“He is. He introduced me earlier.”

“What was he like?”

“About as you’d expect.”

“So a smarmy bastard like his son?” I waved the flute of champagne under his nose, but he merely shook his head. I shrugged, downing his glass too and chuckling at his expression.

After a few moments, delicious warmth spread through my body. The music—previously a slow, insipid waltz—sounded much better now. Livelier. I downed the third glass. “Dance with me,” I said abruptly.

Reid looked at me in bewilderment. “What?”

“Dance with me!” I stood on my tiptoes and threw my arms around his neck. He tensed, glancing around, but I tugged him down determinedly. He complied, stooping slightly, and wrapped his arms around my waist. I laughed.

We looked ridiculous, all bent and straining to fit together, but I refused to let him go.

“This—this isn’t the proper way to dance.”

I lifted my chin and looked him directly in the eyes. “Of course it is. You’re the guest of honor. You can dance any way you want.”

“I—I don’t usually do this—”

“Reid, if you don’t dance with me, I’ll go and find someone who will.”

His grip tightened on my hips. “No, you won’t.”

“Then the way forward is clear. We dance.”

He blew out a breath and closed his eyes. “Fine.”

As nervous as he’d been to dance, he proved himself capable within moments, moving with unnatural grace for someone so tall. I myself stumbled more than once. I would’ve blamed the train of my stupid dress, but really, it was just me. I couldn’t concentrate. His hands were strong on my waist, and I couldn’t help but imagine them . . . elsewhere. My blood heated at the thought.

The song ended far too soon.

“We should go,” he said, voice rough. “It’s getting late.”

I nodded and stepped away from him, not trusting myself to speak.

It didn’t take much time to find Coco. She leaned against the wall near the antechamber, chatting with none other than Beauregard Lyon. He had an arm braced against the wall above her head. Even from a distance, I could see they were flirting shamelessly.

Both their gazes flicked to me as Reid and I approached.

“Well, well, well . . . if it isn’t Madame Diggory.” The prince’s eyes glittered with amusement. “I see your husband made the right choice.”

I ignored him, though Reid bristled at his words. “Brie, we’re ready to go. Are you coming?”

Coco looked to the prince, who smirked. “This lovely creature will not be leaving my side for the remainder of the evening. Sorry, darling,” he whispered to me conspiratorially. “I’ll need to postpone that offer . . . unless you or your husband would care to join?”

I glared at him. Ass.

Reid’s eyes narrowed. “What offer?”

I tugged on his arm. “Let’s go find Ansel.”

“He already left.” Coco wrapped her arms around the prince’s waist. A wicked gleam lit her dark eyes. “Just the two of you on the ride home. I hope you don’t mind.”

I bared my teeth in an attempt at a smile. “Can I talk to you in private for a moment, Brie?”

Surprise flashed across her features, but she quickly recovered. “Of course.”

Smile slipping, I dragged her into the antechamber. “What are you doing?”

She shimmied her hips. “Trying to get you some alone time with your husband. The dance floor didn’t look like it was cutting it.”

“I meant with the prince.”

“Oh.” She arched a brow and grinned. “Probably the same thing you’ll be doing with Reid.”

“Are you insane? He’ll see your scars!”

She raised a shoulder in indifference, tugging at her tight black sleeve. “So I’ll tell him I was in an accident. Why would he suspect anything else? It’s not like Dames Rouges are common knowledge, and everyone here thinks I’m Brie Perrot, a healer and close friend of Captain Reid Diggory. Besides, aren’t you being a bit hypocritical? Beau and I are just sex, but you and Reid . . . I won’t claim to know what the hell is going on with you two, but something is going on.”

I scoffed, but my face flushed treacherously. “You really are insane.”

“Am I?” Coco took my hands, eyes searching my face. “I don’t want to tell you your business, Lou, but please . . . be careful. You’re playing a dangerous game. Reid is still a Chasseur, and you’re still a witch. You know you’ll have to part ways eventually. I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

My anger evaporated at her concern, and I squeezed her hands in reassurance. “I know what I’m doing, Coco.”

But even I knew that was a lie. I had no idea what I was doing when it came to Reid.

She dropped my hands, frowning. “Right. I’ll just leave you alone then, and the two of you can continue this stupidity together.”

My stomach sank inexplicably as I watched her go. I didn’t like fighting with Coco, but there was nothing I could do to fix it this time.

Reid reappeared by my side a moment later, taking my arm and leading me to the carriage—the carriage that was suddenly too small, too warm, with Reid sitting beside me. His fingers brushed my thigh in a seemingly innocent gesture, and I couldn’t help but remember the feel of them on my waist. I shuddered and closed my eyes.

When I opened them a moment later, Reid was staring at me. I swallowed, and his gaze fell to my lips. I willed him to lean forward—to bridge the distance between us—but his eyes shuttered at the last second, and he pulled away.

Disappointment crashed through me, replaced quickly by the sharp sting of humiliation.

It’s for the best. I glared out the window. Coco had been right: Reid was still a Chasseur, and I was still a witch. No matter what happened between us, no matter what changed, this one, insurmountable obstacle would remain. And yet . . . I studied his rigid profile, the way his eyes kept gravitating back to me.

It would be stupid to start down this path. There was only one way it could end. That knowledge did nothing to stop my heart from racing at his proximity, however, nor dim my spark of hope. Hope that, perhaps, our story could end a different way.

But . . . Coco had been right.

I was playing a dangerous game.

A Question of Pride

Reid

The tension in our room that night was physically painful.

Lou lay in my bed. I heard her shift in the darkness, her breathing loud and then quiet. She shifted again. Rolled slowly to her side. Her back. Her side. Her back. Trying to stay silent. Inconspicuous.

But she was neither, and I heard her. Over and over and over again.

The woman was driving me mad.

Finally, she leaned over the side of the bed, blue-green eyes meeting mine in the darkness. Her hair spilled to the floor.

I sat up on my elbows too quickly, and her eyes dropped to where my nightshirt gaped open across my chest. Heat rushed to my stomach. “What is it?”

“This is stupid.” She scowled, but I was at a loss for why she was irritated. “You don’t have to sleep on the floor.”