29. Dinner with Family and Friends

DINNER WITH FAMILY AND FRIENDS

H e wasn’t coming.

Melanie sat beside the only empty chair at the long dining table in her brother’s home, trying to mask her disappointment. The last thing she wanted was for her family to look at her with pity, imagining she might be heartbroken. She hated the thought of them thinking she cared so deeply about his absence.

She kept her gaze on her plate, though her appetite had dwindled. The invitation to Malum had been last minute, but why had he bothered to accept it at all if he hadn’t intended to show? It would have been easier—kinder, even—if he’d simply declined.

Because Melanie was, in fact, disappointed.

Furthermore, she was struggling to shake the feeling that a part of her was missing. Which made no sense at all.

Their engagement wasn’t real. She had insisted on that.

She’d been the one to demand it be temporary.

For a fleeting moment, a traitorous thought surfaced: Had that been a mistake? But she quickly dismissed it. Surely, Malum had only been so affable, so attentive, because he knew all of this was fleeting. A game they were playing to quiet scandal and save her family. Nothing more.

Still, his absence gnawed at her. Was something wrong? Malum didn’t strike her as the type to skip an invitation without reason. It was unlike him—or at least, unlike the man she thought she knew.

Or was she simply clinging to the version of him she wanted to believe in?

Reed hadn’t said a word about their missing guest, nor had Lord Helton. Perhaps they knew him better than she after all, having known him for so much longer.

When dinner was announced, however, and the guests were led into the dining room, Caroline, of course, had sent her a questioning glance.

Melanie had merely shrugged, trying to convey an air of nonchalance. Everything was fine.

Of course it was!

Melanie glanced up, her gaze skimming the long table adorned with polished silver candlesticks and a pristine white cloth. Family and guests filled the room with lively conversation, their voices overlapping as the meal progressed.

Lord Northwoods had, as Josie’s suitor, been invited, and was sitting beside her sister. Melanie periodically noticed him looking at Josie with an almost unnerving sort of hunger in his eyes. If not for what Malum had told her about the man after their ride through the park, she might have mistaken it for love or adoration, but now she wondered if he merely hungered after her dowry. Meanwhile, Josie was looking flushed and flattered, utterly charmed by Northwoods’ attentiveness.

In addition to the family and Melanie’s siblings and their spouses, Mother had invited one of her friends, Lady Percival, and her husband, Sir Percival Tuttle, an older, portly gentleman—who was apparently a royal knight? Melanie thought that he must have received the title at a younger age— much younger—because she could not imagine someone of his stature fighting off anything more coordinated than a baby deer, currently.

Sir Percival polished off the last of the wine in his cup and then let out a surprisingly loud hiccup before continuing to chatter in Lord Helton’s ear. Melanie’s poor brother-in-law nodded along politely, but his eyes had gone unfocused a while back, as though hoping for someone to rescue him from his misfortune, no doubt. After several minutes of this, Caroline leaned in, joining the conversation with a hint of laughter sparkling in her eyes.

The atmosphere was really quite cheerful, all things considered. Crystal glasses sparkled in the candlelight, and the wine flowed freely.

The first courses had already been served—soup, rich and fragrant, followed by a delicate fish that was accompanied by seasonal vegetables. Now, platters of roasted meats and game were being passed around, each dish more decadent than the last. The aromas of spiced sauces and freshly baked rolls lingered in the air, but Melanie had barely touched her plate.

Yesterday, which had started so horribly, had already been relegated to the past. She and her family had navigated a moment of public humiliation, but thanks to one afternoon in Malum’s company, they’d come out unscathed. She ought to be feeling content.

And yet, as she pushed a solitary bite of venison across her plate, she conceded that she was not.

Her attention drifted to the far end of the table, where Northwoods sat beside her younger sister. Laughter bubbled between them, Josie’s lashes fluttering as she listened to the earl. He seemed almost charming, but there was something about the way he carried himself that set Melanie on edge. He’d barely acknowledged having met her yesterday, save a vague pleasantry upon his arrival. Why was her brother allowing him to court their poor Josie?

And why wasn’t Malum here to answer a few of her questions? Dash it all!

Melanie’s hand tightened around her fork. Josie deserved the best sort of gentleman—one who delighted in her enthusiasm, appreciated her thoughtfulness and… loved her for who she was.

Not because he simply needed funds!

While watching the earl leaning into her sister’s space, as though it was necessary to hear her words, Malum’s warning echoed in Melanie’s mind. The man had pockets to let. He’d made trouble at the Domus .

She shouldn’t trust him.

If Reed and her family weren’t going to thoroughly vet the man, then perhaps she would. She had questions.

After all, temporary though it might be, Melanie was engaged to a man who knew more than most about the gaming circles in London. And as such, she just might have heard a few things…

“Lord Northwoods,” she began.

The earl’s head turned toward her, his polished smile dimming just slightly. Everyone at the table fell silent, because, of course, they weren’t accustomed to her speaking up yet. So when she talked, Melanie realized, they all just might listen.

It was another interesting effect to explore… later.

“Yes, my lady?”

Melanie steadied her nerves, channeling some of what she’d learned yesterday afternoon. “I understand you’ve had… an interesting run at the tables of late.”

The earl’s eyes narrowed, but only for a moment before he widened them politely. “Oh? I wasn’t aware my modest evenings at play were of note.”

“Well.” Melanie swallowed, hating that her voice might betray her at any time. She curved her lips up ever so faintly. “Luck—or the lack thereof—always makes for interesting conversation. Wouldn’t you agree?” She was aware that Reed was watching her, and that he didn’t look disapproving, only curious. Perhaps he knew something after all.

“Ah, but luck is a fickle mistress.” His voice was strained, but he quickly masked it with a chuckle. “I suppose even the best of us have our less fortunate moments.”

How far could she push?

“Fortunate or not,” she said, tilting her head thoughtfully, “you are a regular at the Domus Emporium .” She swallowed. “Where the stakes are not for the faint of heart.” Her tone was vague enough to remain polite, but the air at the table shifted noticeably.

“Melanie.” Her mother’s voice cut through as she sent Melanie a meaningful scowl. “All gentlemen wager, don’t they, Standish? It isn’t our place to question what the earl does in pursuit of his… gentlemanly entertainment.”

“Isn’t it, Mother?” Reed countered, his tone mild but pointed.

“Fair enough,” Northwoods interjected, his tight jaw betraying just a hint of discomfort. “I’ll admit, I was a patron once. But as time has passed, I’ve found more… dignified pursuits.” His voice was careful—measured—as he glanced from Reed back to Melanie. “Your betrothed's establishment is, of course, unparalleled. But I am older and wiser now. Every gentleman worth his salt sows his fair share of wild oats, am I wrong?”

“Not at all.” But Sir Percival was the only gentleman to offer his agreement.

The exchange was venturing far away from polite conversation, but Melanie wasn’t sorry. Instead, remembering the power of silence, she waited, hoping the earl would go right on talking.

He leaned back slightly, his expression adopting a faint air of superiority. “There is a mystique to the Domus , certainly, but for those who’ve been inside, the shine wears off rather quickly.” His response was polished, as though he’d spoken the lie to others.

Melanie tilted her head, studying him. When had she met him before?

“Of course,” she murmured, lifting her wineglass. “Time has a way of revealing all, doesn’t it?”

Her words seemed to strike Northwoods with more sting than she’d intended, and for a moment, he failed to conceal his disquiet. The tension in the room crackled, her family glancing between them, looking unsure as to whether they ought to interject. Because although Melanie’s comments had been awkward, the earl had just insulted the Domus Emporium , which was owned by Melanie’s betrothed, who happened to be a duke.

Josie looked startled, flustered with embarrassment, as she glanced at the earl. But before Northwoods could reply, the sound of footsteps echoed from the hall.

Melanie didn’t have to look to the door to know that he was here, as the shift in the atmosphere was immediate.

The Duke of Malum commanded attention without uttering a word, an intangible force that turned heads, the conversation faltering as each person instinctively noted his arrival.

While the other gentlemen were dressed in formal eveningwear, Malum wore a perfectly tailored black coat paired with a charcoal waistcoat, black trousers, and his signature ink-dark cravat. His hair was slicked back, but with water rather than pomade, and the hint of shadows under his eyes somehow made him look even more attractive.

Overall, the simplicity of his ensemble, far from diminishing him, sharpened his presence.

Melanie’s gaze flicked to his inky hair and that one lock by his temple that always managed to slip loose. How could a man look so completely at ease and yet so utterly imposing?

And though his expression remained neutral, Melanie saw the awareness in his silver gaze as it swept over the table—holding hers for a meaningful moment before landing squarely on Northwoods.

“Your Grace.” Goldie’s voice broke the tension, her tone bright and welcoming. “We weren’t sure if you would make it! Harris,” she addressed one of the footmen. “Will you kindly reset the duke’s place?”

Melanie exhaled.

The candlelight seemed to burn brighter, the food appeared more appetizing, and the wine tasted sweeter. It was as though his presence altered everything around her. She was relieved by his sudden arrival, of course she was, but she was also flustered by her response to it.

As the servant moved to adjust the setting beside Melanie, Malum inclined his head toward Goldie.

Around the table, however, conversation had yet to resume following Melanie’s not-so-subtle interrogation. Northwoods’ disparaging comments still lingered.

But then Reed rose from his seat, his face breaking into an ironic sort of smile. “I was beginning to think you weren’t going to join us.”

“Apologies,” Malum replied easily, clasping Reed’s extended hand in a firm shake. “To both you and your countess.”

“None needed,” Goldie chimed from her seat, smiling from her end of the table. “We’re delighted you could make it.”

“Malum.” Helton leaned back in his chair, his grin dancing with amusement. “I trust whatever detained you was worth it. I imagine if you’d truly wanted to avoid this evening, you wouldn’t have accepted the invitation at all.”

“I wouldn’t miss it,” Malum replied, and Melanie noticed he offered no excuse.

The Baron Westcott rose with an easy smile and extended a hand. “It’s been far too long. I must admit, you’re the last person I’d have expected to turn up betrothed.” His tone was light, teasing, but his gaze flickered—briefly—between Malum and Melanie.

Malum clasped Westcott’s hand in a firm shake, his expression even. “I imagine there’s a long list of things you’d never expect of me, West.”

The baron laughed. “True enough. Congratulations, by the way.” He tipped his head slightly toward Melanie, the teasing quality in his voice tempered with genuine warmth. “You’ve left all of us thoroughly astonished.”

“Happy to provide the evening’s entertainment,” Malum said.

Most likely, Westcott would be less surprised when the betrothal was ended. That should have been a comfort. Instead, it made Melanie wince inside.

Before she could dwell on the unexpected weight of that thought, Reed clapped Malum on the shoulder, gesturing for him to take his place at the table.

“I trust your journey to London was uneventful?” Malum asked the baron.

Melanie watched his silver gaze, as cool as ever as he pulled out the chair beside her. Somehow, she got the sense that Westcott’s appearance tonight hadn’t surprised him in the least. Sometimes he seemed a little too knowing. It was unnerving. And, if she were honest, it was also a little thrilling.

“My baroness ensures that it’s never uneventful.” Westcott sent his wife a playful wink, but she only shook her head, smiling.

“Good thing, then, seeing as you’d otherwise bore her to tears.”

“We’ll see how you feel when the shoe’s on the other foot…” Westcott answered, in a good-natured sounding grumble…

Melanie observed the exchange that followed, a strange sense of surprise bubbling within her. There was a camaraderie here she hadn’t anticipated. She’d expected her brother and Helton to welcome Malum—they were family now, after all—but Helton’s easy rapport with him, and even Westcott’s teasing, hinted at more of a friendship than she’d imagined. For a man so detached from Society’s expectations, Malum appeared entirely at ease in this circle.

Northwoods, on the other hand, seemed less comfortable, his shoulders stiff and his hands fidgeting with the stem of his glass. His gaze, Melanie noticed, avoided hers and also Malum’s.

From across the table, Josie sent her an exasperated look, her flushed cheeks underscoring her irritation. Melanie met her stare briefly, catching a flicker of curiosity before quickly lowering her eyes to her plate.

But thoughts of her sister soon faded, eclipsed by her awareness of the man seated beside her.

As the meal progressed, Melanie tried to focus on the conversation around her, but it was a losing battle. Perhaps it was the heat radiating from Malum beside her, or the way his hand brushed hers beneath the table—was it deliberate or accidental?

With mere inches separating them, even just the deep timbre of his voice sent a strange, charged thrill through her.

His scent was smokier than usual, and even that had her practically swooning.

It was disturbing—flustering—and impossible to ignore.

Reed and Helton were trading quips with Westcott about some shared adventure from years past, while Caroline leaned toward their mother, her expression animated as they discussed the details of the upcoming engagement ball.

“I think lilies would be lovely for the arrangements,” Caroline said, her tone decisive. “Don’t you agree, Melanie? They’re elegant but not too fussy.”

“Yes, of course,” Melanie murmured distractedly, nodding without quite registering the question.

“And the menu,” her mother chimed in, dabbing delicately at her lips with her napkin. “I know we were considering an extensive buffet, but I do wonder if all that might be too heavy for a midnight repast. Melanie, darling, what do you think?”

“Oh… yes, absolutely,” Melanie answered vaguely, realizing too late that her answer made little sense. She flushed as Caroline gave her a curious look, but her mother was too caught up in her own ideas to notice.

Meanwhile, Goldie presided over the table with her usual poise, steering the conversation back to lighter topics whenever it veered too close to something contentious.

And yet, none of it seemed to matter—not with the slow, deliberate way Malum’s hand rested on her back as he leaned forward to make a passing remark to Reed. It was all she could seem to focus on, the touch casual, but deliberately possessive.

The notion that she belonged to the duke shouldn’t have made her feel like this.

She forcibly redirected her attention to the food, her fork clinking softly against the china, and made an even greater effort to gather her thoughts. You agreed to this, she reminded herself. Even when there’s no one watching. The trouble was…

Knowing it and living it were two entirely different things.

How much of this was real? Was he as… affected by it as she was? Was that even possible?

Malum dropped his hand to his side, grazing her arm as he leaned back, his fingers trailing lightly against the fabric of her sleeve. How did something that was so maddeningly subtle ignite every nerve in her body?

Beneath the table, his knee bumped hers, but rather than move it away, he left it lingering…

Another accident? She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, but his expression was perfectly calm, all his attention focused on Westcott’s story about the lengths he’d taken in order to convince his stepmother to move into the dower house.

Melanie blinked, utterly lost.

The pressure of Malum’s knee remained, firm and steady, and every touch, no matter how brief, seemed designed to unbalance her.

By the time Goldie rose gracefully, Melanie’s skin felt hot and her heart was pounding. She reached for her wineglass, hardly touched until now, and downed the remains of it without thinking.

“Thirsty?” Malum’s voice was low, pitched for her ears alone.

Melanie didn’t dare meet his eyes, her composure already strained to its limits. Instead, she gave a quick nod, her throat too dry to trust herself to speak.

“Ladies,” Goldie announced warmly. “Shall we retire to the drawing room so the gentlemen can enjoy their port?”

Melanie rose to follow the other women, but she already knew she couldn’t sit making polite conversation, listening to chatter about Lady Westcott’s pending confinement or plans for her own engagement ball.

Not now.

Melanie murmured a quiet excuse to Goldie and headed toward the nearest exit. The night air hit her the moment she stepped outside, and she drew in a steadying breath, letting it fill her lungs.

The courtyard stretched before her, a decorative space she rarely visited. Clipped hedges lined the perimeter, and a stone fountain at its center trickled softly, the only sound in the stillness. The glow from a few lanterns made for long, dark shadows.

Even here, away from the warmth of the dining room, she still felt it—the heat of Malum’s gaze as she’d exited, lingering on her like a brand.

Her thoughts swirled with too many feelings. How had she allowed herself to become so unmoored by a man she barely knew?

Only… that wasn’t exactly true. Because she knew him.

Of course, she knew him.

She closed her eyes, the faint scent of flowers and damp earth grounding her as she struggled to regain control. But no matter how hard she tried, the memory of his touch, his closeness, refused to fade.