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I want to feel her silken skin beneath my fingers. I want to bury my head in her soft black hair and inhale her scent. I want to drag my tongue over every inch of her skin and reveal all the secrets that dress is hiding.
I try to look away, but my body feels alive for the first time in years. Heat curls in my core at the sight of her leaning toward her mother, the long column of her neck exposed.
I’m not here to meet anyone. I’m only here to say congratulations to the monarchs and then slip out without anyone noticing. The King and I have become closer since he took the throne, as he’s trying to rid Farcliff Court of all the corrupt, venomous courtiers his father supported. Ever since my brother died, I’ve wanted to do the same.
But tonight isn’t about business. It’s about congratulating the royal family and making an appearance, then leaving before it gets so torturous I want to follow my brother to the grave.
Flicking my eyes to the opposite corner of the room, my mouth tastes bitter. I pinch my lips together as I watch that snake, Gregory, pretend to laugh at someone’s joke.
I can’t be in the same room as him. I can’t watch him swan around the room like he doesn’t belong in jail. Every time I see his name in the papers, extolling his virtues and congratulating him on his donations to medical research, it makes me want to wreck something. Or someone. Mostly him.
The Count lifts his eyes, and my blood turns to ice. He’s seen her. His lips have tugged into a horrid smile, and I watch his hand drift unconsciously toward his waistband.
Disgusting. He wouldn’t be worthy of kissing her shoes, let alone touching himself at the sight of her.
I glance at the woman again, feeling a tug in the center of my chest. Her mother—at least, I assume it’s her mother, based on how similar they look—grabs her elbow and whispers something in her ear. They start walking. Count Gregory watches my girl’s every move, and I realize she’s heading toward him.
No.
Fuck no.
No fucking way.
Anger bubbles through my veins. Everything’s hot. I tug the collar of my shirt, wishing I hadn’t tied my bowtie quite so tight.
Then, as if she senses me, she lifts her eyes to mine. I’m nailed to this spot on the floor. I can’t move. For the few seconds that she keeps her eyes on mine, the pain inside me dulls ever so slightly. Ever since my family died, there’s been a high-pitched humming in my ears. It quiets down, and I almost feel like myself again.
God, I want to touch her. I need to know what she tastes like. I need to wrap my arms around her and hold her close.
But she drags her eyes away from mine and paints a smile on those perfect lips, the guests parting to let her pass as she walks straight to Count fucking Gregory.
4
Ada
Every cell in my body is tuned into the Duke of Blythe’s frequency. Even from across the room, his eyes are magnetic. I can’t see the color of them, but I can imagine the shifting green within them. My heart thumps as my whole body heats, caught somewhere between walking and stumbling as my parents drag me across the room.
Reluctantly, I look away from the Duke to make sure I don’t fall flat on my face. I’m breathless.
Stealing a glance across the room, disappointment crashes into me when I see he’s gone. The space he only just occupied is empty, and I feel an ache in the center of my chest.
Silly. That’s all I am. I had a glass of champagne on an empty stomach and I’m already a little tipsy. That’s the only explanation for my light-headedness and the feeling that my tongue is made of lead.
My mother comes to a stop, giving a warm greeting to Count Gregory.
His thin lips curl into a cold smile, and he drops them to touch my mother’s extended fingers. “Duchess Belcourt,” he croons, smiling as his eyes remain dark. “Ravishing as always.” He greets my father, then, and finally turns to me.
The warmth that ran down my spine when the Duke of Blythe looked at me evaporates. In its place, a slimy, cold feeling inches over my skin, crawling across my pores. I shiver.
“Good evening, Lady Belcourt. I was saddened to hear about your sister’s accident, but I’m so very glad you were able to take her place.”
His lips curl up farther, but I wouldn’t quite call it a smile. With a hawk nose and dark eyes, the Count looks more dangerous than friendly. He extends his hand toward me, and I slip my fingers against his, fighting the urge to shudder.
When his lips touch my fingers, I want to puke.
My sister can’t marry this man.
No way.
