Episode 25

O sol já estava começando a se pôr quando Gabriel e Damien deixaram a residência de Lady Penelope. A viagem de volta foi feita em silêncio, com o ritmo constante dos cascos ecoando pelas ruas de paralelepípedos. Damien olhou para o amigo de vez em quando antes de finalmente soltar uma risada baixa.

"Tão sinistro, Sinclair. Não me diga que sua batalha acabou antes mesmo de começar?"

Gabriel manteve os olhos na estrada.

“Nada acabou.”

Damien levantou uma sobrancelha. “Isso significa que ela disse 'sim'?”

Gabriel respirou fundo antes de responder.

“Significa que ela ainda não disse 'não'.”

Damien soltou uma risada curta. "Ah, que romântico. Sempre otimista."

Mas Gabriel não estava sendo otimista, ele simplesmente era verdadeiro. Lilian precisava de tempo, mas ele já a conhecia bem o suficiente para ter certeza de que o tempo só a levaria a uma resposta. E quando ela estivesse pronta para dar, ele estaria lá.

***

The morning had risen gray, with heavy clouds concealing the sun, but that mattered little to Lord Whitaker. In his study, the amber glow of candlelight illuminated the luxuriously decorated space, reflecting off the dark wooden shelves lined with gold-embossed volumes. On the desk, an open letter rested between a bottle of wine and a half-filled glass. The document, meticulously written in a script almost indistinguishable from the original, was the key to Gabriel Sinclair’s downfall.

“So easy,” he murmured to himself, swirling the wine in his glass. “Too easy.” The smile that curled his lips was one of pure delight.

He had dressed with the same meticulous care with which he orchestrated his manipulations. The dark blue coat, tailored, contrasted with the white lace shirt and the black cravat that wrapped around his neck with almost suffocating precision. Every detail mattered. Lilian had to see a man who was secure, respectable, and confident. A soft knock on the door announced the entrance of one of his servants.

“The carriage is ready, milord.”

Whitaker cast a sidelong glance and took a final sip of his wine before setting down the glass.

“Excellent.” He picked up the letter from the desk and carefully folded it, tucking it into the inner pocket of his coat. With a slight adjustment of his leather gloves, he grabbed his cane, more a statement of status than necessity, and descended the stairs with measured steps. He crossed the grand entrance and stepped into the waiting carriage.

As the coach rolled through the streets of London, Whitaker observed the city with the satisfaction of a predator catching the scent of its prey. The night of the ball had shown him that Sinclair was gaining ground, and that could not be allowed. He smiled, his expression dark and cunning. The plan was in place. Now, all that remained was to execute it. He rested his elbow on the velvet seat and ran his fingers over the leather glove, adjusting it. Within moments, Lilian would be his, and Gabriel Sinclair would be a ghost before he could even prove his innocence.

Lady Penelope’s residence came into view as the carriage turned the corner, and Whitaker allowed himself a small, satisfied smile just as the carriage came to a stop.

The footman opened the door, and Whitaker stepped out with confident strides, smoothing his coat before ascending the stone steps. There was no need for an announcement; Lilian would not dare refuse to receive him. He knocked lightly, his gloved touch exuding the patience of a man who already knew he had won the battle before it had even begun.

Lilian was in the drawing room where she often took tea, a cup resting on the table before her, long gone cold. The events of the previous afternoon refused to leave her thoughts. Gabriel. He invaded her mind with an alarming frequency, the way his gaze touched her, the words spoken with that almost devastating intensity… And then… the kiss. The kiss still burned on her lips, a dangerous memory. But allowing herself to feel it would be foolish. Fear whispered to her, “If you give in, if you believe him… what if you’re wrong?”

The sound of footsteps in the corridor cut through her thoughts, dragging her back to reality. A soft knock on the door, and Clara entered, her expression serious.

“Lilian,” Clara called gently, interrupting her thoughts.

Lilian looked up, seeing the concern on her friend’s face. “Yes?”

“Lord Whitaker is here. He asked to see you.”

Lilian’s stomach tightened, and the warmth she had felt moments ago was replaced by a wave of nausea. She didn’t want to see him, but she couldn’t avoid him. Ignoring him would only cause more trouble with her father.

“Tell him I’m in the tea room and that he may enter.”

Clara hesitated. “Do you want me to stay close?”

Lilian’s gaze dropped to the teacup before her. “Wait just outside the door. If he…” She stopped, unable to finish the sentence.