A minute later, three pretty faces peered around the doorway, blinking mascara-limned eyes at him. Nigel swallowed and raised a tentative hand in salute. The faces all retreated, and the voices took up again.
“Itisa man!”
“He’scute. One of yours, Joan?”
“Not mine. I’ll bet you anything he’s one of Bryony’s. She’s always got a string of ‘em.”
“I’ll take that bet.”
“No, don’t take it!” Suella’s voice hollered from farther up the hall. “That one’s not Bryony’s, he’s Luna Talbot’s!”
“Luna Talbot’s? Isn’t she out tonight with some fellow? I saw her wearing Myrna’s evening gown.”
“Yes, but keep it down. This guy might not know about the other one. Don’t want to scare him off!”
“Who would have thought? Luna Talbot, a player! One in the frying pan, one in the fire.”
Nigel wondered suddenly if the ancient chair in which he sat might be kind enough to swallow him alive. He cleared his throat. “I, erm, I’m not here to see Miss Talbot,” he piped up.
A sudden hush fell over the denizens of the hall.
“I am, in fact, calling for Miss Braithwait.”
A prolonged stillness answered this declaration.
“Who the heck isMiss Braithwait?”someone whispered at last.
“Does he meanBryony?”
“So heisone of Bryony’s after all! I told you. Pay up, Margaret!”
“Gosh darn it!”
Nigel stared hard at the marigolds in his hands. Would it be so very cowardly of him to beat a retreat at this juncture? Yes. Yes, it would be. So he sat himself more firmly in his seat, straightened his shoulders, and determined to wait it out.
Come hell or high water, he was asking Bryony Braithwait on a date. Tonight.
For possibly the hundredth time that evening, Luna pulled the cuff of her borrowed gown down a little farther on her wrist. It was becoming a nervous habit, one Ward would surely notice eventually. But her self-consciousness was so strong, she couldn’t seem to help herself.
Myrna had loaned her the dress. It was the only long-sleeved, semi-formal gown of Luna’s size to be found in all of Mrs. Boggs’s Boardinghouse for Young Women of Good Character. Luna couldn’t risk wearing more fashionable pagoda or batwing sleeves, not with her ugly heptagram mark. While she suspected Ward had clocked her tattoo a long time ago and was simply too polite to mention it, the urge to keep it hidden remained as strong as ever.
“How’s your lobster?” Ward asked, dragging Luna’s attention back across the candlelit table. He sat opposite her, behind a barrier of glittering glass, gold cutlery, delicate porcelain, and an aromatic floral arrangement. For such a large man, he managed, somehow, to look at ease in these elegant surroundings. But that was John Ward for you; he was always at ease, whereverhe happened to be, slum or salon, uptown or down. One of the many qualities that made him an excellent wardsman, no doubt.
“Oh, yes, it’s very good.” Her cuff once more secured, Luna took up her tiny fork and picked at the meat in her lobster shell. Theeffortinvolved in actually eating the lavish dish made her wish she’d gone for something simpler. Ward, however, had been adamant that she order the special. “I want every part of this evening to be special,” he’d said, and what was a girl supposed to say to that? So, lobster was ordered, along with its teensy, weensy fork and those vicious claws and that faintly accusing face staring up at her from the gold-rimmed plate.
Popping a bite into her mouth, Luna looked away hastily. There was plenty to distract her guilty gaze at least. She had entered a world of glamor such as she’d only ever dreamed about while studying the black-and-white images of old magazines, scattered across the floor of her cottage bedroom back home. Only here the dripping chandeliers, the fluted pillars, the polished parquet flooring, and—most of all—the beautiful dinner guests, shimmering beneath crystal-fractured light, were all rendered in vivid color. It was a lot to take in for a simple Crimble girl! Everywhere she looked, there were jewels and silks and fine ladies of all ages, slouching in that modish manner of boredom that was veryinthis season.
The gentlemen were less flashy than the ladies. They, to a man, dressed in black, with crisp white shirts, which contrasted the prismatic colors of their ladies. Across the chamber, on a little upraised platform, a band played jazzy tunes in the most elegant fashion, never once letting the natural wildness of their rhythms overcome the atmosphere. Couples glided around the dance floor in between courses, jewels glittering, silks and satins whispering against the parquet.
Despite her borrowed gown, her carefully curled hair, and the exquisitely applied makeup Edwina had painted on her face,Luna felt wildly out of place. Which irked her. Why couldn’t she just be happy? Wasn’t this what she’d once dreamed life in Ballycastle would be like? The glitz and the glamor, which had seemed to exist only in the world of the silver screen, now come to life! And across from her . . . what man could better embody the glory of a cinematic heartthrob than Officer John Ward?
He wore a suit, rather than his uniform—black with a white shirt, in keeping with the setting. He didn’t blend in, however. Rather, he stood out from the crowd by dint of sheer size and radiant charisma. Luna was not unaware of the many hooded gazes being cast her way by the ladyfolk at surrounding tables. The atmosphere positively seethed with feminine jealousy.
But Ward’s eyes had scarcely left Luna since he met her on the sidewalk outside of Huck ‘n Clover’s.
“You look a picture!” he’d declared upon seeing her wrapped up in the fur coat she’d borrowed from Joan. She had blushed as he helped her into the taxi cab and held her coat tight around her for the entirety of the drive. But later, in the foyer of The King’s Crown Hotel, Ward had offered to assist her out of the coat, and she couldn’t say no. Then he had caught that first look at Myrna’s shimmering, emerald gown, and his eyes had nearly popped from his skull. “Wow!” he’d declared, running his gaze up and down her figure, which the green silk draped in sensuous folds, hugging curves Luna hadn’t realized she possessed. His eyes returned to her face at last, and he’d blinked several times before repeating, “Wow!” Then his dimples had flashed. “Where’s that Crimble girl now?”
Luna still felt that admiring gaze fixed upon her even as she poked at her lobster. The front of Myrna’s gown was very low-cut, not something Luna had realized when selecting it. Her concern had been entirely with concealing her wrists, and she’d failed to consider that there might be other parts of her she’d equally wish to cover. Too late now. She held herself verystraight in her seat, making no attempt to mimic the fashionable slouch of the ladies around her, and forced herself to take another mouthful.
