronounced the last word as though it tasted like something stale.
“You say that as if safety is a character flaw.”
“I say it as a man who knows the difference between safety and settling.” He met Edward’s gaze. “Lily is extraordinary. She is sharp, fierce, and brave enough to walk into a rake’s house at midnight and shove a scandal sheet into his chest. A man like Wilfrey would spend thirty years trying to sand those edges down, and she would let him because she believes there is no alternative.”
