To Best the Boys(41)

I twist to see their mum. She’s seated ten paces away and her expression transforms from interest to recognition in a heartbeat. “Oh, Rhen! I didn’t recognize you in that hat. How are you, love? How’s your mum doing?”

I start to offer a quick reply of, “She’s fine,” but the look in her eyes stops the words in my mouth. I swallow and feel a desire to tell the truth to this woman whose very tone gives the sense of warmth of holding your hand until the world is all right again.

I blink back the heat from my eyes, lift my chin, and say softly, “We don’t know how long she has, but thank you for asking.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Her face falls and she glances worriedly at Lute. “Is there anything we can do?”

“I don’t think so, but thank you, Mrs. Wilkes.” I wince and look away before the guilt from earlier can flare around what is so obvious in this moment—that I am here at a party while my mum is dying at home.

As if reading my mind, Lute’s mum gently says, “Well, I’m glad you’re here, Rhen. I want my children to grab life’s joyful moments when they can—and I’m sure your mum feels the same.”

I blink harder and nod in gratitude, and Lute clears his throat. “Speaking of grabbing a moment, Mum. I’ve got Ben and James. You ladies go grab another slice of pheasant.”

His mother starts to argue, then winks at me and acquiesces. “As long as you act like a gentleman and invite Miss Tellur to dance, son.”

I start. What? Then notice the waltzing tune is carrying more loudly across the lawns. It’s the signal they’re getting ready to officially start the evening. I turn to Lute, and my reaction is the same as what’s on his face.

“Yes, Rhen, dance!” Ben claps and jumps up to do a jig, until Lute and I ease back and laugh.

“Only since you asked, Ben.” Lute hops up and extends his hand. “Miss Tellur?”

He pulls me up and places his large, rough hand around mine while fitting the other gently against my waist, and I am instantly a bundle of self-conscious nerves.

I try to focus on the music. On my feet. Then on his, because apparently he’s just as awful at dancing as I am. He bumps my shoe, then bursts into a chuckle as Ben cheers us on. “I should’ve warned you first. I’m kind of terrible at this sort of thing.”

“That makes two of us.”

“I’ll take that as an achievement then.”

When I lift a brow, he smirks. “You’ve apparently quite the skill for blowing up dead bodies. Since I’ve no such talent, I’m at least appeased that our waltzing abilities are equal.” His black bangs swag down as his gaze flashes to my warm cheeks, then lips, and stays there for a full count of dance steps before he looks back up to lock his eyes on mine.

And I doubt he intends to, but what he reveals there feels like I’ve just waded too far into a sea that’s about to crash over me. All I know is that Lute is better than half the politicians and people of this world, and no amount of money can make him or his entire family richer than they already are.

I try to think of something to say. Of anything that will keep my heartbeat from breaking through my rib cage and my head from drowning. Because suddenly the feelings inside me don’t compare to whatever this is in front of me.

The next moment he blinks, and that hint of last night emerges and makes my lungs catch. It also makes my lips wonder what his might feel like against them, and then I’m wondering if he’s wondering the same thing too.

If his expression is any indication, he is.

My breath gets a whole lot shallower until my head is a hazy mess.

One . . .

Two . . .

Three dance steps I don’t take . . .

Move, Rhen. Or at least say something.

“Mr. Wilkes,” I finally choke out. “I could show you a dead body one of these days if you’d like.”

“Lute.”

“I think I’d like that very much, Miss Tellur,” Lute says, before turning to Ben.

“Lute.” Ben’s tapping his brother’s leg. “Someone’s—”

“Well, this is becoming quite a concern,” a voice rings out behind us. “Pardon for interrupting. But Mr. Wilkes, I believe this is the second time in a day I’ve happened upon you behaving questionably toward Miss Tellur.”

I drop Lute’s hand and turn to find Vincent three paces away. His scowl is deeper than the one last night, as is his tone. He briefly drops his gaze on me, then lifts it back to Lute, whose mouth has curved down in disapproval.

“Mind if we have a word, mate?”

Neither of them moves their eyes from each other as Lute appraises Vincent and, after a second, points him over to a spot far enough away from Ben to be discreet. He keeps his voice low as he strides over. “On the wrong side of the estate, aren’t you, Mr. King?”

I sit near Ben who’s just grabbed the cake his mum brought back to him. She looks at me and smiles. “Thanks for hanging out for a bit, Rhen.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Wilkes,” I say, then grimace as Vincent snarls, “From the looks of things, you’re crossing into my estate, Wilkes. I’ll ask you once, politely, to back off, please.”

“You’ll have to pardon my confusion.” Lute snorts. “Are we, in fact, waxing about your grand estate or something else? Perhaps you can be clearer.”