CHAPTER EIGHT
The grand dining hall shimmered under the warm glow of crystal chandeliers, the polished marble reflecting the soft candlelight that flickered across the long, ornate table. The room buzzed with murmurs of conversation, punctuated by occasional laughter, the delicate clinking of silverware, and the quiet shuffle of servants attending to the guests. Rich tapestries lined the walls, and the scent of roasted meats and spiced wine mingled with the floral arrangements that adorned every surface.
Evie descended the grand staircase. Voices hummed through the hall, a symphony of laughter, clinking glasses, and quiet conversation. Guests mingled in small clusters, each group radiating a gentle air of camaraderie. The Duke and Duchess presided near the head of the table, their presence commanding yet warm, while other nobles whispered in clusters around the room.
Her eyes swept the gathering, scanning for familiar faces. Miles sat close to Camila, their heads bent together in what seemed a private conversation. Kaiden and Arabella lingered nearby, watching with calculating eyes. Evie hesitated for a heartbeat before spotting James Fairfax at a smaller table. His gaze was fixed on her, warm and intent, a silent promise of steadiness. He gestured subtly.
"Lady Evie, please, join me," he said, his voice low and smooth, drawing her forward.
She made her way to him, every step deliberate and fluid, sliding into the chair beside him with grace. James' eyes lingered for a fraction too long, a soft smile tugging at his lips.
"You look radiant tonight," he murmured, the words gentle but intimate, sending a shiver through her.
Evie returned a polite, genuine smile. "Thank you, Lord James."
The hum of conversation continued around them. Soon, the Duke rose, glass raised.
"I must congratulate our champions of today's lawn match," he said, nodding toward Evie and James. "Finally defeating Arabella and Kaiden. Well done."
Applause rippled through the room. Arabella's eyes flicked toward Evie, sharp and calculating, but Evie met her gaze with a faint, controlled smile. Arabella's expression soured, and she shifted her attention as the Duchess began her announcement.
"My dear guests," the Duchess said, her voice carrying across the hall, smooth and commanding, "there will be a charity ball tomorrow evening at Stone Hill. A special guest may attend, so I expect everyone to give their best."
The room murmured, excitement buzzing quietly. Miles, however, could not look away from Evie, who laughed softly at something James whispered. Camila noticed instantly. With calculated precision, she tipped a glass, spilling its contents dangerously close to Miles.
"Oh, forgive me," she said, voice sweet yet deliberate, kneeling as if to clean it.
Miles waved her off, attention still on Evie. "It's fine, Camila. Really."
Camila insisted, brushing her fingers against his hand as she reached again. "Nonsense. Let me clean this mess, it's all my fault."
Evie's gaze met Miles' stern look, a silent signal. Smoothly, she rose, brushing Camila's hand away from him.
"I'll take care of it from here," she said, voice soft but firm, leaving no room for debate.
Camila arched a brow, a confident smirk playing on her lips. "I think I was managing just fine. But very well."
Evie did not answer. She took Miles' hand, leading him away, leaving Camila behind, lips pressed into a thin line, the faintest flush creeping up her cheeks.
They reached Miles' room. Evie stepped aside, letting him enter first.
"You can help yourself," she said, her voice steady, almost playful. "I'll be at the door when you're ready."
"Evie…" Miles began, but she only smiled and walked to her post outside the door, folding her hands and waiting.
Moments passed before Arabella appeared, leaning casually against the wall, eyes sharp. "Scared to go in? I thought you were his girlfriend. Or is it just an act?" Her tone was teasing, dangerous, the kind that tested and accused in equal measure.
Evie tilted her head slightly, her expression calm, measured. "Hmm," she murmured, allowing no further bait.
Just then, Miles emerged from the room, unaware of Arabella's scrutiny. Evie moved to him with deliberate tenderness, pressing a brief, confident kiss to his lips. "Are you okay?" she whispered, cupping his face gently.
Miles' eyes softened, a small smile forming. "Yes. It's much better," he murmured, relief evident. He threaded his hand around her waist as they began walking, Evie's fingers intertwined with his, radiating control and composure.
Arabella's eyes narrowed. Her fists clenched at her sides, her jaw tight. She took a step forward but thought better of it, her calculated gaze following them with suspicion and barely restrained frustration.
As they passed a shadowed corner where Arabella's view was obscured, Evie subtly removed Miles' hand from her waist. She stepped ahead slightly, walking with poise beside him, maintaining just enough distance to command the situation, leaving Arabella behind, her doubts growing but without proof.