Too beautiful, too pure for him, but he would devote himself to earning the right to call her his own.
“A dance might help put out this fire.” He pulled her to him just as the music was changing. After the first notes swept through the room, his wife made a noise of delighted surprise.
“Is that ‘Felices Dias’ by Morel Campos?” She tipped her head up to him, brows knitted together.
“It is,” he said as they moved together, feeling proud of himself for putting that delighted smile on her face. “Apollo knew the piece too, which was serendipitous.”
“Youare a romantic, James Evanston.” She pressed herself to him and let him guide her around the room.
“You make me one, Luz Alana.”
He truly had never been one before. Always ruthlessly practical, but the moment this woman had come into his life, the things which had seemed all-important simply ceased to matter.
“Mm.” She made a happy sound as she burrowed into his arms, then squealed when he pressed her closer. “Is that your sporran or is the kilt malfunctioning?”
He threw his head back and laughed so hard a few of the dancers around them stopped to stare. “Luz Alana,” he said simply. There was nothing more he needed to say. Those two words had grown to mean more than anything else in his life.
“It’s almost time,” she whispered close to his ear.
It was, merely minutes. A year planning this night, almost a decade waiting for this moment, but this victory tasted very different than he’d imagined. When only a month ago he couldn’t see beyond what would happen in the next hour, now all he wanted was what came after. The irony of building a road to a destination he now didn’t want to travel.
He’d blaze new trails, for her.
“Stay with me,” he whispered, gathering her into his arms, until her feet almost left the ground.
They stayed like that until the piece ended, the last joyful notes echoing in the room before fading away entirely. His heart began beating faster in anticipation as he pulled his wife by the hand to walk off the dance floor with his eyes trained on his father.
He was still standing by the entrance of the ballroom, talking to a couple Evan recognized as the Viscount and Viscountess of Graith. His father was holding court when one of his footmen rushed to him and pulled him aside. Evan saw the confusion turn to anger in his father’s face, but before the man could respond, Apollo’s booming voice echoed through the ballroom.
“Hello, brother,” Apollo called across the crowded room to Evan as the music stopped.
“My brother,” Evan called back as every person in the ballroom seemed to freeze at once. “I’m so glad you could join us on this, our dear father’s birthday.” The duke had turned to where the voice had come from and turned gray when he got a good look as his firstborn’s face.
If Evan had had any doubts about Apollo’s legitimacy, the dismayed realization in his father’s face would’ve dispelled them. Soon two more footmen appeared with their sights on Apollo, but he kept barreling toward Evan through that tunnel of flowers, emerging from it like he truly was a son of Olympus.
“Go, I’ll be all right,” Luz told him, tipping her chin in the direction of Murdoch, who was striding toward them and flanked by Manuela and Aurora on either side. Right behind them Evan could see his sisters, Amaranta and Gerard.
“I’ll see you at home,” she said firmly, before standing on her tiptoes to kiss him on the mouth, while the entire retinue of guests gaped at Apollo in morbid astonishment.
He almost told her then, in an urge to not leave anything unsaid before he walked away from her, but that was not something he wanted tarnished by this moment.
He’d do his duty first.
“Please don’t wait. Go now,” he whispered in her ear as Apollo reached them with his father and what seemed like every male member of the duke’s household staff on his heels.
“Cuñada,” his brother said, smiling in Luz Alana’s direction.
“Cuñado,” she said with a dip of her head and a smile on her lips that did not reach her eyes, as the duke’s voice boomed throughout the room. “Please get yourselves back in one piece,” she whispered, then turned to the Duke of Annan with a haughty expression. “Your Grace.”
Evan ignored his father for another second as he watched his wife walk over to join their family before heading to the exit. His sisters didn’t spare their father a second look. They did, however, make a point of going up to Apollo and kissing him on the cheek before making their way up the stairs and out of their childhood home possibly for the last time.
“What is the meaning of this?” his father shouted, for once seemingly unfazed by who might witness his embarrassment. Evan noticed that Charlotte had disappeared right as he opened his mouth to inform his father exactly what the meaning ofthiswas, but Apollo spoke first.
“Do you remember Violeta Robles Castillo? The woman whose fortune you stole, you thieving, lying bastard?” Apollo’s voice shook only when he said his mother’s name, as gasps and maligned protests echoed through the room at whoever dared insult the Duke of Annan.
“Who are you?” the duke demanded, and Evan almost closed his eyes to not have to see the bleakness on Apollo’s face as their father looked at him with naked loathing. Another victim caught in his father’s endless trail of self-indulgence and destruction.
“He’s your son.” Evan projected his voice so that everyone in that room would know the duke’s shame. He was beyond caring what any of these people thought.
