Applause followed the waltz, polite but uneasy, the kind given to a performance that unsettled more than it delighted.
Serena could still feel the press of Christopher's lips through the silk of her glove — cool, deliberate, claiming.
When she looked up, she saw it — the way the entire hall had gone still for that heartbeat before the music swelled again. The ministers' wives whispering behind their fans, the men pretending disinterest while their gazes betrayed curiosity.
And across the room — Charlton.
He stood as though carved from stone, one hand resting against a marble pillar, his expression unreadable. The light from the chandeliers caught in his grey eyes, turning them pale and cold.
For one flicker of a second, she thought she saw pain. But then he turned away, and it was gone.
Christopher leaned close enough for his breath to brush her ear.
"They'll dine on this for a week," he murmured.
Her voice was steady though her heart was not. "You planned it."
