A quick trip to a secondhand shop had Xavier outfitted in his first evening wear in five years. The material was stiff and uncomfortable, an unwelcome change from his soft, threadbare attire in Antarctica.
Or going nude. He missed that, too.
His irritation over wearing formalwear disappeared when he looked at Arabella, who had transformed herself.
Her navy-blue linen and silk gown was simple, unadorned except for lace around the neckline that dipped lower than he would have expected from her. Her red hair was swept up off her neck, held in place with a paste jeweled comb of her mother’s. Her hands and arms were hidden by a pair of matching navy gloves. She looked absolutely stunning but she had a guarded expression on her face as she stared at Evelyn’s sister’s Hanover Square townhouse.
Electric lights glowed in the windows and on lampposts on either side of the heavy black-painted front door. Beyond the gated garden, potted flowers in a riot of colors rested every few feet along the old-fashioned, perfectly maintained cobblestone walkway.
Already, Xavier could see people in the windows. Too many people for a casual evening spent in the parlor. Irritation and anxiety rose in him like a tidal wave, and he took Arabella’s elbow. “We’re not going in,” he said.
Was that relief on her face? “Are you certain?”
“Very.” Before he could explain that they had been duped, the front door opened. A liveried butler nodded at them and waited.
Just as quickly, Evelyn appeared in the doorway, a brilliant smile on her face. “Xavier!”
He suspected that had she not been bound by the propriety her sister and brother-in-law insisted upon, that Evelyn would have dashed down the front steps and walkway to throw herself into his arms.
She didn’t run to him, but she didn’t wait for Xavier and Arabella to make their way to the door themselves. Heedless of Arabella’s presence, Evelyn grabbed Xavier’s hands to squeeze in her own gloved ones. “I’m so pleased you’re here.”
“And Arabella,” Xavier quickly said.
Evelyn’s smile faltered a little. “Of course. Miss Greaves, thank you for coming.”
Well, there was no way out of this now. With a sinking heart, Xavier followed Evelyn inside, Arabella lingering a step behind. As he suspected, when they entered the house, he found it teeming with people. Back in his Antarctic hideaway, he used to occasionally consider how he would react if he ever reentered society. If he would panic, or get anxious, or, God forbid, his dragon came out. As he stood in the parlor, a dozen faces around him peppering him with questions, all he felt was exasperation at being expected to talk with them. Then anger, when he thought about Evelyn lying to him.
He leaned over and whispered in her ear, “This wasn’t what you said to expect.”
Something in his tone had her eyes wide, hurt reflected there. “I didn’t think you would come otherwise.”
“You’re right. I wouldn’t have.”
“But you’re here now. At least spend a few minutes assuring everyone that you’re not a ghost,” she said.
From his other side, Arabella gave a soft snort.
No, he was something much worse than a ghost. In a way, Evelyn was correct, although he could never admit it to her. He had scared off at least a decade of the expedition members’ lives when he disappeared. They deserved to know how he’d managed to survive all that time in Antarctica, and he could make up a few stories to keep them off his back for a little while longer. He gritted his teeth and faced the crush of people. “I wasn’t expecting such a crowd,” he said. He counted nineteen people, seven of which he went with to Antarctica, and another eight he recognized from his days in the university faculty.
Evelyn’s sister, Juliet and her husband, Daniel, Viscount Renforth, waited at the far end of the room for Xavier to speak. Neither looked delighted to see him, or they could just be disapproving of the adoring looks Evelyn kept sending his way.
Xavier had no idea why she kept doing that, either. She was the one who broke it off between them in the worst way possible. He steeled himself, then started off his tall tale with the least-unbelievable lie he could think of. “While I fell off the dirigible, I obviously managed to survive, and made do in a cave for a few years…”
This evening was torture.
Arabella wondered if she was in hell or maybe purgatory, but suspected that either would be much less boring. No one except Xavier ever paid any attention to her, and Dr. Putney whisked him away as soon as he had finished telling his dramatic tale of living in the Antarctic wilds for years. Perhaps it was for the best that no one noticed a nobody aviator at a party full of academics and aristocrats. While Arabella’s family had aristocratic connections, she hadn’t grown up in this world. She was barely acquainted with it.
And this house.
Its decorating scheme was so over-the-top that it bordered on gauche. Everything was gold or gold-colored, the carpets were so thick her heels sank into them and made her wobble. Renforth and his wife looked like they hadn’t smiled a day in their lives. They wandered the room, speaking to select people while pretending their other guests didn’t exist.
Naturally, Arabella went unnoticed by the viscount and his wife. It was just as well, since she had no idea what to speak about with aristocrats. Lonely and dejected, she scanned the room for Xavier and Dr. Putney and came up short. So, she looked for the next best thing: a liveried servant holding a tray of glasses. Some wine sounded good at the moment, if not half a bottle. She found the servant, who gave her a glass with the barest of nods. Even his uniform had gold thread in it.
“I’ve not seen you at Renforth’s before.”
The voice was unfamiliar, masculine and deep. She looked up at a man who stood at least a head taller than her, his curly dark hair clipped short. His nose was at an angle, as if he’d been in a fight or two. His dark eyes regarding her with more than simple curiosity.
Beneath his face was the body of a pugilist, albeit one wearing clothes that probably cost half as much as Arabella’s dirigible’s winterization. If she hadn’t been pining for Xavier, she would have found him attractive. “This is my first time here,” she said. “I’m Arabella Greaves.” Was this how she was supposed to introduce herself to an aristocrat? She couldn’t remember, but likely not.
“I know,” he replied. “I was here when Dr. Kinnon told us his amazing story of survival in the wild.”
“Oh, yes.” She’d forgotten about that already, as had most of the other guests. Every time Xavier tried to talk about Arabella, Dr. Putney would interrupt and steer the conversation back to him.
“I’m John Bellingham.”
Was she supposed to hold out her hand? Just to be sure, Arabella did. He surprised her when he took it and kissed the back of it through her glove.
“Dr. Kinnon mentioned you’re an aviator.”
At least this was a subject she was familiar with. “I am. Do you sail?”
“When I can.”
“Were you part of the Antarctic expedition?”
“Hell no,” he replied. “I’m a solicitor, one of Evelyn’s cousins. Once in a while, I board a dirigible and the pilot lets me pretend I’m actually sailing it, but that’s the extent of my flight expertise. I’m more interested in the vessels themselves. Dr. Kinnon said you traveled alone from Santiago to Antarctica. How did you do it?”
He looked genuinely interested, and Arabella was grateful for the distraction over her aching heart. She tried not to dwell on his being Dr. Putney’s cousin and resisted the urge to ask him about her relationship with Xavier. Instead, she told him about winterizing her dirigible and the upgrades she’d made to it to withstand the journey. She felt herself start to relax a little, but whether it was from the wine or the conversation, she couldn’t tell.
“How long will you be in London?” John asked.
“I’m not sure.”
“I’ll have to give you my contact details before your next journey. I’d love to see your dirigible and how you’ve kitted it out before you next set sail,” he said.
There was a note of promise in his voice that hinted at his interest in something other than her dirigible. A few months ago, Arabella would have taken up such an opportunity, had some fun with him, and moved on. She’d done it before but that was before she crashed into a dragon’s mountain. That dragon had disappeared from the party, as had the hostess, and the dragon didn’t intend to stay in her life. Arabella forced herself to smile. “Perhaps in the future,” she said, keeping her answer ambiguous.
“The far future.”
A shiver raced down her spine at Xavier’s voice behind her, and she whirled around to face him. His expression was unlike any she had seen him wear before: stormy, almost angry. She wondered what had happened with Dr. Putney while he was gone.
“I have to speak with Arabella,” Xavier said to John. Without waiting for a response from either of them, he grabbed her elbow and guided her away from the room, through a set of open French doors that led to the back garden.
“Xavier?” He was acting odd, and she knew she should be outraged by his impropriety and possession, but she wasn’t. Anticipation wound itself in her, coiled tightly, about to spring. She wondered what his plans were.
He didn’t stop walking until they reached the far edge of the garden, a spot against the fence, hidden by a row of bright pink hollyhocks. Light from the house and a few gas lanterns strung around the garden bathed everything in a soft glow. He let her go, then faced her.
“Xavier?” His expression was unreadable, but Arabella needed to know why he was behaving as he was. “What’s wrong?”
He ran a hand through his hair. He considered his words for a few seconds before he hoarsely whispered, “I didn’t like him talking to you.”
“John? What’s wrong with him?”
“I just—I didn’t like it.”
Part of her was thrilled in a perverse way that he was jealous. The other was angry. “You’ve just spent the evening with Dr. Putney. I hardly think that places you in a position to judge me for speaking with someone at a party.” Her ire rose. “A party where I know no one, and you took off!”
“I spent most of my time with Evelyn trying to get away.”
“How hard could it be?”
“More difficult than one would expect. She cried, she apologized, she…” He sighed. “It doesn’t matter.”
“It does, if you’re going to haul me away from a conversation with the only person who’s deigned to speak with me tonight.”
“Oh, my God.” Xavier pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers, clearly gathering his composure. “Her engagement fell through after I disappeared. I was her second choice, and now that I’ve returned, she wanted to pick up where we left off. Which was an argument, I should point out. So, we argued some more, and she is simply aghast that I have no interest in marrying into her family.”
“Why not? She would be a good match for you.”
“She would not.”
“You’re both scientists.”
“I’m also a dragon,” he whispered. “Have you forgotten that? And there are other reasons just as important that keep me from picking up what we had.”
“You still had no right to drag me away from a pleasant chat about winterized dirigibles.”
“It was not a conversation about dirigibles,” Xavier said hotly. “As you well know. I heard every word of your conversation as soon as I reentered the parlor. I didn’t like how John looked at you.” Contempt dripped from his voice as he spoke the name. “I didn’t like what he was implying. I can’t stand him.”
There was that curious, fluttery feeling in her belly again. “Do you know him?’
“I don’t have to know someone to know that I can’t stand him.”
“You do, actually.” Now it was Arabella’s turn to be frustrated. “Why are you acting like this?”
“You know why.”
“Is it your dragon?” A fleeting memory of his tail grabbing her flashed in her mind. His dragon wanted her, saw her as his.
“No, it’s not only the dragon.”
Before she could respond to that, Xavier took her face in his hands, and in a swift movement that took her breath away, kissed her.