CHAPTER 33

Evening approached, casting long shadows across the manor's great hall. Vivienne stood at the mirror in her bedchamber, smoothing down the skirt of her dark green evening gown. Normally, she would have chosen a lighter, more inviting color to dinner, but tonight felt different. A sober hue suited the lingering tension.

A knock sounded. Vivienne tensed—likely a servant announcing dinner. "Come in."

Instead, to her surprise, Julian entered, pausing just inside the threshold. He wore a simple black dinner jacket, understated compared to the typical finery demanded at Lucien's table, but it fit him well. The uncertain flicker in his eyes mirrored her own. "I'm sorry to intrude," he said softly. "May I?"

She inclined her head, heart fluttering. "Of course."

He stepped close, letting the door close behind him. "Lucien's finishing some letters. Dinner is in fifteen minutes. I…wanted to see how you were faring before we face him together."

Vivienne caught her reflection in the mirror—Julian behind her, concern etched on his face. She turned to him, a forced smile on her lips. "I'm…nervous. But determined. We can't tiptoe around each other forever."

He nodded, exhaling. "Agreed. We must show him we're sincere about this alliance—and that we respect his authority in his own home. But he also needs to see we're not just pawns."

She reached out, touching the cuff of his jacket. "Are you all right? This can't be easy for you, living under the roof of a man you once sought to incriminate."

Julian mustered a wry half-smile. "I'll manage. We've come too far to back down now." He hesitated, then gently took her hand. "And about earlier, when I…kissed you—"

Vivienne's cheeks warmed at the memory. In the swirl of events, that had almost been overshadowed. "Julian, we don't have to—"

He shook his head. "We do. I don't regret it, but I realize how complicated this is. You're entangled with Lucien in ways I never foresaw. I won't push you into anything you don't want."

She felt a pang of gratitude tinged with sadness. "I don't know what the future holds," she admitted. "My feelings for him…for you… They're all tangled up in duty and deception. Right now, I can't promise anything except that I care about you both."

His expression flickered with pain and acceptance. He kissed her knuckles in silent acknowledgment. "That's enough for now. Let's see if we all survive this mission first."

A discrete cough from the doorway made them jump apart. A maid stood there, eyes respectfully lowered. "Madame, sir, dinner is ready. His Grace awaits you in the dining hall."

Julian released Vivienne's hand, stepping back. The moment ended. She straightened her gown and nodded. "We'll be right there," she told the maid, trying to steady her heart.

They walked to the dining hall side by side, not touching, keenly aware that every servant's glance carried the potential for rumors. The carved oak doors stood ajar, warm light spilling out along with the gentle clink of dishes. Inside, Lucien was already seated at the head of the long table, flipping through a letter.

At their approach, he looked up. His gaze flicked first to Vivienne, then Julian, as though noting their synchronized entrance. A flicker of wariness crossed his eyes, but he gestured to the two chairs placed at either side of him—clearly he intended them to sit near, a sign of outward unity.

The table was set elegantly for three, candelabras and fresh flowers adorning the center. Vivienne's stomach twisted at the memory of how often she'd dined intimately with Lucien alone, how that used to fill her with a confusing mixture of delight and guilt. Now Julian's presence cast everything in a new dynamic.

They took their seats. A footman poured wine, then withdrew. Once the servants had retreated, Lucien spoke, voice carefully civil. "Thank you for joining me. I propose we keep tonight's meal short—afterward, we can discuss the next steps in private."

Julian inclined his head politely. "As you wish, Your Grace."

Vivienne quietly echoed the sentiment, her gaze dropping to her plate. She felt Lucien's eyes on her, but forced herself to focus on tasting the soup instead. The tension was palpable, thick enough to overshadow the aroma of roasted pheasant and herb sauces wafting in from the sideboards.

Small talk was nonexistent. Lucien asked a few logistical questions—had Julian received any new messages from the War Office, had Vivienne unearthed anything else in Bernard's trunk—and each responded succinctly. It was the most stilted dinner conversation she had ever experienced, but at least it was conversation, not shouting or accusations.

Halfway through the main course, Lucien cleared his throat. "Nathaniel has replied to my missive." He withdrew a folded note from his waistcoat. "He claims to be pleasantly surprised by my invitation to 'reconcile our differences' and will attend a small gathering I proposed in two days' time, here at Belfoire."

Vivienne set down her fork. "He's coming here?" The notion of the possible mastermind walking these halls made her uneasy.

Lucien nodded. "That was the surest way to observe him without alerting outside parties. My plan is to invite a few other nobles as cover, so it looks like a friendly house party. He won't suspect we suspect him."

Julian's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "Then we'll have to arrange a quiet search of his belongings or see if we can catch him in contradictory statements while he's here. Possibly compare his seal to the letter's hawk crest."

"Precisely," Lucien agreed. His gaze flickered to Vivienne. "But you… your presence will be tricky. If Nathaniel recognizes you from any prior gossip, it might tip him off." He paused, a muscle working in his jaw. "Though, ironically, you might also be the best at sussing out his intentions if he tries to befriend you."

Vivienne swallowed, torn. "I'll do whatever best serves the plan. If you think I should remain invisible, I will. If not—"

Lucien's mouth thinned. "We can decide tomorrow. For now, let's just prepare. We have only two days."

They resumed eating in silence. The tension returned, thick as fog. Vivienne forced down a few more bites of pheasant but found her appetite absent. In two days, we confront Nathaniel. Could everything resolve so quickly? Or was the final confrontation only beginning?

At last, dessert arrived—a delicate mousse, which none of them seemed particularly eager for. After sampling a spoonful, Lucien gestured the servants to clear. "We'll discuss details in the study," he said, pushing back his chair. "No sense lingering here."

Vivienne stood, smoothing her gown. Julian rose as well, falling in step behind Lucien. As they made their way to the study, Vivienne couldn't shake the feeling that while they inched closer to unveiling Nathaniel's schemes, the personal knots among them were only drawn tighter by each forced moment of cooperation. And soon they would all be tested further in the presence of the very man who had orchestrated their enmity.

She squared her shoulders. Then let the test come. She would face it, alongside the two men who, for better or worse, had claimed pieces of her heart. Only time would tell if those pieces could be reunited into something resembling peace—or if they would shatter irreparably when the final truths emerged.