Lexia’s heart pounded as she assessed Gauge’s reaction to her dangerous words. She could practically feel the panic coming from her father and Axis across the grand ballroom. But Gauge’s reactions challenged her diplomacy.

“Do you consider yourself ‘indebted to my genius,’ Ms. Tempest?”

She almost closed her eyes to hide from the scrutiny of his gaze. Gauge stared hard at her from behind his violet lenses, assessing her every response. Lexia was endangering the accord, but she wouldn’t compromise her integrity. She said, “I suppose if there were any man to whom I was indebted, it would only be my father for the privilege of being his daughter.”

While Gauge’s gloved hands remained laced at his chin, he quirked a brow. “Then what do you owe me?”

Lexia treaded less carefully. “According to all of Winter, I owe you whatever you can imagine.”

Gauge’s eyes flared a little wider behind his glasses before he asked, “And according to you?”

“Nothing.”

His laughter was incredulous and amused. Lexia was reluctant to admit it was a pleasant sound, rich in its warmth, and she guessed it wasn’t a sound often heard. At least, the people flinching around the room let her assume as much.

Gauge hadn’t touched his food, but neither had Lexia. Their conversation had proved too engaging. He said, “Well, you may not owe me anything, but I would be honored if you promised me your first dance of the evening.”

It wasn’t a question.

Lexia took a deep breath, straining against the corset of her bodice to take in enough air to think. These things were ridiculous—

Gauge cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. Lexia wondered if he was getting impatient for her response. Should she dare hazard a glance at her father or, worse, Axis? She wasn’t a damsel in need of rescuing, but Leon’s words yesterday about the delicate balance made it less easy to speak without heavy consideration.

“You flatter me, Count Snow. What have I done to deserve such a distinction?”

This time, Gauge’s chuckle was more familiar, reminding her of their distant childhood. He said, “You upstaged me at my own ball and spoke your mind in my presence. Both are uncommon and, in your case, welcome. Feel free to tell me what you think of me anytime, Ms. Tempest.”

Lexia hid her surprise. Every word rang as sincere. The rumble of her stomach reminded Lexia she hadn’t eaten since breakfast.

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As if Gauge heard it, too, he said, “The soup is delicious.”

Hungry and unwilling to be completely impolite to her host, Lexia took a sip and instantly fought not to moan. She waved Jan over while Gauge scrutinized her every move.

The butler arrived. “Yes, Ms. Tempest?”

Lexia smiled at the older man with chocolate brown eyes. “Can you please extend my compliments to your chefs? And to whomever decorated. It’s all divine.”

Jan bowed deeply. “I certainly will, miss.” He half bowed to Gauge before leaving. “Sir.”

Curse his glasses. Lexia couldn’t read a thing on his face at times. Like right now, he was staring at her, unreadable in every way. It bothered her enough to say, “Count Snow, a lady might think she had soup on her face.”

The man smiled. He didn’t smirk smugly or grin evilly. It was a beautiful spread of his full lips, one she imagined reached his eyes if she could see them. Gauge said, “You possess no such flaws, nor any at all that I can see.”

Lexia’s cheeks warmed, and she looked away from his radiant expression. Before she could stop herself, she said, “I suppose you’ve told many a woman she was flawless.”

Something about Gauge’s expression darkened. “No, Ms. Tempest. As you’ve already said, all the women of Winter are indebted to me. I have no need to pay compliments in exchange for my heart’s desires.”

Lexia almost winced. She’d offended him. Well, of course she had.

A servant came to clear the plates, after which Gauge asked, “What else would you like to speak openly about? I know there’s more, and you’ll never have a better chance.”

A bitterness sharpened the edge of his words. Had Lexia done worse than offend Gauge? Had she truly wounded him? But when she met his eyes through the purple lenses, she wanted to oblige him.

Lexia let the words spill from her without filter. “I think it’s despicable of you to dedicate an entire season to yourself every year under the disguised virtue of mandatory paid time off.”

Gauge didn’t seem surprised by this approximation, but he’d remained silent for so long, Lexia wanted to squirm. Her bodice was too tight, and it threatened to steal her breath away—

For one second…

No, surely Lexia had imagined it.

Did Gauge’s eyes flick briefly to her breasts? After she’d insulted him?

He broke through her thoughts by asking, “How is it any different to the plays about you and Axis? The songs…?”

Lexia said, “Those are built on love.”

“So is the Founding Season.”

“It’s built on fear.”

Gauge looked away finally and signaled for his staff to bring dessert. Without meeting Lexia’s eyes again, he said, “You’re under no obligation to dance with someone you find so despicable. I’d said I welcome your honesty, and I meant it. However, I find your observations lacking perspective, and you seem like an otherwise insightful woman. A strong willed one at that. It makes me want to challenge your notions and encourage you to tolerate my presence enough to broaden your predetermined inclinations. So what say you?”

Lexia blinked at Gauge. He still wanted to dance after everything she’d just said? To ‘broaden her predetermined inclinations…’

“I didn’t mean to upset her. I only wanted to give her this present for her birthday. Lexia, I’m sorry. Axis, please don’t make me go home yet.”

Lexia remembered little of her time with Gauge as a playmate. She’d been so young, and he was around so sporadically because of his illness. But there was one thing she couldn’t forget. Gauge never wanted to go home.

“I’ll dance with you, Count Snow.”

If only for the sad little boy Lexia once knew Gauge to be.