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“Would you like to dance?”
He hadn’t meant to ask. But he’d turned, and Lucy was right there beside him, and the words just tumbled out.
Her eyes lit up. Even with the mask, he could see that she was delighted. “Yes,” she said, almost sighing as she added, “I love to dance.”
He took her hand and led her to the floor. The waltz was in full swing, and they quickly found their place in the music. It seemed to lift them, render them as one. Gregory needed only to press his hand at her waist, and she moved, exactly as he anticipated. They spun, they twirled, the air rushing past their faces so quickly that they had to laugh.
It was perfect. It was breathless. It was as if the music had crept under their skin and was guiding their every movement.
And then it was over.
So quickly. Too quickly. The music ended, and for a moment they stood, still in each other’s arms, still wrapped in the memory of the music.
“Oh, that was lovely,” Lady Lucinda said, and her eyes shone.
Gregory released her and bowed. “You are a superb dancer, Lady Lucinda. I knew you would be.”
“Thank you, I—” Her eyes snapped to his. “You did?”
“I—” Why had he said that? He hadn’t meant to say that. “You’re quite graceful,” he finally said, leading her back to the ballroom’s perimeter. Far more graceful than Miss Watson, actually, although that did make sense given what Lucy had said about her friend’s dancing ability.
“It is in the way you walk,” he added, since she seemed to be expecting a more detailed explanation.
And that would have to do, since he wasn’t about to examine the notion any further.
“Oh.” And her lips moved. Just a little. But it was enough. And it struck him—she looked happy. And he realized that most people didn’t. They looked amused, or entertained, or satisfied.
Lady Lucinda looked happy.
He rather liked that.
“I wonder where Hermione is,” she said, looking this way and that.
“She didn’t arrive with you?” Gregory asked, surprised.
“She did. But then we saw Richard. And he asked her to dance. Not,” she added with great emphasis, “because he is in love with her. He was merely being polite. That is what one does for one’s sister’s friends.”
“I have four sisters,” he reminded her. “I know.” But then he remembered. “I thought Miss Watson does not dance.”
“She doesn’t. But Richard does not know that. No one does. Except me. And you.” She looked at him with some urgency. “Please do not tell anyone. I beg of you. Hermione would be mortified.”
“My lips are sealed,” he promised.
“I imagine they went off to find something to drink,” Lucy said, leaning slightly to one side as she tried to catch a glimpse of the lemonade table. “Hermione made a comment about being overheated. It is her favorite excuse. It almost always works when someone asks her to dance.”
“I don’t see them,” Gregory said, following her gaze.
“No, you wouldn’t.” She turned back to face him, giving her head a little shake. “I don’t know why I was looking. It was some time ago.”
“Longer than one can sip at a drink?”
She chuckled. “No, Hermione can make a glass of lemonade last an entire evening when she needs to. But I think Richard would have lost patience.”
It was Gregory’s opinion that her brother would gladly cut off his right arm just for the chance to gaze upon Miss Watson while she pretended to drink lemonade, but there was little point in trying to convince Lucy of that.
“I imagine they decided to take a stroll,” Lucy said, quite obviously unconcerned.
But Gregory immediately felt an unease. “Outside?”
