Her hand was placed gently back on her midsection, followed by a poignant pause in which Nottingvale was presumably consuming the last of her poison.
An ungainly thump shook the dais as he fell lifeless to the wooden floor beside her.
The ballroom was unearthly silent.
Surely bynow, someone should have guessed the play, making it completely unnecessary for Cynthia to “awaken” and pretend to kiss Nottingvale’s lips.
Not a whisper sounded in the still chamber.
Very well.
Cynthia shot upright with a loud gasp.
Several of the debutantes squeaked in terror.
Cynthia cast wild-eyed glances about her “tomb” before noticing her lifeless Romeo lying still beside her.
With exaggerated expressions of panic and horror, she scooped up both of Nottingvale’s hands and pressed the bare knuckles to her bosom—take that, you scoundrel—before bending down as though she intended to kiss his lips.
She didn’t move.
No one moved.
Nottingvale’s hands were still clutched to her breasts.
The duke cracked open one warm brown eye. He flinched to discover her face floating mere inches above his and immediately squeezed his eyes back shut.
He deserved it.
She cradled his fingers to her bosom for a moment longer before tossing his hands to his chest, drawing an imaginary dagger from his hip, and plunging the invisible blade into her gut for a slow, dramatic death, culminating in her lifeless body slumped against his side.
A beat of silence.
Another beat of silence.
Wild, one-person applause accompanied by a familiar squeal, and her cousin’s cry of, “Brava, Cynthia Louise! Brava! Oh, and Nottingvale, you were fine, too!”
“Romeo and Juliet!” came the shout from all corners of the ballroom.
Cynthia opened her eyes and tilted her head on the wooden floor toward the duke.
He was watching her, a slight smile playing on his lips and an unreadable expression in his eyes.
She smiled back shyly.
Shy.Her.
Cynthia Louise Finch.
He leapt up and pulled her to her feet, keeping one hand clasped in his. He made an exaggerated bow. She dipped in a magnificent curtsey.
“I believe they won,” someone called out. “That means it’s time for wine and cakes!”
The clumps of straw-drawn teammates burst into motion like the explosion of white seeds from a late-summer dandelion.
“I should go,” she told Nottingvale. “Who knows what Max has done to the guest room.”
He dropped her hand but didn’t step away. “I’ll walk with you. In case I need to authorize the complete replacement of every stick of furniture in that chamber.”
