The plan was working. Was the girl that naive that she didn't sense such an obvious trap? Fletcher's eyebrows raised incredulously when she began to touch Neal. Even if it was played off innocent, neither Theo or him could be expected to believe that it was. And that she was doing it all right in front of her fiancé...it was cold. She'd discarded him before his very eyes at the first opportunity. She hadn't even waited until Theo had left the room. And that told Fletch all he needed to know. It answered the question Theo had asked: how much did they want to ruin her?
Well. Now Fletch wanted to see her crushed into the ground. He was looking forward to watching her squirm. Fuck these nobles and their politics. Fuck them for making such a beautiful man so miserable at every opportunity. He'd break her for it.
While he festered in the corner and Theo played, the two continued on as though they were the only ones in the room. Neal played the part of a quiet, patient, charming young bodyguard. He didn't return her touches, but he did begin to lean into them, and his glittering green eyes met hers for longer and longer each time. Peppered throughout their flirtations were questions about herself, her interests, her life. Again, Fletch knew it was an act. He'd seen them do this before with new clients, or nervous clients, or cheating clients. It was their equivalent of the noble game, and any whore worth their salt played it well. But bloody hell it was convincing.
Edwina lingered that day for longer than usual, until her and Neal had gone through every letter and the trays had been well picked at and the tea had long gone cold. When at last she departed the piano room, it was mid-afternoon. Fletcher's shoulders must have been tense the whole time, because now, as he sagged into the chaise in relief at not having to listen to her stupid voice, they ached. "Was good to see her again," Fletcher said, obviously not meaning a damned word of it. "I think she's enamored, sir."
