On the Night Your Fiancé Sleeps — 14
Leaving Raphael behind, Enya and Lucas made their way into the dance hall. Enya stared at the hand he extended toward her with a distinctly reluctant look.
Now that she had attended as his partner, refusing Lucas's request for a dance would have been an outright discourtesy.
No — setting aside the rudeness of the moment, staying on good terms with Lucas was what mattered. Enya recalled the conversation she'd had with her father, Count Campbell, just days ago.
"I hear you've grown rather close to the Whitmore second son? Then how about you leave the Academy now."
"I beg your pardon?"
"It's time to prepare for the marriage in earnest, isn't it?"
"...I'm not even engaged to him yet."
"It's only a matter of time."
"No, even so, I think it would be best if we attended the Academy together. You know what the Young Lord Whitmore is like."
"Hm, that's true... In that respect, I suppose lingering too complacently could let things slip through our fingers. Very well. In exchange, you will attend the baron's party coming up as the Whitmore second son's partner. Best to make our closeness unmistakably clear to everyone."
"...Yes, Father."
If she left the Academy now, her flight to Eberdeen would slip beyond reach. She could not afford to ruin a plan with barely half a year left to run. Which meant she had to make use of the man before her, just enough.
Having turned all of this over in her mind, she laid her hand atop Lucas's.
Taking it, he drew her gently toward him.
"How surprising."
The man who had braced a light hand at her waist spoke as he moved through the steps with practiced ease.
"I thought you couldn't dance."
"It's because I never had a proper chaperone?"
"There is that. Though I also thought you'd be more interested in reading than in social occasions like this?"
At the unexpected answer, Enya blinked. She had braced herself for another of his uselessly vague, teasing remarks, and instead he'd come back with something perfectly reasonable.
Seeing her bewildered expression, the man took her arm and spun her in a turn on the spot.
Like a young lady dancing her first dance with her father, Enya whirled once around in an instant and landed folded against his chest.
His face was close — the face of a man who smiled with obvious intent, who wielded charm as habitually as breathing.
Though the closeness unsettled her, Enya let out a small laugh. The turn just now had set her feet skipping lightly, and somehow the whole business struck her as rather funny.
The turmoil she'd felt since facing Raphael had retreated, if only a little.
"That's rather binary thinking of you. ...Not that you're wrong."
At her prim admission, Lucas burst into quiet laughter.
"I'm a partner who knows you quite well, you see. I think I make for a rather decent match, so you'll take back what you said earlier, won't you?"
What he'd said earlier — did he mean that business about who she would kiss? Enya narrowed her eyes and asked.
"Would it matter?"
It had been nothing but a retort anyway. Both Enya and Lucas knew perfectly well the remark had been sheer bravado.
And yet the man nodded with surprising seriousness.
"Yes. At least for today, I'd like to be your only partner."
The words that followed were strangely, deliberately laden with meaning.
Enya watched as Lucas's gaze drifted past her shoulder, then answered slowly.
"I'll try."
Even that noncommittal reply seemed to satisfy him; his expression said it was enough.
The party carried on deep into the night.
Enya stepped out onto the terrace and let out a weary sigh. Leaving one's partner and departing early was counted a grievous discourtesy — short of actually fainting — so she had no choice but to linger while Lucas exchanged farewells here and there, a fact she found rather trying.
It was only thanks to the man having noticed her condition and shown a faint glimmer of conscience that she'd been spared worse.
He had steered her out onto the empty terrace.
"Don't go kissing any other men."
That, along with the ridiculous joke.
Feeling the soft spring night breeze, Enya leaned against the terrace rail. Her gaze drifted down of its own accord — and froze on a familiar head of black hair directly below.
A large-framed man sat sprawled at the fountain at the center of the garden. Between the sounds of water carried on the warm wind, his low breathing gathered and dissolved.
She had just swallowed an involuntary gulp when a small curse reached her ears.
She couldn't make out the meaning, but the rough tone of it came through with startling clarity.
Though a fair distance lay between them, he felt very close.
Her fingers tightened around the terrace railing.
Enya knew she had to look away from him — and yet she couldn't bring herself to do it.
Before she knew it, a faint worry had risen in her eyes.
She had never seen Raphael at a party like this before, but she knew at a glance that he was not himself.
He looked somehow unsteady.
...Is he drunk?
And just as she'd formed the reasonable suspicion, Raphael lifted his head. As though he had known she was looking down at him, their eyes met at once.
Brows drawn, the man glared up at her with conspicuous bluntness.
At that raw, reproachful gaze, Enya caught her breath.
For a moment she simply stared back, her own brow knitted. Perhaps it was the few sips of sparkling wine, or perhaps the sheer exasperation of an unrequited beloved scolding her on her friend's behalf — either way, heat rushed through her in an instant.
Faced with her sharp reaction, Raphael let out a hollow laugh.
Then he strode toward the terrace, which stood about half a story above the garden.
"Now that I've seen you today, I understand perfectly why the Eberdeen etiquette classes were discontinued."
His upturned gaze held unmistakable censure. Enya pushed off from the railing and stepped back.
As she turned her back and made to leave the terrace, his drawling voice caught her.
"Well, the Campbell family's fortunes have apparently improved enough now that you needn't trouble yourselves with Eberdeen lessons."
"...Anyone overhearing would think I was the one desperate for those lessons."
"Ah, right. It was only me who was desperate. That's why I was the one hanging on every word."
He conceded the point with a bitter laugh.
Pressing his tongue against the inside of his cheek and glaring at empty space for a moment — and then, in a flash, his hand closed on the terrace railing.
Before Enya could even cry out, he vaulted up onto the terrace, quick and light. Caught off guard by the suddenness of it, she stumbled backward.
A terrace was, after all, a place where a man and a woman ought never be found together unless they were married.
Worse, she was here as Lucas's partner. Enya fixed the man who had done something so utterly senseless with a scowl.
"What do you think you're doing? Get back down. Now."
"Why? Finding it hard to talk up close with anyone who isn't your partner?"
He was stating the obvious.
It was an absurd question from a man who understood the rules of high society better than anyone.
Enya glared at Raphael, dumbfounded. The urgent need to escape this place tangled with the anxious fear of being caught alone with him.
"Enya."
"...Don't say my name."
Least of all in a place like this.
She wanted to cover the ears exposed by her braided updo. The instant Raphael's low voice spoke her name, the heat blooming at the rims of her ears was unmistakable.
Even in a situation this dire.
Enya bit her lip hard.
Please, let the ardor of his oblivious, hopeless longing look like nothing more than drunkenness.
For his part, Raphael laughed inwardly at her sharp response.
Why did he keep calling the name of a woman who would never be his? He felt vaguely foolish.
And yet the irritation surged anyway.
"Lady Campbell, Lucas is not a good opportunity for you."
In the end, that was what came out. He knew perfectly well it was none of his business, but he did not take it back.
Her expression hardened.
"...However close the two of you may be, saying such a thing to me oversteps. If you truly care about your friend, then stop."
"As if I care about Lucas."
"Then what is this?"
Enya's voice grew markedly sharper.
And just as Raphael opened his mouth again, someone appeared in the garden below.
Sensing the presence, the man pulled Enya toward him by pure reflex.
They ducked into the edge of the terrace, into the blind spot hidden from the garden.
Enya held her breath at the warmth of him, so close she could feel it radiating.
"Are you insane?"
"...If we'd been caught, you'd be treating me like a madman anyway."
"This is your fault to begin with. Why on earth would you climb up onto the—!"
She berated him in a strangled whisper.
And still she struggled to steady her quickening breath. The most natural of acts — swallowing, blinking — turned unnatural all at once.
His hard body, his cool, clean scent — it was as if an invisible rope had wound itself around her, binding her from head to toe.
Desperate to hide her pounding heart, Enya took an involuntary step back.
And he caught her arm.
She was a hair's breadth from falling into him again — and this time, the momentum might well have thrown her straight into his chest.
If that happened, he really might see straight through her. The darkness of night might hide the color burning at her ears, but it would never erase its heat.
Enya tried to pull back — and her unfamiliar heels crossed, twisting beneath her.
His firm arm closing around her waist was surely nothing but reflex.
But alas, that helpful catch led straight to disaster.
His lips brushed the side of Enya's forehead.
"......"
"......"
At that flash of contact, they both froze solid.
Unable to bear the heat lingering on her brow, Enya shoved him away hard. She bolted from the terrace — and this time, Raphael could not hold her back.