By late afternoon, the estate was alive with a sense of anticipation. Sunlight poured through the tall windows, filling every corner of the house with a warm, golden glow. Outside, the gardens were in full bloom, their vibrant colors catching the light in dazzling displays. The faint hum of laughter and chatter drifted in from across the hall. The grandfather clock in the entrance hall chimed the half-hour, a sharp reminder that we were running out of time. Standing before the mirror, I tugged at my cuffs for the third time, muttering under my breath as the fabric refused to cooperate. My reflection stared back at me, looking every bit as uncomfortable as I felt. Simon was doing his best to salvage the situation, though I could tell by his carefully measured silence that my fidgeting wasn’t helping.

“Sir,” Simon said with the patience of a saint, “If you insist on wrinkling your cuffs before the ball even begins, I might as well stop trying to fix them.”

“I wouldn’t have to fix them if they’d stay in place,” I grumbled, shooting the offending fabric a glare.

Before Simon could respond, the door swung open, and Eliza breezed in, her emerald-green gown shimmering as she moved. Her hair was swept up into an elegant style, leaving a few curls framing her face, and the scent of lavender trailed faintly behind her. She looked radiant—and entirely too pleased with herself. “Well, don’t you look dashing,” she teased, coming to stand beside me. “Or you would, if you stopped scowling.”

“I’m not scowling,” I said defensively, adjusting the lapels of my coat. “You’re early. I thought it took women hours to get ready.”

“You are,” she said, smoothing the fabric of my shoulders as though I were a child being dressed for Sunday service. “And it does. Honestly, Ezra, try to at least pretend you’re not being dragged there against your will.”

“Perhaps I wouldn’t feel that way if balls didn’t involve hours of meaningless chatter,” I shot back. “Remind me again why we’re putting ourselves through this?”

Eliza rolled her eyes. “Because it’s polite,” she replied, her tone light but her gaze sharp. “And because Mother would have a fit if we turned down an invitation from our family. Cameron will be there. Surely he’s good for a laugh or two.”

I opened my mouth to argue but closed it again. She wasn’t wrong. Cameron’s parents had extended their hospitality, and despite my distaste for these sorts of events, I knew better than to refuse. Still, the thought of an entire evening filled with forced smiles and mindless chatter made my stomach churn. As if summoned by his name, a voice called out from the hallway. “Talking about me again, are you?” Cameron strode into the room, already dressed in a deep blue tailcoat that, of course, fit him perfectly. 

“Not everything revolves around you, cousin,” Eliza said, though the faint smile on her lips betrayed her amusement.

“Of course it doesn’t,” he replied, flashing her a grin as he leaned against the doorframe. “But if you’re going to gossip, I’d rather be included. It’s only fair.”

I sighed, turning back to the mirror. “Shouldn’t you be bothering someone else right now?”

“And miss the opportunity to watch you squirm?” Cameron clapped a hand on my shoulder. “Not a chance. Besides, you’re the one who dragged me into this. You should be grateful I’m here to keep you company.”

“I didn’t drag you into anything,” I said flatly. “This is your parents’ ball.”

“True,” Cameron conceded. “But you did agree to attend, and that, dear cousin, is entirely on you. And for the record, my mother insisted I fetch you and Eliza, so really, we’re all in this together.”

Eliza, who had been adjusting a pin in her hair, chimed in, “At least one of you is looking forward to tonight.”

Cameron raised an eyebrow. “You mean to say you aren’t?”

“I didn’t say that,” Eliza replied smoothly. “But someone has to make sure Ezra doesn’t sulk in a corner all evening.”

“I don’t sulk,” I said, though even as I spoke, I knew it wasn’t convincing.

Cameron laughed. “You do, actually. It’s rather impressive how quickly you can vanish into the shadows when you’re determined to avoid conversation.”

“Not tonight,” Eliza declared, her tone leaving no room for argument. “We’re all staying together. No disappearing acts, no excuses. Understood?”

Before I could respond, Simon stepped forward with my gloves and hat. His expression was neutral, but his eyes betrayed a flicker of relief that I was finally ready.  I nodded, accepting the gloves and glancing once more at my reflection. “Let’s get this over with.”

“Such enthusiasm,” Cameron said, clapping me on the back as we followed Eliza out into the hall. “You’re going to be the life of the party, I can tell.”

Eliza shot him a warning look over her shoulder. “Don’t antagonize him. We haven’t even arrived yet.”

The three of us made our way downstairs, the late afternoon sunlight streaming through the tall windows of the entrance hall. Outside, the carriage waited, its polished ebony frame gleaming in the light. Cameron, ever the gentleman when it suited him, offered Eliza a hand as she stepped in, earning a gracious nod from her. The carriage rattled softly as it rolled down the long dirt drive, the sound blending with the rhythmic clatter of the horses’ hooves. The countryside was illuminated by the warm, golden light, as the setting sun cast a soft glow over the fields and trees lining the road. Eliza sat opposite me, her hands resting lightly in her lap, a serene expression softening her features. The faint shimmer of her emerald gown caught the light, and for a moment, I wondered how she could remain so calm when I felt a knot of nerves tightening in my chest.

Cameron, ever the master of lighthearted conversation, leaned lazily against the side of the carriage, his golden curls glowing like a halo. “So,” he began, a mischievous smile creeping onto his face, “Who’s taking bets on how many suitors will be lined up for Eliza tonight?”

Eliza arched an eyebrow at him, but there was humor in her eyes. “If they’re anything like you, I’ll be spending the evening avoiding them altogether.”

“Harsh,” Cameron replied with mock indignation, pressing a hand to his chest. “And here I thought I was the highlight of every room I walked into.”

“You’re the loudest, certainly,” I muttered, earning a laugh from Eliza and a playful shove from Cameron.

As the estate came into view in the distance, its grand silhouette framed by the setting sun, a hush seemed to settle over the three of us. Even Cameron, with his endless string of jokes, grew quiet for a moment, his gaze fixed on the sprawling mansion that loomed ahead. The windows glittered like polished gems, and the faint strains of music could already be heard drifting on the breeze.

“Well,” Eliza said, breaking the silence, her voice steady but laced with just a hint of apprehension. “Here we are. Let’s try not to embarrass ourselves, shall we?”

“I don’t think you’re capable of embarrassing yourself,” Cameron quipped, though his tone was gentler than usual.

The carriage slowed as we approached the grand gates, which swung open with a smoothness that spoke of practiced precision. Footmen were already waiting as the carriage came to a halt, their movements brisk and efficient as they opened the door and lowered the step. Cameron was the first to hop out, turning to offer Eliza a hand with a flourish that earned an amused eye-roll.

“Ezra,” Eliza said as I climbed out after her, her voice teasing but warm, “Try to smile. You never know—you might actually enjoy yourself.”

 

I gave her a faint smile in return, but as I glanced up at the grand façade of the estate, that strange unease I’d felt earlier tightened its grip on me. The air was alive with laughter and music, the promise of a lively evening, yet something about it all felt just a little too perfect. Cameron led the way up the broad marble steps, his boots tapping against the stone in a rhythm that matched the distant strains of the orchestra. The grand entrance hall loomed before us, its high-arched ceilings adorned with intricate plasterwork that seemed to catch and hold the glow of the golden chandeliers. The soft murmur of conversations echoed through the hall, punctuated by the occasional clink of glasses and bursts of laughter.

Eliza linked her arm through mine as we stepped inside. “Come on, Ezra. We can’t keep the Duke and Duchess waiting,” she said with a grin, tugging me forward as Cameron strode ahead, his confidence as effortless as ever.

The footmen at the far end of the hall opened the double doors leading to the ballroom with a synchrony that was almost theatrical. The sheer opulence of the room beyond was dazzling—gold accents on every surface, tables laden with sparkling crystal and silver, and a gleaming dance floor that seemed to stretch endlessly beneath the light of several enormous chandeliers. Guests swirled in colorful silks and velvets, their movements weaving an intricate tapestry of elegance.

Cameron turned to us with a dramatic sweep of his arm. “The ballroom,” he announced as if unveiling a masterpiece.

Eliza shot him a playful glare but allowed him to lead the way. I followed, the unease still lingering as I stepped through the doors. The room was nothing short of breathtaking, its beauty striking at every turn. Every detail was meticulously arranged, from the intricate moldings that traced the ceiling to the elegant vase of fragrant flowers that stood on the polished table. Yet, amid all this splendor, there was an unsettling quality to it—as if this flawless space had been plucked straight from a gilded dream, too perfect to be real, leaving a faint whisper of artificiality in the air.

“Eliza! Ezra!” The familiar, commanding voice of the Duchess of Bedford rang out above the soft hum of conversation. Cameron’s mother turned from a small gathering of guests, her blonde hair catching the light as streaks of silver shimmered through it, gleaming under the chandelier. Her sapphire gown flowed like water as she moved toward us with open arms. Despite her regal bearing, there was a warmth in her expression that immediately set me at ease.

Eliza stepped forward first, embracing her. “Aunt Celia,” she said with a bright smile, “It’s so good to see you.”

“And you, my darling,” the Duchess replied, cupping Eliza’s face for a moment before turning her gaze to me. “Ezra. Let me have a look at you.” Her tone softened, and she opened her arms. “Come here, my boy.” I stepped forward, her embrace as genuine and comforting as I remembered. “It’s been far too long since you've been here,” she said, her voice low with affection. Pulling back, she studied me with a keen eye. “You’ve grown into a fine young man, just as I knew you would.”

“Thank you, Aunt. And if I may say, you’ve hardly changed,” I replied, earning a pleased laugh from her.

“You always did know how to charm,” she teased, then turned sharply toward Cameron. “And you,” she said, fixing him with a narrowed gaze. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed how you’ve been flitting about all day, undoubtedly up to some mischief.”

Cameron grinned, utterly unbothered by her scrutiny. “Mischief, Mother? Me? I’m the picture of propriety.”

She raised a skeptical brow. “Propriety is not a word I would associate with you, darling boy. Do try to behave tonight, won’t you?”

Cameron pressed a hand to his chest in mock offense. “I’m hurt by your lack of faith. Truly.”

The Duchess sighed, though the affectionate smile tugging at her lips betrayed her exasperation. “You’re impossible,” she muttered, shaking her head lightly before shifting her attention back to me and Eliza.

The Duke of Bedford stepped forward, his quieter presence no less commanding than his wife’s. “Eliza, Ezra,” he greeted us with warmth, extending a firm handshake before clasping my shoulder in a gesture of familial ease. “Welcome. Your aunt has been talking about your arrival all evening.”

“Don’t exaggerate, Your Grace.” the Duchess said, though her tone betrayed her delight. “But truly, it’s wonderful to have you here.”

Just then, the waltz began to swell, and Cameron turned to Eliza with his usual confident charm. “May I have this dance?” he asked, bowing slightly as he extended his hand. His golden curls caught the light, and there was an undeniable mischief in his eyes.

Eliza smiled, ever graceful, though her eyes held a glint of mock reluctance. “I suppose I can spare one,” she said lightly, placing her gloved hand in his.

“Only one?” Cameron teased, leading her toward the dance floor. “I’ll have to make it count, then.”

I wasn’t sure whether it was her gown or the way Cameron’s confidence seemed to fill the room, but when they stepped onto the dance floor, all eyes turned to them. As they joined the swirling crowd of dancers, I felt the same familiar tug of admiration—and envy. Cameron had a way of commanding attention without even trying. I, on the other hand, had a knack for disappearing into corners. I let out a slow breath, excused myself, and turned toward the refreshment table. The soft clink of crystal against my fingers was oddly grounding, offering a sense of stability that the swirling music and motion of the room couldn’t. I brought the glass to my lips, the cool liquid sliding down my throat and settling the frayed edges of my nerves.

Cameron’s laughter drifted over the music, drawing my gaze back to the dance floor. He twirled Eliza expertly, her gown shimmering like the surface of a sunlit lake. The knot in my chest tightened. It wasn’t jealousy—not really. Watching them, I felt like I was peering through a window at a world I didn’t belong to. I finished the drink in one long swallow, then set the glass down with more force than necessary. The weight of the evening pressed in on me: the glittering chandeliers, the endless hum of conversation, the polished perfection of it all. It was suffocating.

Instinctively, I moved to the edge of the room, finding solace in the shadows near a column. From here, the scene unfolded like a painting: couples gliding across the floor, the swirl of silks and velvets, the golden glow of the chandeliers overhead. It was beautiful, I supposed, but distant, untouchable—as if I were looking at it all from the other side of a thick pane of glass.

The voices around me blurred into meaningless chatter. My fingers brushed absently over the fabric of my cuffs, tugging at them. I felt a familiar pang of frustration with myself. Eliza would scold me later, no doubt, for retreating instead of making an effort. But what was the point of pretending? Conversations at these events were always the same, a careful dance of words that meant nothing. I doubted anyone here would even notice if I vanished altogether. Leaning back against the column, I let my gaze drift back to Eliza and Cameron. They moved easily as if the waltz had been written just for them. Cameron’s laugh carried again, and I felt the faintest tug of a smile. 

 

As the music slowed and finally came to a stop, the dancers drew apart, clapping politely for the orchestra. I saw Eliza and Cameron making their way toward me, her hand still resting lightly on his arm. Cameron looked as though he’d just won a duel, smug and unruffled, while Eliza wore the faintest sheen of effort on her brow but maintained her composure.

“Well, that wasn’t entirely unbearable,” Cameron quipped as they reached me, brushing imaginary dust from his sleeve. “Though I might have to retire if another one of Lady Haddington’s lectures on her garden finds me mid-spin.”

Eliza shot him a look, though her lips twitched with amusement. “If you’d stop encouraging her, perhaps she’d find another captive audience.”

“Encourage her? I merely nodded, and she took it as an invitation to recite the lineage of every rose in her greenhouse.” Cameron sighed dramatically. “Ezra, you should have been there to suffer with me. Misery loves company, after all.”

“I think I’ll pass,” I replied dryly, scanning the room over their shoulders. “How much longer do you suppose we’ll have to endure this?”

“Long enough,” Eliza said, her tone light but her eyes flicking toward the clusters of guests. She leaned in slightly, lowering her voice. “Speaking of endurance, have you noticed how Lady Fairfax hasn’t left the Duke of Wellington’s side all evening? I’d wager she’s angling for a proposal—for her daughter, naturally.”

Cameron chuckled, glancing toward the Duke of Wellington and the imposing Lady Fairfax. “That poor man doesn’t stand a chance. I give it until the next waltz before she secures an invitation to tea.”

 

I was about to reply when the sharp creak of the grand doors swinging open cut through the low hum of conversation. The sound was unremarkable, but the sight that followed was not. As Bartholomew and Genevieve stepped further into the ballroom, the hum of conversation began to shift. The guests, ever eager to be seen with figures of influence, glanced their way with smiles of curiosity and admiration. After all, Genevieve’s name carried weight in society, her reputation pristine, her connections enviable. No one questioned their arrival. If anything, the room seemed to absorb their presence as if their late entrance was simply another brushstroke on the grand portrait of the evening. But we knew better.

“They weren’t invited, correct?” I murmured under my breath, just loud enough for Eliza and Cameron to hear.

Cameron let out a soft, humorless chuckle. “Of course they weren’t. But who’s going to send Lady Griswold away? The Queen herself might hesitate.”

Eliza didn’t respond. Her gaze remained fixed on Bartholomew, though her expression had cooled to something almost unreadable. She was guarding herself, and I couldn’t decide if that was a good thing or if it worried me more. Bartholomew, as though sensing her attention, turned his gaze toward us. There was a flicker of something in his eyes—a challenge, perhaps, or a warning. His lips curved into a faint, knowing smile, one I wanted to wipe off his face with a single blow.

“Careful,” Cameron muttered, leaning slightly toward me as though reading my thoughts. “We can’t make a scene. Not here.”

I exhaled slowly, my fists unclenching as I forced myself to remain still. Cameron was right, as much as I hated to admit it. Drawing attention would only make things worse, especially for Eliza. Genevieve, blissfully oblivious to—or perhaps deliberately ignoring—the underlying tension, tilted her head toward Bartholomew and said something softly. He nodded in response, his posture relaxed but his presence radiating smug confidence.

“Eliza,” I murmured again, glancing at her. “You don’t have to face him alone.”

“I’m fine,” she said quietly, her tone betraying the fact that she was anything but.

“No, you’re not,” I replied, just as softly. “And that’s all right. Just remember, he doesn’t hold all the power here.”

Her eyes flicked to mine for a brief moment, and I saw the tiniest crack in her armor—a flash of fear and anger mingling together before she smoothed it over with her practiced calm. Across the room, Bartholomew seemed to grow tired of the pretense. He leaned in to murmur something to Genevieve, prompting her to release an elegant, practiced laugh. With a graceful sweep of her skirt, she moved toward one of the nearby groups, effortlessly inserting herself into the conversation unfolding around my aunt. That left him free to make his move, and he did so without hesitation, his steps measured and deliberate as he approached us.

“Well, this should be fun,” Cameron muttered under his breath, his tone as light as ever but his stance shifting slightly.

Bartholomew stopped a few feet away, close enough to speak but far enough to maintain the illusion of decorum. He offered a small bow, his sharp eyes never leaving Eliza’s face. “Miss Eliza,” he said smoothly, his voice carrying the practiced elegance of a man who thrived in this world. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.”

Her reply was immediate, her tone steady but cold. “Mr. Collins. What an unexpected surprise.”

“I do hope it’s a pleasant one,” he said, the faint smile on his lips dripping with false charm.

“That remains to be seen,” she replied, her gaze hardening.

Bartholomew’s smile widened slightly, but before he could say more, I stepped forward, positioning myself just enough to make my presence known. His eyes flicked to mine, and I saw the briefest flash of irritation before he masked it with another easy smile. “Geldart,” he said, inclining his head. “Always a pleasure. And Lord Brough, of course. You’re both looking well.”

Cameron returned the greeting with a tight smile, though his usual levity was notably absent. “Mr. Collins. Didn’t realize you’d be joining us tonight. A shame about the invitation mix-up, I’m sure.”

Bartholomew’s smile didn’t waver. “Genevieve and I would never miss an evening at the Duchess’ estate. I trust there’s no issue with our presence?”

“None at all,” Cameron said, his tone dripping with feigned pleasantness. “You’re always... welcome.”

I saw the faintest twitch of annoyance cross Bartholomew’s face, but he quickly turned his attention back to Eliza. “I was hoping we might have a moment to speak,” he said, his voice low and pointed. “There are matters that remain... unresolved between us.”

Eliza stiffened beside me, but she didn’t falter. “I don’t believe this is the time or place for such matters,” she said coolly.

Bartholomew’s smile sharpened, his eyes glinting with the confidence of a man who believed he already held the upper hand. “On the contrary,” he replied, his tone almost casual. “There’s no better time. Unless, of course, you’d prefer I take a more... public approach?”

I felt the heat rise in my chest, but before I could speak, Eliza raised a hand slightly, signaling me to stay silent. Her gaze remained locked on Bartholomew, her expression unyielding. After a tense pause, she turned sharply, the skirts of her emerald gown brushing against my leg as she moved. “Please excuse us, cousin,” she said coldly, her tone cutting through the static of the moment. Without waiting for a reply, she strode toward the ballroom doors. Bartholomew’s smirk remained fixed in place, though his eyes glinted with something sharper.

 

The moment the doors closed behind us, the atmosphere changed. The muted strains of music and distant laughter faded as we stepped into the dimly lit hallway. The flicker of candlelight danced along the shadowed walls, illuminating the gilded frames of forgotten paintings. Eliza didn’t slow, her heels clicking sharply against the marble floor as she led the way. I stayed at her side, refusing to leave her alone with Bartholomew. He trailed behind us, his presence felt suffocating, the quiet menace in his eyes sharper than any blade.

Eliza stopped near a tall arched window, the moonlight casting a silvery glow across her. “Well?” she said coldly, her voice steady despite the tension in her posture. “You’ve dragged us out here. Say what you came to say, Mr. Collins.”

Bartholomew lingered in the shadows for a moment before stepping forward, his usual charm replaced with a sinister edge. He clasped his hands behind his back, the faintest smirk playing on his lips. “I’d hoped for a more private moment, but I suppose your watchdog won’t be leaving anytime soon.”

I stiffened, stepping slightly in front of Eliza. “You’ll say whatever it is in my presence,” I said sharply. “No more games, Collins.”

His gaze flicked to me, cool and dismissive. “Oh, Geldart, ever the noble defender. But this isn’t about you, is it?” He turned his attention back to Eliza, his expression darkening. “The clock is ticking, my dear. I trust you haven’t forgotten our arrangement?”

Eliza’s jaw tightened. “I haven’t agreed to anything.”

Bartholomew chuckled softly, a sound devoid of humor. “No, but you will. Unless, of course, you’d prefer I pay a visit to Lord Windham. I’m sure he’d be fascinated to learn about your little... enterprise.”

I glanced at Eliza, whose face had gone pale, though her eyes burned with restrained fury. “You wouldn’t dare,” she said, her voice low and venomous.

“Oh, but I would,” Bartholomew replied smoothly, his smirk widening. “And let’s not forget, your little operation wouldn’t just incriminate you. Your poor, dear brother here would be dragged down with you, wouldn’t he? The loveable siblings, reduced to criminals in the eyes of society. Imagine the scandal. Imagine the ruin.”

“Say what you want,” I growled, stepping closer. “You won’t get away with this.”

Bartholomew tilted his head, studying me as if I were an amusing but inconsequential insect. “Oh, Geldart, I don’t need to ‘get away’ with anything. I already have the upper hand. And I’ll prove it to you.” He turned back to Eliza, his voice softening but losing none of its menace. “It’s quite simple, my dear. All I ask is your company. Your loyalty. Call it an arrangement, a mutually beneficial one. You become my mistress, and I keep your little secrets safe. A fair trade, wouldn’t you say?”

Eliza’s breath hitched, and I saw her fingers curl into fists at her sides. “You disgust me,” she spat. “Do you honestly think I’d ever agree to something so vile?”

Bartholomew’s smirk didn’t falter. If anything, it grew sharper. “Disgust or not, you’ll come around. Because you know the alternative is far worse—for you, for your brother, for everything you’ve worked so hard to protect. The choice is yours, Miss Eliza.”

I lunged forward, grabbing him by the collar before I even realized what I was doing. “You’ll keep your filthy propositions to yourself,” I hissed, my voice shaking with rage. “And if you so much as look at her again, I’ll—”

“Ezra, stop!” Eliza’s voice cut through my fury, sharp and commanding. I hesitated, my grip still tight on Bartholomew’s coat, as her hand came to rest lightly on my arm. “Let him go. He's not worth it.”

Bartholomew chuckled again, even as I shoved him backward. He smoothed his lapels, his composure irritatingly intact. “How touching,” he sneered, straightening his coat. “The overprotective brother. But you can’t protect her from this, Geldart. You can’t protect either of you.”

Eliza stepped forward then, her chin lifted, and her voice cut through the tension like steel. “You may think you have the upper hand, but you underestimate us. If you so much as breathe a word of this to anyone, I swear, you’ll find out exactly what happens when you corner a fox,” she said quietly, her tone deadly calm.

Bartholomew’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second, and I saw a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. He recovered quickly, offering a shallow bow. “We’ll see, my dear. But I trust you’ll make the right decision. You’ve been given time, so don’t waste it. I’d hate to see it run out.” With that, he turned on his heel and strode down the hallway, his footsteps echoing ominously in the quiet.

I turned to Eliza as soon as he was out of sight. “Are you all right?” I asked, my voice softer now, the anger replaced by concern.

She didn’t answer right away, her gaze fixed on the empty corridor where Bartholomew had disappeared. Finally, she exhaled, her shoulders slumping slightly. “No,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “But we don’t have time to fall apart.”

“Eliza,” I began, but she shook her head sharply.

“We’ll talk later,” she said firmly. “For now, we need to stay composed. We can’t let him see any cracks.”

 

I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat as the distant hum of the ballroom reminded me how close we still were to prying eyes. Without a word, Eliza turned, her footsteps sharp and deliberate as she led the way back down the dimly lit corridor. I stayed close at her side, my own movements more hesitant, like every step toward the noise and the light was an unspoken admission that Bartholomew had shaken us. The golden light of the chandeliers spilled into the hallway as we neared the open doors, and I could already feel the heat of the crowded room pressing against my skin. Eliza hesitated for the briefest moment at the threshold, just enough for me to notice, then straightened her shoulders and stepped through. Every graceful step she took felt deliberate like she was walking into battle.

My eyes scanned the crowd as the violins swelled. Cameron stood near the refreshment table, his posture tense. The moment he saw us, his face shifted—relief first, then the sharp edge of worry. He pushed away from the table and strode toward us, cutting through the gathering like a man on a mission. “What took you so long?” he said sharply as we reached him. His voice was low enough not to draw attention, but there was an edge of panic he couldn’t quite hide. “You shouldn’t have gone off alone.”

“We didn’t have much of a choice,” I said, tugging at my cuffs. I glanced toward Eliza, but she kept her gaze fixed on some far corner of the room, avoiding both of us.

Cameron swore under his breath. His usual grin was nowhere to be seen, replaced by a dark scowl that only deepened as he looked between us. “What did he say?” he asked, his jaw tight. “What did he want?”

I hesitated, unsure how much to say. Just thinking of Bartholomew's smug face and his smooth, taunting voice made my hands clench into fists. “The same as always,” I said finally, trying to keep my voice even. “To remind us how much power he thinks he has.”

Cameron turned his attention to Eliza, who stood stiff and silent beside me. “Eliza?” he said, his voice gentler now, though it was edged with urgency.

She finally looked at him, her ocean eyes hard and unyielding. “He threatened to expose me again,” she said quietly, her tone so steady it almost startled me. “To take what he knows to Lord Windham.”

Cameron didn’t even bother muttering this time; he let out a full, sharp curse, running a hand through his hair. “Of course he did,” he growled. “Because that’s all he knows how to do. Corner, threaten, manipulate. I knew he’d try something like this.”

I glanced over Cameron’s shoulder, toward the dance floor where Bartholomew now twirled Genevieve with that practiced arrogance of his. His movements were so precise, so polished, that it made me sick. How could anyone not see him for what he was?

“Cameron,” I said, trying to keep my anger in check. “We can’t let him get to us. That’s what he wants. He’s waiting for us to slip, to do something impulsive.”

“I know that,” Cameron snapped, though his frustration wasn’t aimed at me. He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “But that doesn’t mean I have to like it. He’s sitting there, acting untouchable, and we’re the ones who have to play along?”

I didn’t answer. I didn’t have to. The truth hung between us like a storm cloud: this was Bartholomew’s game, and we were playing it, whether we liked it or not. After a moment, Cameron’s shoulders relaxed. “We’re not losing to him,” he said firmly, meeting my gaze. “We can’t. We’ll shut him down.”

“We will,” I said, though my voice felt heavier than I wanted. “But not tonight. Tonight, we keep our heads down and give him nothing to work with.”

Cameron shook his head slowly, his resolve hardening. He looked at Eliza again, studying her carefully. “We need to stay visible,” he said, his voice softening. “If we retreat, he’ll take it as a victory. Eliza, dance with me.”

She blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“Dance with me,” Cameron repeated, holding out his hand. “It’ll keep us in the center of the room, in full view of everyone. And,” he added with a faint, mischievous smirk, “It’ll drive Collins mad.”

Eliza hesitated, her expression caught somewhere between confusion and annoyance. But then, to my surprise, she let out a small, tired laugh. 

“Fine,” she said, slipping her hand into his. “But if you step on my toes again, I’m leaving you on the floor.”

“I wouldn’t dare,” Cameron said, his grin growing as he led her toward the dance floor.

I watched them go, the knot in my chest tightening. Cameron was right—we couldn’t afford to retreat, not now. But watching Eliza move into the center of the room, I couldn’t help but feel the weight of everything we were up against. Across the room, Bartholomew had stopped dancing. His sharp eyes followed Eliza and Cameron as they began to waltz, his irritation barely masked beneath his practiced smile. For the first time that night, his confidence seemed to waver, just a little.

Good, I thought. Let him fume. Still, even as I leaned against one of the gilded columns, keeping my presence unobtrusive, I couldn’t shake the feeling that this was only the beginning. Bartholomew wasn’t just playing games—he was setting traps. And no matter how composed we looked on the outside, I knew we were all just one wrong step away from falling right into them.