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A delighted grin, much wider than her usual aloof smile, crossed her face. “Mr.Davies!” she squealed.
Definitely the punch, then.
She took a step back and looked him over, head to toe. The squint returned. “But who are you supposed to be?”
“King Charles II,” he huffed.
Lady Arlington then burst out laughing. “Oh dear,” she said after a moment. “You’re serious.”
“Quite.” Rafe then offered her his arm. “May I escort you to the refreshments?”
It was growing crowded in this section of the room, and Rafe was becoming uncomfortably warm.
Lady Arlington threaded her arm through his. “Please. I’ve been meaning to speak to you.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Oh? I’m all ears.”
“It’s about Sylvia—I mean, Miss Sparrow.” Rafe wondered if she felt his arm tense beneath hers. “I hope you don’t think me too forward. I only wanted to say how important she is to me—and my aunt, of course.”
He kept his focus forward. “Naturally.”
“And that we have grown to appreciate her greatly in a very short time.”
“Understandable.” Rafe longed to press her on this lie to gain more information about Sylvia, but now was hardly the time. She was protecting her friend. He respected that.
“And that I don’t think we are the only ones who have developed a…a…fondnessfor her.”
Even in its subtlety, this was a bold statement for her to make. Rafe decided to give credit to the punch once again.
“You are not wrong, my lady,” he began. “I have indeed noticed that Miss Sparrow has many fine qualities.”
“I knew it. Youlikeher.”
Rafe couldn’t help but laugh at the delight in her voice. “Yes, I’m afraid you’ve caught me.”
A rather smug smile came over Lady Arlington before she abruptly stopped and turned to him. “I’ve decided to trust your intentions here, Mr. Davies. I’m sure you must realize how significant this is.”
Rafe began to blush, and this time he couldn’t blame it on the heat of the room. “Yes,” he said softly.
“But if you give me the slightest reason to doubt you, I will not hesitate to destroy you. Understand?”
All Rafe could do was nod in the face of a stare so commanding it would make even Athena cower. Her eyes appeared to search his, but she seemed to like what she found there, and after a moment the lightness returned. “Wonderful. Now, would you be so kind as to fetch me a glass of that delightful punch?”
Rafe returned her smile and bowed. “Of course, dear goddess. It would be my pleasure.”
***
An hour later Rafe escaped onto the back terrace. The ballroom had grown even more stifling, and he needed a break from the crush. Rafe had spoken with nearly all the guests staying at the castle but once again found nothing of substance. He descended the stairs and headed toward an empty space of lawn. A few couples strolled arm in arm on the grounds lit by dramatic, medieval-looking torches, but the cool weather kept most of the guests inside. He needed to seriously consider the likelihood that he would not uncover anything at all, that he would not win Wardale’s favor, and he would have to return to London a failure.
The one thing Rafe had spent years diligently avoiding now seemed inevitable. His chest tightened at the thought of meeting Gerard and explaining what had happened. It wasn’t his fault, but that would hardly matter. His brother would gloat in his usual way, and Rafe had no recourse to challenge him. Nothing that declared “See, Iamworth something.”
There would be no group of agents to train, no improvements to oversee, no chance to make his own mark on the world—a world inherited by men like his father and brother and built by men like Wardale. Instead, all he would be left with was the reputation he had carefully crafted to make him seem as useless and dissolute as possible. What a marvelous joke.
Rafe turned around. The castle glowed with light from the ballroom, while a few windows on the upper floors emitted faintly flickering lights. Sylvia’s room was part of a suite shared by Lady Arlington and Mrs. Crawford, located on the same floor as his own, though on the other side. Rafe had put off searching it in a desperate bid to retain some degree of morality, but he wouldn’t be able to avoid doing so much longer. Not if Wardale demanded it. His shoulders sagged as he let out a weighty breath. Was she still awake, sitting beside one of those windows with the lonely lights? Was she thinking of him? And would she still want him if this was all he could ever be?
He glanced back at the ballroom. It was still early. No one would be retiring for several more hours, including Mrs. Crawford, who was busy holding court when he left.
Go to her.
