Page 71 of Ashen Torment

“See for yourself.”

He follows my gaze toward the human composition; the posed bodies, sensual, vulnerable.

“All I see is flesh, Viscount.”

“You—”

“It is impossible not to recognize you, Evander.”

How the fuck does he dare utter my name like that?

“Do not dare,” I lower my voice, “do not dare call me by my name.”

“But you did.”

He takes a step closer.

I try to move away. He plants himself in front of me, cutting off any movement, hands behind his back.

“Two or three times, in fact.”

“Two,” I mumble barely above a whisper.

“What was that?”

“I said it only happened twice, not three times. Now, move aside.”

He smiles mischievously. Mask or no mask, I see the amusement in his eyes. My neck warms, a thin current of heat running up to my shoulders, which have yet to relax.

“So, you remember.”

I look away, gripping the champagne flute between my fingers.

“You should occupy your time more efficiently.”

He tilts his head slightly. “You were pretending not to remember. I feared, Viscount, that you were suffering from memory loss.”

I drain the last remaining drop in the glass.

“Truly thoughtful of you to worry about me, but you need not.”

With a swift gesture, he takes the empty glass from my hands and sets it on a tray held steady by a valet before us.

“So, what interested you so much as to steal your gaze away?”

“I was simply observing.”

“I have never seen you so engrossed.”

“You do not know me in the slightest.”

“I do not understand why a man like you is at an evening like this.”

“I could say the same.”

“You forget that I am an artist, Viscount.”

I turn my face to the side to avoid his fixed stare. “Of course, of course.”