Gideon looked at him. “And Lady Persephone? She’s younger than that, and also unmarried, is she not?”
Blackwell’s face went still.
Gideon did not look away from Blackwell. “If we are to discuss inattentive brothers, let us be generous enough to include all offenders.”
“Perse?” Blackwell’s mouth turned down. “My sister knows her way around a ballroom.”
“Does she?” Gideon let his question land softly.
Blackwell’s gaze sharpened. “What the devil do you mean by that?”
“Only that you may wish to take a more particular interest in who has had your sister’s company… beyond the ballroom this evening.”
For a fraction of a second, Blackwell did not move.
Then his gaze shifted—sweeping the room as though seeing it anew.
When his eyes returned to Gideon, his jaw was set.
“I’ll have a name.”
Gideon considered mentioning Hatherleigh, but he did not truly know whether or not the man had anything to do with—whatever it was that had happened with Beatrice.
“It was not I who intervened.” Gideon shrugged. “Ask your sister. I daresay she will provide the more complete account.”
Then Grimm laughed. “It was Dash’s sister, wasn’t it? She was prowling the perimeter like a sentry tonight.”
“Apparently someone needs to.” Longstaffe sent them all an admonishing stare.
Grimm leaned back. “You volunteer, then?”
“I haven’t any sisters.” Longstaffe grimaced. “And I’m damn thankful for that.”
But Blackwell had been staring into his glass, and when he looked up, he met Gideon’s eyes and dipped his chin.
A meaningful silence hovered.
Longstaffe’s gaze settled on the center of the table. “London feels restless this spring.”
“Nothing new there,” Grimm said.
“How so?” Gideon asked.
Longstaffe’s expression lost its faint amusement.
“Groby is in town.”
Silence fell at the table.
A heavy silence.
An old one.
Ashebourne set down his cards. “For what purpose?”
Longstaffe gave him a look. “I doubt he has come for the opera.”
Gideon’s jaw tightened.
