“Like a jester.” She looked up, noticed the ball’s host walking toward them, Haverwood at his side. Damn the man for making her heart ache. “You’ll see for yourself. He’s coming this way.” Sarah smiled blandly, not quite ready to face him again. “If you’ll pardon me for a moment . . .”
“You’re leaving?” The girl’s fan wobbled precariously. “You can’t leave me now. Please.”
The girl looked at her with such desperation that Sarah felt herself relenting. After all, she had come tonight to show them all that it didn’t matter, and so she would. “All right, then. But just for a moment.”
“Thank you.”
“Think nothing of it,” she responded, all the while clenching her fingers nervously. The duke appeared and looked quite kindly at Sarah, nodding his head, his eyes gentle. He made a polite host. “Miss Banks. I’m very pleased you decided to accept the invitation this evening.”
“Thank you.” Sarah smiled till her jaw ached, conscious of the way the earl’s eyes studied the wall behind her, as if she wasn’t there at all. Iris would be disappointed. Not only hadn’t he dropped to one knee, he hadn’t even noticed her.
The duke cleared his throat. “Miss Lambert, the earl asked for an introduction.”
Catherine curtsied quite prettily. “My lord.”
Haverwood bowed, looking as handsome as she had thought he would be. Not handsome in the manner of the other men—no, his appearance was not dashing or sophisticated. Yet those very differences commanded notice and drew her eyes. He stood apart from everyone else, looking uncomfortable with the trappings around him. His face was solemn, not very happy at all. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
Catherine giggled once more, and Sarah winced. Thankfully, Catherine smothered her outburst with her fan.
He turned to Sarah, and she swallowed, meeting his eyes, her heart thundering in her chest. “Miss Banks.” His gaze was impassive, his nod particularly polite.
She curtsied, being particularly polite herself. “My lord.”
He turned back to Catherine, and that was it. Sarah’s moment was over. She’d imagined and planned and practiced and prepared for everything, but nothing had happened at all. Her smile fell.
Haverwood held out a hand to Miss Lambert. “Would you care to join me on the floor?”
The girl’s eyes grew large, and her throat bobbed several times. She moistened her lips, while all of them watched her, waiting to see what she was about to say. Finally when Catherine spoke, her voice was a squeak. “Actually, perhaps you could dance with Miss Banks right now. We could have a go at the next set. Couldn’t we?”
There was a moment of stunned silence. The duke obviously had no conception what etiquette demanded of a proper host in such a ticklish situation. The earl’s polite smile dwindled away, letting Sarah know exactly what he thought. She felt her cheeks grow warm. Retreat seemed most advantageous. “If you will pardon me for just a moment, I believe a friend of mine is trying to get my attention.” Quickly she stepped away from the others.
But the earl allowed her no such escape, stopping her with a hand to her arm. At the feel of his touch, her feet refused to obey any command she gave them, and she simply stood there like a fool. The odds were decidedly against her, but still she wanted his touch, wanted to hear what he would say.
“Wait.” He spoke in that same quiet tone that he used the other night. As if no one else were there.
She trembled, hating her weakness. She could not stop herself from staring at his hand.He was so strong. “Yes?”
“Miss Banks, would you honor me with a dance?”
Sarah lowered her voice, pasting a polite smile on her face, daring to look up at him, to meet his gaze without faltering. Her father would be so proud of her. “I’ll be on my way, and no one will be the wiser. I’ll be fine. You don’t have to do this.”
“No,” he agreed, “I don’t—but I want to. Please?”
Why must he sound so sincere? Why was his gaze so compelling? She looked at his hand, still resting on her arm, imagined how it would feel to be in his arms, and knew she was about to disappoint her father. Giving in to her damnable weakness, she could only nod.
Colin had not missed the hurt in her eyes and it pained him that he was the one who caused it. A dance was an innocent gesture, a token of peace. While they were dancing, with thousands of eyes following his every move, she was safe from him. Yet even with the hungry serpents that surrounded them, he could not halt the lustful nature of his thoughts. By the time the evening was done, he would be quite an accomplished actor, for no one seemed to guess that all he wanted to do was to touch her and taste her kiss. He led her to the floor, hoping he could follow the steps to the quadrille.Damn. “Are you enjoying yourself?”
She looked up at him with surprise, and he wondered what she had thought he would say. “Yes. I never expected so much noise. It’s rather intimidating, isn’t it?” she asked as he bowed low to begin the dance.
“It can be,” he answered as he straightened, keeping his face blank to conceal his surprise. She hadn’t looked intimidated, the way she moved so calmly about the room, as if the stares didn’t upset her at all. Her composure left him both in awe and disconcerted. He admired the way she held herself separate from all the other silly-minded gossips; another part of him, however, ached to see her break free of the cool mask she hid behind.
They moved in silence, and he concentrated on the dance, moving forward, then back. Her hand was so small within his own, yet she grasped it tightly as if she wanted his touch.
“Horrid weather we’re having this winter.” She spoke with a cool politeness, releasing his hand, circling around him.
“Yes.” He searched his mind for something to say but her eyes captivated him and he couldn’t think at all. “The room is rather warm, isn’t it?” Scintillating conversation seemed completely beyond his mental abilities at the moment. As he noted the way her gaze watched him, closely, carefully, all emotion hidden, all the hurt gone, he realized that perhaps he was not the only one who was performing this evening.
“Dreadful.” She paused, then, as he took her hand and moved her down the line, asked, “Do you know the duke well?”
He tried not to stare at her pale skin, the curve of her shoulders, the way her breasts rose and fell beneath her gown. He imagined her bare skin, felt his body grow hard, and a hot flush covered his face. He should never have asked her to dance. He forgot her question. “What did you ask?”
“The duke? Do you know him well?”
“No, mainly by reputation.” He crossed, taking the hand of the opposite lady, nodding absently at the woman’s conversation until Sarah was returned to him once more.
This time Sarah avoided his eyes, staring at some intriguing spot on his chest. “You’re a very good dancer. Quite graceful.”
He felt clumsy and ungainly when he was near her, and he smiled, quite pleased she hadn’t noticed. “Thank you. I don’t often dance.”
She looked up, surprised. “Well, then, you should do it more often in the future. You must have had very good lessons when you were a boy.”
“One summer.” There was one year that he had tried to be what he thought the old earl would want, the dedicated young master. Dancing lessons, fencing, languages. Out of all of those, however, his language skills had served him the best over the years. Fencing had never been his forte and overall, he preferred his knife or a pistol to a sword. As for the dancing lessons, those he never finished. Whenever he had danced with a lady, he felt the sharp eyes of the earl boring into his back. If he held her too tightly, he was rebuked. If he held her too far away, he was ridiculed for his cowardice. It was easier to be the DragonSlayer than to accept he would never be the son the old earl had wanted.
Cross, recross, chaîné Anglaise, advance, retire, repeat the set.He started when he realized she was speaking.
“I always wanted to have lessons with a fine, prestigious instructor. Father dance
d with me when I was a child. I would stand on his toes and he would perform the steps, moving me about like a marionette. He always promised he would take me dancing, but he never did.” Her voice trailed off, and she turned away, but not before he saw the disappointment in her face. He would have loved to waltz with her, to hold her fully in his arms, to erase the coldness from her eyes.
A stoutly built ship of a woman reeled into Sarah, then turned to face her. “My apologies—” The frigate’s apology died away, however, when she realized who she had bumped into. With a glare at Sarah, she pinched her mouth shut and moved away, her disdain evident.
Colin halted, appalled, ready to explain to the ill-bred woman how polite society should treat Miss Banks. Yet Sarah just turned away, as if to continue with the dance.
Colin was not easily deterred. He stood fast, and Sarah pulled at his coat. “What are you doing?” she asked in a frantic whisper.
Did she not understand what had just happened?Colin wondered. “Her behavior is abominable. I’m about to tell her so.”
She stood, speechless, simply staring at him, and he wondered if he had done something wrong. Finally, she smiled, a quick grin that frightened him with its power, and when she spoke, all traces of the icy politeness were gone. “No. Let it pass. I would hate to spoil the evening before it has even begun.”
He pulled her aside, not about to let such a cut go without recompense. A DragonSlayer would never let such deeds go unpunished. “I won’t stand for it.”
She touched his hand, nothing more than a glove-covered finger brushing his palm. She started the steps of the dance once more. “Pity the poor woman. She will huff all night, but will never be able to dance with the handsomest man in the room.”
“Who?” He stared, confused, still reeling from her slight touch. “Oh. I see. Yes, well.” He almost tripped, but recovered quite nicely. “Whatever you wish.” He would deal with the unpleasant frigate later. In his own way.
The music stopped and he stood for a moment, wishing he could think of something more to say that would keep her at his side. Instead he smiled awkwardly and glanced toward the side of the room. Miss Lambert was watching him with nervous eyes.
Sarah followed the direction of his look. “Miss Lambert is quite charming.”
“Yes.” Catherine Lambert would be an excellent choice. When he looked at her, there was no lust, no fire, just the cool appreciation and respect that a man should hold for his wife. When he looked at her, he knew he could be married, he knew that he could hold fast to St. George.
They passed through the crowd, making their way to where Miss Lambert stood. “She’s been waiting all night for her dance. Marvelous young lady, so full of energy and enthusiasm.”
Currently, the young lady was watching him the way a lamb eyes a wolf. The apprehension in her eyes made him uncomfortable. “Is she afraid of me?”
Sarah’s response was quick and reassuring. “Oh, no. I think she’s somewhat in awe of you.”
Awe?“Why?”
Sarah rapped him with her fan. “If you were any other man, I would wonder if you were searching for praise. You’re not, are you?”
Praise? From Sarah’s lips? He felt such words would be a long time coming indeed. He shook his head.
She smiled as if she understood. “My lord, Miss Lambert is very young, and has a gentle heart. You can be rather overwhelming when you forget your smile.”
“Really?” Colin asked, frowning. He’d never had a woman remark on his smile before. Of course, he usually didn’t favor women with a smile either. The whole bloody business was too complicated.
“Yes.” She pointed up at his face. “Exactly so. If you are hoping to capture Miss Lambert’s heart, you must not be so forbidding.”
He corrected her quickly, without examining his reason why. “I said nothing about capturing her heart.”
She stopped for a moment, but then began walking again. “No, you didn’t. It seems I made a mistake once more. You don’t need my advice; the two of you will get along famously.”
They arrived in front of Miss Lambert, and Sarah fled before he could ask her what she meant.
Sarah found a secluded post on the upper balcony, a place to watch the dancers undisturbed. He was dancing with Catherine now. The poor girl alternated between bouts of fear and reverence, all completely transparent on her face. The earl seemed to inspire a myriad of emotions in everyone he met. Sarah felt entirely too raw to analyze her own emotional state. The short moments on the dance floor had been magic. He had wanted to protect her, to stand in front of her, and tell the world she deserved better. No one else had ever done that. She closed her eyes and smiled. The memory of that moment would feed her dreams for many long and lonely nights to come.
When she opened them again, she was still alone, nothing had changed. She jealously observed the couple below, knowing the spell was over. Sarah had her place in the world. The earl knew it, and so did she. Watching the goings-on of others from far, far away.
“You look thirsty, my dear. Champagne?”
Sarah turned, surprised at the intrusion. There stood a gracious, older woman with a pleasant face, holding a full glass in her hand. A bout of feathers adorned her head, yet it seemed sophisticated rather than silly. Her jewelry was simple and tasteful, something Sarah might have chosen herself. When she smiled, it was without malice, but her brown eyes held the strength of a mother protecting her young.
The resemblance to her daughter was quite apparent. Yet Sarah felt as if she was confronting the enemy and so she steeled herself, prepared to feel the woman’s talons.
“It’s a wonderful party, don’t you think?”
Sarah took a small sip of the drink. “Yes.”
“I was surprised to see you in attendance this evening.” The woman’s tone was so warm and welcoming, as if Sarah were a friend. It caused Sarah to distrust her all the more.
“Not as surprised as I was, I assure you.”
Mrs. Lambert tilted her head, her eyes curious. “You know who I am?”
Sarah was too tired to play games this evening. “Yes.”
“You know the earl has expressed an interest in my daughter?”
Such a cold term.Expressed an interest. As if the girl were a horse. Such impersonal terms chilled Sarah’s heart. “Yes. I’m sure you’re delighted.”
The woman looked at the dancers below, clearly searching for her daughter amid the couples. “And I’m sure you’re not.”
Sarah’s fingers tightened around the stem of the glass, but kept her voice calm and even-tempered when she replied. “Don’t assume too much, Mrs. Lambert.”
“Your reassurances go far to temper my assumptions, but I cannot miss the sadness when you watch them dance.”
Sarah raised her glass to Mrs. Lambert, answering honestly. “You mistake the cause of my poor spirits. The ball is nearly over. It’s time for me to go. This isn’t my world. I’ve realized tonight just how much I don’t belong. I won’t be back.” Sarah drained the last of the glass, took one final glance at the floor below, and prepared to leave.
“You’re a gracious loser, Miss Banks.” Mrs. Lambert chose her words well. Polite, never vulgar.
Sarah swallowed the denial that rose to her lips. There was no point in furthering the discussion. It was time to find François and Juliette and go home. She hadn’t come tonight to watch the earl receive his comeuppance. She hadn’t come tonight to smile and show the world it didn’t matter. She had only come to see him once more, to win his heart. Didn’t a Banks always win?
Not always.
No matter how it pained her, Mrs. Lambert was right.
Sarah had lost.
Chapter Five
Colin woke to the sound of Giles’s door slamming and every bloody songbird in London. The pounding in his head, the result of too much port and too little sleep, only increased as he dragged himself up into a sitting position and yanked on the bell cord that would summon Giles. After he had arrived h
ome from the ball last night, he had tried to find oblivion from the thoughts in his head, but only found the bottom of the bottle instead.
“Good morning, sir.” Two more doors slammed before Giles breezed into the room with a cup of tea, putting the morning post on the dresser.
Colin took the tea and swallowed the hot liquid gratefully, feeling the ache in his head slowly subside. Then he put the cup aside, took the clothes Giles handed to him, and began to dress.
“Did you have a good evening, sir?”
“Grand.”
“Ah, a touch of sarcasm. It’s good to see you’re back to snuff, sir.”
Colin pulled on his breeches and glared. He plucked a white shirt from his closet and lowered it over his head.
“Did you enjoy your dance with Miss Banks?”
Colin stopped pulling at his sleeves and eyed Giles carefully. “How did you know I danced with Miss Banks?”
The ever-prepared man picked up the newspaper from the dresser. “Shall I read you the account?”
It was rather like choosing the method of one’s own execution. Colin shook his head. “No.”
Giles folded the newspaper and put it aside. “Ah, you’re leaving me alone with my imagination, visions of you holding her in your arms, perhaps a gentle touch, an accidental brushing—”
“Stop it, Giles.” Colin felt no need for Giles to review the evening. His remembrances had haunted him all night. He began to pull on his stockings. “If it weren’t for St. George, I would leave this miserable town immediately. Did you receive the report from Mr. Twizzlerot?”
“Yes, it’s on your desk. The poor foundlings. You mustn’t desert them. Sacrificing yourself for the greater good. Quite the hero, sir.”
“Button it, Giles.”
“As you wish, sir. I have outlined the menu for your dinner party. Shall I tell you?”
Colin stood patiently while Giles tied his cravat. Bloody things. “What dinner party?”
“The party to introduce you to the next countess of Haverwood. A splendid fête where you can meet them all and make your final decision.” Giles brushed a bit of dust from Colin’s lapel. “There.”
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