Page 58 of The Oxford Guide to Scandal and Lies

Iris frowned, her eyes narrowing with a stubbornness that boded ill for dissuading her. “Do you not want me to go? Do I embarrass you around your posh friends?”

“What?” Gin exclaimed. “Of course not, darling. They’re just—odious people.”

Iris huffed. “You’re going.”

“As a favor to Harold Webb, if nothing else. Someone has to keep him out of the Damocles boys’ clutches. As much as I adore you, Tweety, I’m not sure you’re up for the task.”

“Of course, how silly of me.” Iris dipped in a dramatic curtsy. “We humble folk do so appreciate St. Ginevra’s favor.”

Gin caught her arm, forcing Iris to meet her eyes. “I mean it, darling. You need to be careful tonight.”

Confusion and frustration warred on Iris’s face, and Gin eased her grip, patting her friend’s hand before she questioned the warning.

“Is Sarita joining us too?” she asked lightly.

“No.” Iris’s face fell. “She’s arriving with someone else, I think.”

Ginevra’s smile tightened. “Splendid.”

There were times when the easy chatter of friends soothed Ginevra’s anxiety, and there were times when it wore upon her nerves to the breaking point. Crammed into the back of a car with Sidney while Harold and Iris held a rollicking conversation in the front seat was most certainly the latter. Her frame rigid, Gin drummed her fingers against the seat as the Oxfordshire countryside sped by under Harold’s leaden foot.

The great responsibility of their business that evening combined with the pressure of her friends’ presence put a heavy weight on Ginevra’s shoulders, one that would not shift no matter how much she reminded herself they were not acting alone. The Rook had assured them an adequate number of agents were placed among staff hired for the evening, and someone would identify themselves as an ally. But it all seemed very risky, and Ginevra wasn’t sure she enjoyed this much adrenaline. It made her itchy and unsettled, like she could run to Foxley Hall faster than Harold’s speeding car.

A soft touch trailed against Gin’s little finger, and she found Sidney’s hand resting beside hers. “It’s going to be fine,” he murmured.

A lump rose in Ginevra’s throat. It was absurd that Sidney Braithwaite should be offering her gentle reassurances after she had wheedled and prodded and dragged him into all this. But the dark tuxedo he wore that evening highlighted the quiet confidence in his manner that usually lurked just beneath the veneer of annoyance, and Ginevra felt the vexing desire to straighten his tie and smooth his lapels—as if touching him might transfer that confidence to her. She dipped her head in a tight nod, pressing against his hand to show she appreciated the gesture when a glance from Iris over the seat back made them both jerk apart.

When they unbundled upon the Foxley Hall drive, Gin stepped to the side to shake out her skirt and compose herself. Iris, however, swooped upon her with the accusatory air of a police inspector.

“You might have told me Sidney Braithwaite is sweet on you,” she whispered. “That was the most awkward drive of my life! I had to talk nonstop to cover up the moon-eyed silence in the back seat.”

Gin’s head snapped upright. “What—!”

“Don’t play innocent.” Iris crossed her arms. “That man had his eyes fixed on you the entire ride. Is that why you didn’t want me to come? Is it you that’s hiding a lover, not Sarita?”

“He isn’t! I promise we’re only—” Gin cut off with a strangled sound. How the devil was she supposed to explain what tonight meant for her, for Sidney—how the nerves and apprehension of what lay before them could be confused for a different sort of entanglement? She couldn’t, of course, but she also couldn’t allow such a misunderstanding for Sidney’s sake. He would be mortified.

Gin squeezed her friend’s hand. “We’re friends, Tweety, I promise, and barely even that. If Sidney had invited me, I would have laughed in his face. I’m here with Donald.”

There was a soft footfall on the gravel behind Gin, and Iris buttoned up her mouth, eyes wide with alarm.

“Are you two ready?” Sidney asked.

His voice was no stiffer than usual, but he wouldn’t quite meet Gin’s eyes when she turned around. Iris hurried to join Harold, and Sidney hesitated only a moment before following without Ginevra.

She stifled a groan. God help her if Sidney had heard the entire exchange. The man was already as touchy as a pregnant barn cat, and gossip about their relationship could undo every bit of hard work she’d put into softening him up. With a sigh, Gin gathered her skirt and trailed after her party into the glowing edifice of Foxley Hall.

Harold had spoken true when he said the Damocles Club was inviting everyone. Transportation had probably determined how many actually attended—a factor that favored the upper classes more likely to own and store vehicles near the university—but the glittering throng inside the grand foyer felt as though the night would set a record for a private club event. Gin made her way through the crowd to join Donald near the grand staircase.

“Ginevra—” Donald wafted a kiss near her cheek and offered her a champagne flute from a passing footman. “I was beginning to fear something had kept you in Oxford.”

“Only fretting over my outfit, I’m afraid.”

“You’re lovely,” he drawled, his diction already slurred with alcohol.

She accepted the compliment and champagne with grace but returned the drink to a different footman when Donald looked away.

He shifted her to stand beside him, placing a hand on the small of her back, and Gin struggled to keep her face in check. She took a few deep breaths, reminding herself that this was the goal, after all, but it was Sidney’s eyes locking onto hers from across the room that steadied her. That beautiful, stony face, so often unreadable, telegraphed a clear message for her alone: They were there to avert a catastrophe, and they had to persevere. She had to persevere.