Lily felt the moment his gaze found her.
It should not have mattered. She was wearing the sapphire gown because he had chosen it for the plan. Her hair was arranged in the soft style he had requested because the plan required it. The seed pearls, the bare sweep of her shoulders, the silk catching the light- all of it helped her win Lord Wilfrey’s attention.
But Hugo’s expression changed. Only for a heartbeat.
His smile vanished. His hand stilled. The mask slipped, and for one impossible moment, he looked at her as though the entire room had fallen away.
The sight sent a tremor through her.
Then he recovered, but not quickly enough.
She reached the bottom of the stairs and placed her hand in his.
“Your Grace,” she said, pleased that her voice remained steady. “Shall we open the dancing?”
His fingers closed around hers.
They moved to the floor. The orchestra began the first waltz, and Hugo placed his hand at her waist. He drew her closer than he should have, close enough that she had to resist the memory of the day before, of his hand in the same place, his voice in her ear.
Lily lifted her gaze and did exactly what he had taught her.
She looked at him as though he were the only man in the world.
Hugo missed a step.
No one else would have noticed. He stumbled for a fraction of a beat, nothing more.
But Lily noticed.
A flicker of triumph shot through her. Because for all his lessons, all his control, all his maddening certainty, she had unsettled him.
“Careful, Your Grace,” she murmured. “People will think you are nervous.”
“I am never nervous.” His voice was low, but something rough had crept into it. “You, however, are good at that.”
“At what?”
“At making a man forget where his feet are.”
“You taught me.”
“I taught you to use it on Wilfrey. Not on me.”
“Consider it a demonstration.” She held his gaze. “To prove I was paying attention.”
Something shifted in his expression. The teasing fell away, and what replaced it was unguarded and intent, and for a breath, his hand tightened at her waist as though he were anchoring himself.
“You were paying attention,” he said quietly. “That is what terrifies me.”
The waltz continued, and his gaze held hers, and the room became a blur of candlelight and music. Lily moved through the steps with a fluid ease she had never possessed before.
Or perhaps she had possessed it all along.
The dance ended. Applause rippled through the room. Compliments rose around them, bright and breathless, but Lily barely heard them.
Then Wilfrey appeared.
“Lady Lily,” he said with a bow. “Might I have the next dance?”
