A chill runs through me. It is a battle to keep my voice measured. “For what?”

“I just thought…” He trails off, turning away from me. Perhaps it’s a strategic move, feigned humility. But it oddly doesn’t seem so. His profile is rather divine from this angle. Strong jaw. Straight, aquiline nose. Cheekbones I could have used to saw our way through the iron bars on our jail cell. “I thought that since we are to be wed that you would perhaps allow for some greater … intimacy between us.”

I had half expected a confession. That he would tell me that he roped my brother into Cristobal’s murderous delights somehow. That he was responsible. That I could blame him. But of course, it wouldn’t be that easy.

“Why do you want to marry me?” The question is bluntly delivered but gracefully received. He doesn’t balk. He merely takes a sip of his wine, scanning the milling crowd.

“Would it please you to hear that I don’t?” Sebastian says. “That our union is one of mutual benefit. A sound decision for both your fortune and mine. Is that what you want to hear?”

I follow his gaze, eyes roving over the crowd. I hope Ana is all right. I hope we can get out of here in one piece. And I hope the truth outs.

“What do you know about my brother’s death?”

Maybe it’s unwise to ask. Maybe I’m showing my hand. But I need to know. I need him to tell me. I need to study his face to see if he’s lying.

“As I already told you, nothing. Though I’m glad you’re not waving a pistol in my face this time.”

His voice is too even. Too measured.

I capture his eyes and hold that gaze for a long moment.

“I think you’re lying.”

I don’t know what response I expect from him. Honestly. We stare at each other for a long moment before his gaze slides from mine. He spots something over my shoulder and frowns.

The musicians change their pace to a saraband I’m rather fond of. He extends a hand to me, palm up, arm stiff. “Shall we dance?”

My cup halts its progression halfway to my lips. “What?” Now, that I was not expecting.

“Please.” There is something to the quality of his voice that gives me pause. I study his eyes—or what I can see of them through his mask—and find a matching flavor of concern there.

“Fine.” I set my cup down on a nearby plinth and accept Sebastian’s hand. “Let’s dance.”

His soft sigh of relief is not lost on me.