“It’s just dessert,” Seth murmured dryly, leaning toward him. “Don’t declare war.”
“You know it isn’t the custard I want to crush,” Alasdair bit out, teeth clenched.
Elizabeth’s gaze flicked to him across the table. She held it deliberately and something wicked sparkled in her eyes.
A knowing look. A dare. Then, she smiled.
He was done for.
She would be his undoing. And she knew it.
The drawing room buzzed with music, the clink of glasses, and the hum of conversation, but Elizabeth felt the echo of her own performance reverberating beneath her skin.
She had followed Alasdair’s teachings to perfection.
And itworked.
People noticed. She noticed.
She had power.
And yet, that power came with an aftertaste: bittersweet and a little dirty, as though she’d traded something of herself for applause she wasn’t sure she wanted.
Did she regret it? Not exactly.
“You’re different,” Wilhelmina murmured beside her, absently twirling the contents of her glass. “Like at the musicale.”
Elizabeth glanced over. “Me? Different?”
Wilhelmina didn’t even blink. “More confident. A little saucier. And may I say it,terrifying.It’s like our mother and Victoria had a child raised by a courtesan.”
Elizabeth choked. “Youdid notjust say that!”
Her laughter was soft, but not entirely comfortable.
“You know exactly what I mean.” Wilhelmina shrugged. “You’re… purposeful now. And it’s working. Pomfrey was ready to propose before the custard was served.”
“I want a match, Mina,” Elizabeth said, more quietly now. “This season. It cannot drag on. I’ve suffered this parading about long enough. First our father, now your mother. I deserve a say in how this ends.”
Her sister grew uncharacteristically serious. “Just promise me you’ll choose someone who makes you happy. Not someone who merely fits the role.”
Elizabeth’s throat tightened. In her mind’s eye, she saw Pomfrey’s polite smile… and then another image crashed into it.
The Duke of Redmoor. His wicked grin. His eyes, which were a forest at dusk. Which held the wild promise of something ancient and untamed, the kind of place where nymphs whispered from behind moss-draped trees and shadows shimmered with secrets.
There was mischief in them, yes, a glint that teased and beckoned, but also something deeper—sensual, alive, beguiling. Looking into them felt like stepping off the path and letting the woods swallow you whole.
The man was maddening. And far too present in her thoughts.
She exhaled sharply.
Speak of the devil.
He was across the room. He slipped toward the balcony, the double doors glinting behind him in the low light. Before he disappeared through them, he looked over his shoulder.
And caught her gaze.
He tilted his head, just a fraction.