Sleeping Engagement

II. A Lover's Glimpse

It was curious that Cole Devitt had chosen to attend a ball. Margaret had never seen him around any she had attended since the social season started. And to see him again from across the ballroom, talking and laughing with a few gentlemen that had gathered around him, Margaret could not help but wonder why he was suddenly making appearances.

She kept him within her range of vision, all the while careful still to not be seen. To the very few who knew of her family's history with the Devitts, she could not be seen with him. Not by her brothers. Not even her mother. Or even Tori.

Her friend was currently dancing with Levi, attracting most of the attention of the guests who were curious that the first thing the charming Levi Everard did since his return to Wickhurst was dance with Victoria Ashdown. Margaret smiled to herself as she watched their curiosity turn to interest. Tori should have a chance to change the future her stepmother had set for her.

She left their youngest Emma with Ralph to saunter through the sea of guests, brushing gowns and coats along the way. Margaret's heart began to pound against her chest as she willed herself to keep walking and do what she had set out to do.

How difficult would it be to strike a short conversation with the man who had once been your entire world?

Surely it is easy, she thought wryly.

Yet he had destroyed that world in one single night, a voice whispered in her head.

He was merely three yards away, just a few steps and she'd be face to face with him. But then he moved and she stood frozen in her spot. Her limbs stiffened as the image of Cole Devitt in the middle of a rocky field flashed before her eyes—him holding the tip of his sword against her older brother's face, eyes filled with hatred, face crumpled in pain. He merely did not scar Benedict's face that night. He had ripped her heart as well.

Her breath shook as she let it out, and before Margaret realized it, he was gone. He had walked off to the other side of the ballroom with an acquaintance. Many years ago, they, the Everards, were his friends. Benedict Everard was rarely seen anywhere without Cole Devitt, just like how Margaret was always with Tori. He had joined them in many of their excursions and dinners. He was always with them, just like how Tori was always around the Everard brothers.

The music was coming to an end and she could hear Ralph and Emma behind her bickering still and now joined by Ysabella. Margaret did not realize that she was still holding her breath and her hands were trembling. With an incredulous scoff, she shook her head and her hands.

Good Lord! She was being pathetic.

Her heart had slowed down, but a tiny hint of pain was distantly humming, a feeling she had grown quite accustomed to over the years.

Perhaps not tonight, she told herself as she made her way back to her family.

He had made it back to Wickhurst and it was good enough.

There was no need to make contact, she said to herself.

She was simply asked to spy.

***

Cole opened the missive inside the carriage. Going to the ball had been a risk, but he had to keep up appearances as the new head of the Men of Courts.

Evading invitations had stirred curiosity over his private life, even more so when the desperate mamas realized he was an unmarried man with a title. And with the Wickhurst Season in full swing, where desperate mothers wield their best weapons, and gossip was the main sport, he would not wish for anyone to dig into his life. Not now when everything was in a fragile state.

He read the contents of the missive.

The murder is merely speculation. They do not have anything to support the theory he was killed for something foul. Keep your promise and I shall keep mine. For now, ease your mind. You are still in the clear.

He crumpled the paper, jaw tight as he looked out the window of the carriage. He drew a long breath and slowly let it out.

Margaret Everard.

She was there at the ball.

She was beautiful still, even more beautiful from the last time he saw her standing in the middle of the Everard parlor, defending Agatha Blair from him and his men.

She had been well.

That was good enough, he thought, pulling the window curtain of the carriage close.

She is well, he whispered in his mind.