Page 59

“Do you like to eat?” Christopher asked.

Oliver heaved a sigh.

“When the cook asks you to twirl, you twirl.”

Oliver stomped in a circle, hands thrown out to the sides in the way of a petulant child.

“Oh, you are dashing, Mr Lioni. Especially that haircut. Those curls remind me of His Grace. But I suppose they would, considering the same man held the scissors.” Oliver tensed at the compliment.

Christopher chuckled. “Do you dislike His Grace so much that even a similar hair style offends you? Truly, you will have to get past your distaste for the aristocracy if you are to remain, Oliver. You rubbed along well enough with Her Grace and Lady Nora.”

Christopher paused then, cocked his head to the side, and really looked at Oliver. He had changed dramatically since arriving, but as Oliver’s near-constant companion, Christopher hadn’t really noticed how much until that moment. It was unique, this relationship they’d forged in a relatively short time, and it gave Christopher the odd sensation of having known the man forever.

Oliver’s fists clenched. “Let’s get this over with. Forget the mirror. I’m sure it’s good enough.”

“Thank you for the compliment, Mrs Simmons. We will see you ladies later.” Christopher lowered in an elegant bow that set off a rush of tittering, then headed towards the ballroom.

Hundreds of delicate ivory candles lit up the twin chandeliers that hung from the ceiling, casting the room in a dusky golden glow. Deep purple satin swept between the sleek marble pillars, and elegantly cascading blooms pinned into the fabric created a waterfall of scented petals. Violet and the staff had outdone themselves with the finishing touches.

Just through the open double doors that led out to the veranda, Violet was holding court in a cluster of gentlemen. Sofia stood beside her. He watched her gaze settle upon his, then she dipped into a slight curtsy, the long satin froth of her light blue gown caressing the parquet floor. He forced himself to blink when his eyes grew uncomfortably dry, then struggled further to keep his steps measured as he approached. She had tucked a white rose into her loosely upswept curls and left one errant strand whispering across her collarbone. The tip of the curl tumbled towards the voluptuous swell of her breasts.

“You are stunning. I can scarcely breathe at the sight of you.”

She beamed back at him. “I find I’m not up to the task of returning such an eloquent compliment, but … you’ll do.”

“No yellow in my wardrobe tonight, unfortunately. I’m afraid black is the only acceptable colour at these affairs. Your brother cleans up nicely. Did you see him?”

“I did not, but I think we should seek him out. I cannot imagine he is feeling very comfortable right now.”

“Indeed he is not. Rather surly this evening, actually.”

She searched the crowd, her smile faltering then disappearing entirely as she spotted her brother easily, his complexion standing out amongst all the fair-skinned faces.

Christopher leaned close to Sofia so as to be heard over the music and chatter. “Dance with him. Go on.”

Sofia squeezed Christopher’s arm in wordless gratitude, then stepped away and made her way to her brother. She wrapped both hands about his bicep. “Will you not ask me to dance, Oli?”

He gave a slow nod, his eyes shifting about the room. A waltz had begun, and Sofia was thankful for the relative privacy as they began the opening steps.

“Your hair. Good God. You’d look like his twin now but for your darker skin. What were you thinking?”

“I was thinking that your valet bullied me into a haircut and this was the result. Fuck, Sofia! I was already nervous enough about being here, and now I am dressed in the man’s clothes with my hair styled nearly identically to his. I’ve been hiding in the corner for the last forty minutes for fear someone might approach me from behind and mistake me for the goddamned duke!”

She reached up and touched a curl. “It really is uncanny. You even have a matching dimple, just there. Have you noticed?”

“Of course I’ve noticed. I’m not blind. We’ve also inherited the same mannerisms. I feel like I should tie my hands behind my back. The less time I share the same room with him, the better. Sofia—” He stumbled over his own feet then groaned. “You were right. Right about these people. Right about everything. I don’t want to hurt them, and I can’t stay. It’s only a matter of time before our similarities are noticed and remarked upon. I would be a terrible duke if the truth came out. What’s more, I don’t want to take this place from him. Did you know about Zachariah? The dukedom is the only thing keeping that boy safe. I cannot be responsible for destroying a child.” His eyes were liquid brown. Lost. “Sofi, what have I done?”

Sofia had never seen him so miserable. Ignoring her own gurgling frustration, she took a deep breath and attempted to enact some order over her thoughts. Before she could, he continued.

“I have to leave, Sofia, but you don’t. Christopher is a good man. He will take care of you.”

She was shaking her head, her tears blurring the room into indistinguishable colour. “No. I would never be able to see you again. I cannot …” A desperate noise escaped her lips and she was thankful for the clammer of music and chatter. “I’ll think of something, and if I can’t …” She hastily brushed away a tear. “If I can’t, then I’ll go with you.”

“No, Sofia. No.”

It was always going to end like this, and she had known it from the start. She couldn’t stay here and keep lying to Christopher, and she couldn’t send Oliver out in the world and never see him again. No matter how many lists she made, she couldn’t plot or plan another option when there wasn’t one.

“Just give me a little more time, and in the meantime, stay away from Northam Hall. Stay away from the duke.”