And I would do it without complaint.

My mind flitted briefly to Birgit van der Sant safely ensconced in her hotel with her papa. I sincerely hoped that a different future awaited her.

The Baron hosted many parties, large and small, lavish and quiet, and this was somewhere in between. Despite being something of a recluse, Julian had many old friends in London, and there were even more people curious about the new Mrs. Markham, the mysterious beauty that most of the town had heard about but only a few had seen. And tonight she did look radiant, if a little reluctant to release her chubby boy into the capable arms of the nursemaid. But Julian leaned over and whispered something to her, and she finally relinquished the baby with a kiss and a quiet admonition to the nurse to come fetch her at the slightest hint of fussiness.

Watching this exchange from my seat on a nearby sofa, my stomach clenched. Not out of jealousy—although there was still the lingering version of Molly that remembered fancying herself in love with Julian—but out of a mixed sense of fear and regret. I never wanted to be Ivy—I didn’t want to be the woman unable to enjoy her dinner because her baby was a room away. But when I looked up and met Silas’s eyes across the room, there was this moment, this stupid moment, where I wondered what it would be like handing off a little blue-eyed child, with its father whispering in my ear that it would be okay.

I looked away quickly, my cheeks burning. I couldn’t afford thoughts like that. Not anymore.

I’d made my decision.

The one real blessing of the night was that Mercy wasn’t there, a fact Hugh seemed irritated about, even after the Baron claimed he’d invited her and there must have been some sort of mistake in the delivery of the invitation. He said this with a completely impassive expression, with complete authority, even though we all knew Mercy’s absence had been deliberate.

“Thank you,” I whispered to Castor as we walked into the dining room to eat, and he reached over and squeezed my hand before handing me into my seat. Sitting here with Silas while I had Hugh’s ring on my finger was terrible enough, but if I’d been forced to looked at Mercy’s sleek hair and pouting lips the whole night on top of that, I might have gone insane. Perhaps that was why Hugh was disappointed, perhaps he wanted that reminder of Silas’s failings near at hand tonight, to remind me that he was still my best option.

Supper was served, the Baron engaged in quiet conversation with Ivy about her aunt, Silas and Julian talking about some new railroad line coming though Yorkshire, and Hugh’s arm draped possessively across the back of my chair. Chatter from the other guests and music from a small band in the adjoining room filled the air, so nobody noticed my uncharacteristic silence, which I used to watch Silas. Now that I knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that I could never be with him again, it changed things. Softened things. I could look at him without my mind crowding with memories of him and Mercy, and for the first time in a long time, I could just see him. His jaw, clean-shaven and slightly pointed; his sparkling eyes; the way he smiled as he listened to Julian talk—smiled with his eyebrows lifted expectantly, as if he was genuinely excited to hear what his friend had to say. That was Silas, really: simply happy—happy to be talking, happy to be drinking, happy there would be dancing later. He lived in the moment, for the moment, and never had it felt more so than when the moment had also contained me. Why had I never noticed before? Why hadn’t I appreciated that when it was mine to appreciate, for however short a time?

As if he felt me watching him, he glanced over at me, stopping my heart with that smile and those dimples, with the way his smile faded into something hungrier. Slowly, he licked his bottom lip, his eyes moving from my face down to the bodice of my gold silk dress, where the tops of my corseted breasts rose into round swells. He shifted in his seat, not bothering to hide the fact that he was adjusting himself.

Hugh noticed and cleared his throat, his hand moving from the back of my chair to my shoulder. I wanted to shrug him off, I wanted to continue staring at Silas, but I didn’t dare. There was too much at stake. I glanced down at my lap, where my hands rested, trying to focus on the contrast between my skin and the gleaming silk. On the still-unfamiliar diamond ring on my left hand.

But Silas didn’t look away from me; I could feel the heat of his stare even across the table. “Castor,” he said, “didn’t you say there would be dancing?”

“Of course,” the Baron said. “After dessert.”

“Good,” Silas said, and that was it, but I still kept my head down all throughout the meal, answering Hugh in monosyllables and ignoring everyone else. I knew that if I spoke too much or looked up, my face and voice would betray the heat nestled inside my chest. The raw longing. Because the last time we were together here at the Baron’s…

Greed becomes you, Mary Margaret…

I decide what’s fair right now, do you hear me?

So tight.

So fucking tight.

I coughed, my face burning, my whole body hot and clenching at the memory of him fucking me, as if a red-hot chain had been wound around my cunt and then wrapped around my chest.

“Are you okay?” Hugh asked, an eyebrow raised, and I nodded, sliding my chair back.

“Just a little overheated,” I murmured. “Excuse me.” And I hurried out of the room, taking care not to glimpse Silas’s face as I did.

Molly fairly ran from the room in a rustle of silk and elaborately curled hair, and after she left, I found Hugh looking at me—staring me down. I gave him a small shrug, as if to say I was over here the whole time, I had nothing to do with it, even though we both knew the last part wasn’t entirely true. Whatever Molly had been thinking over there, her cheeks growing pink and her breathing growing fast, I would have bet the entire Coke estate that it had to do with me.

And Hugh knew it.

I flashed him my widest, happiest grin. He looked away, his jaw clenched tight.

That’s right, I thought. Be jealous. Because you’ll never truly have her, even if you manipulate her into marrying you.

Supper concluded without further incident, and we moved into the ballroom, where drinks were already circulating and music was playing. I danced with Ivy first, sweeping her away from Julian with a laugh and spinning her into the lively waltz the band had struck up.

Ivy’s hand was firm and warm around the back of my neck and her dark eyes were friendly, if a little feral.

“The last time you had your hand on my neck like this, buttercup, I do believe my face was between your legs,” I commented.

“I don’t remember hearing any complaining at the time,” she remarked dryly.

I grinned. “No, you didn’t. I was quite happy to be there. I don’t suppose there’s any chance that you and Julian would like an encore performance?” I meant it in jest…mostly. I wanted to stay dedicated to Molly, but even the most dedicated man couldn’t refuse his best friend, right?

She laughed dismissively, but a telling blush bloomed on her cheeks. “I thought perhaps you would be spending the night with Molly.”

My grin faltered. “I believe she’s taking her engagement to Hugh rather seriously.”

Ivy looked at me with a concerned expression. “And how are you feeling about that?”

Terrible. Shitty. Like my life is over.

“I have everything well in hand,” I said instead, twirling her so fast that her skirts billowed out around her legs. “I have a plan.” I didn’t mention that it was a terrible plan which essentially had no hope of working, because Julian would probably tell her that himself at some point, and also because Molly walked into the ballroom just then, and my world shrank down to a vision of gold and scarlet, silk and hair, and nothing else could exist.