Chapter 39
Julian's POV
The orchestra was tuning up when I made my move, the discordant notes providing perfect cover for what I was about to do. Evelyn's eyes kept drifting toward the terrace doors where Caldwell had been standing moments before, her body language screaming tension despite that carefully maintained widow's mask she wore so well.
She was good. I'd give her that. Most people wouldn't have noticed the way her breathing changed when she tracked Caldwell's movements, the microscopic adjustments in her posture that suggested combat training rather than finishing school deportment. But I'd spent fifteen years reading people in war zones where missing those tells meant a bullet in the back, and Evelyn Valentine was practically broadcasting her intentions to anyone who knew what to look for.
The question was whether she knew I'd been watching her watch him all evening, cataloging every glance, every subtle shift in attention. Whether she'd figured out yet that I wasn't just here to make Adrian's life difficult—though that was certainly an entertaining side benefit—but because Caldwell was my client, and keeping him breathing was literally my job tonight.
All I had to do was keep Evelyn occupied, keep her away from Caldwell until the senator decided to call it an early night, and the mission would be complete. Simple. Straightforward. And it gave me the perfect excuse to spend more time with Manhattan's most fascinating widow.
Two birds, one stone. I did love efficiency.
"The dancing is about to begin," I said, letting my hand settle more firmly on her waist, feeling the way her muscles tensed beneath that midnight blue silk. "I do hope you'll save me a waltz, sweetheart. It would be such a shame to waste that dress on standing around looking miserable."
She opened her mouth to refuse—I could see the polite decline forming on those lips that were currently the exact shade of arterial blood—but Adrian chose that moment to materialize at her other side, all wounded nobility and barely suppressed jealousy. Perfect timing, as always.
"Evelyn," he said, his voice carrying that particular note of quiet authority that probably worked wonders in boardrooms but was utterly useless against someone like me. "I was hoping you might—"
"Mrs. Winthrop has already agreed to dance with me," I interrupted smoothly, meeting his gaze with the kind of smile that had made warlords reconsider their life choices. "Isn't that right, Evelyn? We were just discussing how tedious these events can be without proper entertainment."
The look Adrian gave me could have stripped paint off a battleship, but he was too well-bred to make a scene in front of Manhattan's elite. I watched him remember where we were, who was watching, what it would look like if the newly minted head of Winthrop Industries publicly competed for his stepmother's attention. Watched him swallow whatever he'd been about to say and step back, defeat written in every line of his body.
Evelyn hesitated, and I could see her weighing the options—refuse and draw more attention, or accept and lose precious time tracking her target. Her eyes flicked toward the terrace one more time, and I knew what she was calculating: how long Caldwell would stay put, how quickly she could extricate herself from this dance, whether the risk was worth the reward.
"I don't think it's appropriate," she said finally, her voice carefully neutral. "A woman whose husband died so recently, dancing at a charity gala... people will talk."
I almost laughed. She was trying to use propriety as an escape route, as if I gave a damn what Manhattan's social vultures thought about anything.
"Why would you think," I said, leaning in close enough that only she could hear, "that I care what other people think?"
The words hung between us for a moment, a challenge and a promise wrapped in silk. I watched her process them, watched her realize that appealing to social conventions wasn't going to work on someone who'd built an empire by ignoring every rule that didn't serve his purposes.
"One dance," she said finally, the words tight with resignation. "That's all."
"Of course." I guided her toward the dance floor, my hand still possessive on her waist, already counting down the minutes until Caldwell would leave and this particular game would be won. "One dance. What harm could it possibly do?"
Isabella appeared at Adrian's elbow like a well-trained retriever, all golden hair and sweet smiles, and I watched Evelyn's eyes track them for just a second before she forced her attention back to me. Good girl. Keep your priorities straight, even when your heart is breaking over the man you can't have.
The orchestra launched into a Viennese waltz, and I pulled Evelyn into position, noting with professional interest the way her body automatically fell into the proper frame despite her obvious distraction. Years of upper-class training, probably. The Winthrops would have made sure Arthur's young bride knew how to move through their world with grace.
"You're tense," I observed as I swept her into the first turn, deliberately keeping my movements smooth and confident, making it impossible for her to break away without causing a scene. "One might almost think you'd rather be somewhere else. Doing something else. Watching someone else, perhaps?"
Her eyes met mine, ice blue and carefully blank, but I could feel her pulse racing beneath my fingers where they rested on her wrist. "I told you, I'm just tired. These events are exhausting."
"Mmm." I let my hand slide fractionally lower on her back, not quite improper but definitely pushing boundaries, feeling the way her spine stiffened in response. "And yet your eyes keep drifting toward the terrace doors. Almost as if you're waiting for someone to make a move."
I felt her heart stutter—just for a second, but enough to confirm what I'd already suspected. She knew I was onto her, at least partially. The question was whether she'd try to brazen it out or cut her losses and abort whatever she'd been planning.
"I wasn't aware you made a habit of monitoring my eye movements," she said, her voice steady despite the panic I could read in her body language.