We’d certainly gotten our story straight.
“Newlyweds,” I said with a chuckle. “Are we in trouble?”
It was the two men from before—and they looked both pissed and bemused.
“We’ll see ourselves back to the table,” Delilah stuttered. She made a move to leave, taking my hand, when one of the guards snagged her by the elbow.
Whatever look she gave stunned him for a moment.
“Delilah,” I cautioned.
She blinked and transformed back into her undercover role.
But she still yanked her arm away.
“Not gonna happen,” the guy said. “Head of security needs to speak with you. Now.”
Delilah and I exchanged a panicked look. The sheer magnitude of what happened between us felt life-altering. And now we were being led back into the gala, keeping to the sides, so the guards could escort us to their boss. Delilah was chanting a steady stream of “fuck fuck fuck,” and I was scanning the crowd for Victoria.
She wasn’t there. Although Sven was.
There was movement in the far corner of the room—a flash of Victoria’s white hair. I felt Delilah catch it too—she straightened from head to toe. Push-pulled me in front of her as we sidled through the crowd.
“I’m going after Victoria,” she murmured. “Cover for me.”
Before I could say a word - Delilah dashed toward her, stopping to scoop a martini up from a passing waiter.
“Was that your wife running away from us?” Guard #2 snarled. He moved to go after her.
“She’ll cause a scene, you know,” I said—the first idea that flew into my head. “Screaming, plates crashing, the whole ordeal. She just saw a friend, that’s all. I don’t want her to ruin the gala because of your actions.”
“You’re still in fucking trouble.”
“I know,” I said, feigning sheepishness. “Take me away.”
I turned around and Delilah was gone—racing into the Medieval and Byzantine Era wing of the museum. I saw her black hair, the long train of her beaded gown.
And then I was being led away by the guards to some uncertain punishment.
28
Delilah
Tailing Victoria Whitney through a wing of Medieval architecture had an intense cooling effect on my nerves. I couldn’t think about Henry, or the storage space, or whatever erotic magnificence had transpired between us.
I only saw our target.
She’d already willingly accepted a book we told her had been stolen last week—and had barely batted an eyelash. If Abe believed Bernard Allerton had been instigating large-scale manuscript theft for twenty years—and she’d known Bernard for half of that time—who was to say Victoria wasn’t more heavily involved?
I followed her through a hallway filled with battle axes and swords forged from steel. It evoked memories of brutality and violent history, plagues and famine—and Victoria was strolling through it like a springtime rose garden. She wove discreetly through the Christian art and Byzantine architecture, and for one terrifying second, I thought I’d lost her.
I turned down a hallway into the cloisters.
There she was.
Cloisters were the courtyards in the center of medieval monasteries, carved in stone and filled with fountains and gardens. The museum had one from the thirteenth century, and the sculptures seemed to contain the peaceful spirit of the monks who once strolled here in the sunshine.
They were eerily quiet, with no visitors except Victoria. She sat in front of a trickling fountain. Alone. There was something about the slump of her shoulders that I recognized.
Victoria Whitney—Philadelphia royalty, wealthy heiress, media darling—was crying.
I approached her like a hunter with a skittish animal—feet soft, voice low. “Are you alright?”
She was sitting on the bench and staring at the fountain with tears on her cheeks. I thought she hadn’t heard me, so I sat down next to her, smoothing the long train of my gown off to the right.
“Victoria?”
“Oh, sweet girl,” she said, patting my hand. “How did you find me here?”
“This is Henry’s favorite section of the museum. He loves to stare at the medieval stained-glass windows.”
“Well, your husband is a man that truly appreciates the weight of history.” Her smile was watery. I reached into my clutch and found a packet of tissues.
“You and your gifts,” she said, taking one gratefully.
“These are neither rare nor signed.”
“And yet it’s still greatly appreciated.”
We sat in silence for a minute. The trickling sounds of the fountain was a balm to my jangling nerves.
“Sometimes being in the presence of great love sends me to hysterics.”
“I’m sorry?” I asked.
“You and Henry.”
“Oh…oh, Victoria,” I started, surprised at her honesty.
And equally surprised at the sympathy that rose in me.
“There is nothing you need to apologize for. It’s a compliment, trust me. I know at dinner I was making light of my many engagements. But I’ve had quite the rollercoaster in my life when it comes to love.”
I went to lay a hand on her shoulder—but pulled away at the last second.
“Henry’s your great love, isn’t he?”
Her blue eyes pierced mine like an arrow.
“Yes, he is,” I said without even a pause. I crossed my legs, smoothed down my dress, aware that my limbs were still shaking.
“I’ve had several great loves in my life, not just my various fiancés. Some of them were even married to other women at the time. A mistake on their part.”
“How dare they?” I agreed with a sly smile.
“Well, that’s what I’ve always said.” Victoria let out a long, dramatic sigh. “I’ve never lacked for passion, Delilah. Never lacked for midnight proposals, hasty engagements, romantic declarations. But a love that withstands challenge…”
She sniffed, wiping her nose elegantly. “Although, between us girls, perhaps I’d tire of one man for the rest of my days.” Her brows raised. “I can’t imagine you ever growing tired of Henry.”
The only romantic passion I’d ever experienced had been with a man whose only goal was to toss me away like yesterday’s garbage. Yet every time Henry and I ended up in a confined space, I experienced an intensity I never knew existed. His cock beneath my fingers had been gloriously hard, deliciously thick—skin like velvet as I’d explored with my hand. Henry Finch in a tuxedo was too dangerous a temptation—it amplified both his handsomeness but also his brilliance.
What if the guards hadn’t come?
What if Henry had twisted his fingers in my hair and brought me to my knees? I already knew I would have dropped to the ground eagerly.
If this startling hunger invading my senses was what being with Henry Finch was like all the time, how could you ever grow tired of it?
“I’ll take your dazed expression for a no.” She seemed amused.
Heat flared in my cheeks. “We’re very much in love.”
“That’s quite obvious, dear,” she smiled. “Everyone in the room can see your love is real. Don’t let it go, whatever you do.”