Page 97 of The Girl Who Fell Through Time
“It would be far less dangerous.”
“Debatable.”
Selene rolls her eyes. “Just trust me.”
“I do trust you.” Dorian sighs, adjusting his cuffs. “It’s most other people I have a problem with.”
Selene leans up and kisses his cheek. “You pick locks, husband, but I can pick at people. Watch and learn.”
She steps into the ballroom, where the evening is winding down, guests growing looser, laughter more raucous. Dashridge is easy to find—his cheeks flushed with drink, his movements just a little too slow. Selene steps towards him, smiling as if she’s simply enjoying the party.
“My lord,” she says sweetly. “I wanted to thank you again for such a lovely evening.”
Dashridge grins, straightening. “The pleasure is all mine, Lady Nightbloom.”
She gestures for a servant, effortlessly ensuring his glass is filled once more. “I was actually just speaking with my husband about potential business opportunities. You seem like a man with an excellent head for investments. Might you have any recommendations?”
Dashridge puffs up slightly, pleased by the flattery. He launches into a rambling answer, something about shipping routes and luxury imports, but Selene listens carefully for anything of use. Nothing yet.
She laughs at the appropriate moments, nods when required, keeping him engaged. She responds enthusiastically to his request for a dance. Then, with a subtle shift, she steers the conversation. “I imagine a man in your position must have so many connections. So many fascinating people passing through your doors.”
Dashridge swirls his brandy. “Oh, you’ve no idea. The deals I’ve seen made in this very room…” He winks. “I doubt a lady like yourself is interested in any of them, however.”
“No, of course not. My husband could be persuaded, however…”
The dance ends. Dashridge returns to his friends, and Selene lets him go.
Dorian sweeps her up into the next dance. “What are you doing?” he asks her.
“Patience, dear husband…”
“I can be patient,” he says, leaning towards her ear. “You’ve no idea how patient I can be…”
Selene keeps an eye on Dashridge’s glass throughout the evening, topping it up with her own when he’s not looking. The Duke used to have her do this when he wanted to loosen up certain guests of his, and she’s become very adept at it. He’d send her to flatter them up, too, like feeding pigs boundfor slaughter. She never liked being asked, but she likes it now.
I am good at this.
Towards the end of the night—when Dashridge is very drunk and half of the guests have left—she very carefully and politely asks him once more if he has any investment opportunities that her husband might consider.
“Anyinvestments,” she emphasises. “No matter how risky. My husband is not as mild-mannered as he appears.”
“One or two,” he says, voice slurring. There’s no pause, neither does the answer come too quickly, like one rehearsed. “I’ve a merchant thinking of expanding his business into a ship broker, another looking at opening a new trade route with Montelune. Have him come by my office tomorrow if he’s looking to invest.”
Selene makes her promises, and then her excuses. She slips away to Dorian’s side, where they dance together as she divulges all the secrets. “I don’t think he’s involved,” she tells him. “He answered quickly. He didn’t appear to be keeping anything back or looking for something safe to say. And, if he was in league with the Duke, I don’t think he would know not to include you. He would have given me an answer akin to the one the Duke first sent your father, or looked towards him for an answer.”
Dorian is stunned. “How can you be sure that he won’t report to the Duke if heisin league with him?”
“After that much drink, because of an innocent question asked by simple, sweet Selene?”
“There is nothing about you that is simple,” Dorian insists. “Although there is much about you that is sweet.”
“Do you think so?”
“I do.”
“Give me one moment,” Selene asks, intrigued by this picture he has of her. “One moment when I’ve been sweet.”
Dorian goes quiet for a moment. There’s much in that pause. It’s not like he’s searching for something to say, like it’s hard for him to find a moment—it’s more like he’s searching for the right words.
