Page 31 of Carbon

“Giles.” His gaze dropped to my chest and lingered there. “Have you seen Angie?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“Never mind. Fancy coming back to my place? We’re having an after-party with better music.”

Gregory’s arm wrapped around my waist, his hand settling on my right hip. “No, she doesn’t.”

Giles swayed like an oversized Weeble, and wine sloshed over the side of his glasses. “Wasn’t asking you.”

“He’s right. I don’t want to go to your house.”

Giles gave me one last lecherous sweep with his eyes and then stumbled off, much to my relief. I thought Gregory would remove his hand, but his arm only tightened.

“Would you care to dance?”

At least if I was dancing, I’d have something to concentrate on other than the ticking hand of my wristwatch. I nodded, and as the string quartet struck up a waltz, Gregory led me to a corner of the ballroom commandeered as a makeshift dance floor.

He was an excellent dancer, hardly surprising when, like me, he’d have been fitted for a pair of dance shoes the moment he learned to walk. As he whisked me around in perfect time to the music, I wondered about Midnight’s dancing ability. Did he know ballroom? Or merely two-left-feet-while-drunk-in-a-club? If his horizontal tango gave any indication, he was probably a Latin champion.

“Did I tell you how stunning you look in that dress, Augusta?” Gregory asked.

Not once until now. “No, but thank you.”

“How very remiss of me. You always look wonderful, but that outfit complements your eyes. It really brings out that gorgeous blue.”

Dammit, why did Gregory have to turn on the charm tonight of all nights? If not for Midnight, I’d most likely have been flattered, but now all I felt was...confusion. On paper, Gregory ticked every box for a girl like me—handsome, wealthy, well-respected—and most importantly, he came with my family’s seal of approval. Then there was the loose cannon, Midnight, complete with magic balls.

At the moment, neither of their intentions were clear. And my feelings? Well, they weren’t clear either.

* * *

Gregory seemed slightly put out when I declined his offer to walk me back to the annex just before midnight, but I was running late.

“I’ll see you for lunch next week,” I said. “I’m looking forward to it.”

He gave me a half smile. “Do you have a preference on the restaurant?”

“Maybe somewhere a little less posh than last time?”

A puzzled look crossed his face, then he laughed. “You do amuse me, Augusta.”

“How about pizza?”

“Are you serious?”

“Yes.”

Hey, it wasn’t as if I’d suggested a roadside kebab van.

“Pizza.” He rolled the word on his tongue like it was a foreign language. “All right, I’ll arrange a table at a pizzeria.”

I shoved Gregory to the furthest recesses of my mind as I hurried towards the six-car garage at the back of the estate. Father kept his collection there—the investments he rarely drove. The everyday vehicles—his chauffeur-driven Bentley, the Jaguar, and the Land Rover—all lived in a smaller garage at the side of the house, while my Volkswagen Polo and Angie’s Beetle were relegated to the carport.

As I got closer, my steps slowed. Although Beau would most likely know the key code, he couldn’t use it without giving me a big clue as to his identity. No, he’d wait outside.

“Augusta?” The words from my side were followed almost immediately by an arm wrapping around my waist.

“It’s a bit late if I’m not.”

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