His voice was gruff. “Until the gala, I’m afraid we must pretend to hear the orchestra playing.”
She did not have to pretend. Her heart beat loud enough to keep time for both of them. Gently, carefully, she placed her free hand atop his shoulder.
“I’ll go slowly,” he said. “One-two-three, one-two-three. Just try to relax into my lead.”
She was anything but relaxed. She hoped he forgave her when she trod inelegantly on his feet. Every limb felt overwarm and clumsy.
Rather, that was what she thought until Lawrence began to move. He waltzed like a dream come true, the blackguard. Of course he would. It was impossible not to glide about the empty ballroom in perfect harmony, with or without music to accompany him. Her body was his to command.
Their feet found their own melody. His eyes did not leave hers. Their bodies moved flawlessly together, as if all previous dances had been practice for this moment, here, with him. She wondered if it would be like this every time, or if it would become even better.
This was the only waltz they would ever share, she realized bleakly. The memory would have to sustain her. It wasn’t enough. She wished she had something tangible, like her broken locket or the warm red mittens. Her gaze lit upon the perfectly pressed handkerchief in his pocket. Before she could stop herself, it vanished from his chest and disappeared into a hidden fold of her gown during their next sweeping turn.
“I’ve been hoping you would stop by,” he murmured. His hand at her back was all that was proper, but his thumb stroked her body. The small caress burned through her gown and shift and imprinted itself on her skin. “Poor Hastings spends every moment of his day peering out of the window in the hopes of spotting the Wynchester coach.”
Ah, itwaspossible to miss her step and tumble against his chest.
He caught her, and then they were dancing again.
“W-what?” she stuttered. Hoping she would stop by was not at all the same as paying a sentinel to stand watch, just in case.
He pulled her closer, his words rasping as if he had not meant to speak them aloud. “I missed you.”
“I was here yesterday,” she reminded him. It was she, not he, who had spent every moment apart thinking of their kiss. “You spent all night in Parliament.”
She had watched him. He had been glorious.
“Part of the night,” he agreed. The hand holding hers came to his lips for a kiss, then stopped just before contact. He lowered her fingers back to a safe distance with a tortured expression. “The rest of the night I spent wishing I were kissing you.”
Damn him for saying so! As much as Chloe would like to believe his restless night was due to thoughts about her, she did not let herself believe such pretty balderdash. After tonight he would belong to Philippa. Chloe was merely a temporary diversion.
If he honestly missed her, he could ask her to visit. He now knew where she lived. He could have sent a carriage, or a note, or a messenger kitten. But he had not—and would not.
“You’re not wearing your bonnet,” he murmured.
She’d placed it under her bed, where she would not have to confront his memory by looking at it, but where it would remain close enough to slip into her dreams as she slept.
“If the fripperies in the bonnet trunk would be useful to you, I’d be happy to loan you anything you’d like for tonight’s ball.” He smiled. “A rakish feather, perhaps?”
“I don’t want one.” The words erupted from her mouth more harshly than she had intended. She did not soften their blow.
If gazing upon his handmade gift in solitude was too much for her aching chest, wearing it while she watched him court someone else would be impossible.
“All right.” He asked no further questions.
She frowned. What happened to his twenty-minute explanations about everything?
“You won’t try to convince me?”
“It’s your hair and your life.” His eyes held hers. “You’re clever enough to know how you wish to live it.”
If only it were that easy.
“Knowing is not the same as doing,” she mumbled.
He stopped dancing and pulled her closer. “Did something happen?”
Everything had happened. Her entire childhood had been a constant barrage of knowing what she wanted and not being able to have it.
