Page 19
“What solicitude you show for one whom you claim is not in your thoughts. Do you perhaps fear for my soul?”
Richard lets out a small laugh as he looks around.
“Yes, Lord Dorian, you must understand that Evander is a most kindly soul.”
He carefully adjusts the fold of his cravat, smiles briefly at Richard, and then his gaze meets mine, lucid and imperturbable.
“In any case, I cannot confess a sin I have yet to commit, Viscount.”
I move my foot slightly beside Richard, feeling his amused gaze settle upon me before it slides back to the other.
“What sin could possibly weigh upon Lord Dorian, come now?”
“I am persuaded he possesses them in abundance.”
I turn toward Lord Dorian.
“Do we not all have sins to confess?”
Richard breaks into a broader smile. “What has come over you today? You seem sharper than usual.”
Lord Dorian tilts his head slightly, scrutinizing our interaction with a calm detachment; yet, given our proximity, I can see the veins pulsing at his temple.
“It appears a certain familiarity binds you,” he observes, in a tone I can certainly define as falsely courtly.
“Evander and I have known each other always. Our families are united by the bonds of a long and solid friendship.”
Then, without haste, he drapes an arm around my shoulders.
“I can affirm, without fear of exaggeration, that I am the best friend of the Viscount here present.”
“Come now, Richard...”
The warmth of his hand upon my shoulder is in stark contrast to the biting wind and the glacial stare of Lord Dorian.
“What an honor you have.”
“And the two of you, rather... how did you meet?”
“Lord Dorian’s grandfather, the Marquess of Ashford, maintains business relations with my father,” he begins to say, “consequently, Nathaniel was already acquainted with Lord Dorian. As for myself... I had the pleasure of meeting him personally at an art exhibition.”
He turns slightly toward me as he speaks, to include me in the illustration of the scene, his thumb tracing a small accompanying gesture along my arm.
Lord Presumption observes it with his jaw slightly set, his hands tightening and loosening around his cigarette.
“An art exhibition?” I ask, staring at my friend with a mixture of surprise and curiosity.
“Lord Dorian is, in truth, an artist.”
An artist?
A laugh escapes me, swift, and uncontrolled. I attempt to conceal it with a cough, slightly curling my lips and lowering my gaze.
Richard immediately withdraws the arm that still enfolds me and scrutinizes me with concern.
“Evander, are you quite well?”
Another cough shakes me, sharper this time.
