Ward swirled a flute of sparkling wine. The little bubbles danced in the chandelier light. “You know,” he said, “one of the things we officers of the SSSD pride ourselves on is our powers of observation.”
“Hmm?” Luna set her fork down and once more tugged her sleeve cuff into place.
“You.” Ward pointed and turned his head a little to one side, eyes narrowing. “Yousayit’s very good, but you’re not eating. Don’t you like lobster? Shall I have the waiter bring you something else?”
“Oh, no.” Luna sighed and looked down at her hands in her lap. “No, it isn’t that. I . . . It’s very delicious. Completely delicious. I’ve never had anything so delicious in my life.”
Ward set down his wine and leaned back. Even that slight movement was done with such masculinity, it drew admiring gazes from the surrounding tables. Luna wouldn’t put it past the ladies to offer a polite round of applause. But Ward’s gaze continued to focus entirely on her.
“Luna,” he said, “I want to be straight with you. You don’t seem as though you particularly want to be here with me tonight.”
“Oh, Ward—”
“No, no.” He studied her from under his brow. “I may be a bit slow on the uptake, but I always get there eventually. Doggedness, you know? It’s what makes me a good wardsman.” He winked at her then, but there was less sparkle in the wink than usual. “You’re just not into me, are you? Go on. I’ve been straight with you; you be straight with me.”
Luna blinked across the table at him. In her head, her inner voice practically screamed:You are such a little fool, LunaTalbot! Here you are, in the most stunningly beautiful place you’ve ever imagined, across from a man whose face, by rights, ought to be plastered on billboards across the country! And you’re just sitting here like a sad little goose. And making him miserable while you’re at it.
But she couldn’t help it. Despite the beauty, despite the glamor, despite the handsomeness of her date and the silk caressing her body and the sparkle of the wine . . . all Luna wished was to be tucked back in the nook behind the shop counter, a cup of tea in hand. With Mr. Grimm. Studying his face by the light of the squat little stove. Enjoying the warmth of his chuckle as he listened to her recount one of her madcap tales of childhood. Teasing one of those rare smiles from his oh-so serious mouth. Watching his sad eyes light up in momentary flashes of mirth, of happiness . . .
She couldn’t imagine telling one of those silly stories to Ward. Certainly not in a setting like this! Oh, he would listen very politely, of course. But it simply wouldn’t becool.And something about this man made her feel she needed to at least make an attempt atcoolness.Ward probably spent most of his social evenings wining and diningcoolwomen. Women like Bryony. Who knew what to do with their low-cut gowns.
Ward was very quiet across the table. Giving space for her to think, to come up with her answer. An answer which needed to be genuine. No prevarication, no excuses or dismissals. The truth. Luna looked into his eyes, prepared to give it to him, but, well, that was a mistake. Because what she saw in his eyes made her heart go a little sideways:hope.Hope that she would contradict him. Hope that she actuallydidwant to be here, with him. Hope that, despite everything, perhaps there was still a way forward for the two of them. He didn’t care that she wasn’t cool or fun or clever or witty. He just liked her. For some reason she couldn’t entirely fathom.
“Ward,” she began.
He drew a long breath and sat up a little straighter in his seat, bracing himself.
Luna bit her lip. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t disappoint him. Not when she hadn’t even given him a real shot.
“Ward, I’ll be honest with you,” she said. “I . . . I don’t feel very celebratory tonight. I just received word, you see, that my auntie passed away. Over Green Yule. And it hit me rather hard.”
Much to her dismay, tears sprang to her eyes. Luna turned away quickly, blinking hard at the sophisticated couple the next table over, who eyed her back with some distaste. The last thing she needed was to cry. Here. Right in the middle of this beautiful restaurant, surrounded by these beautiful people. Oh god, she couldn’t survive that much embarrassment, surely!
“Well, damn.” Ward leaned back in his chair. He rested his hands on the table on either side of his plate. “Damn, Luna. Why didn’t you tell me?”
She flashed him a glance from under her eyelashes, conscious of how much mascara Edwina had applied and how very much she needed to not let it run in black streams down her cheeks. “I mean, doesn’t it sound a bit like a line, to you? Like I’m trying to put you off?”
Ward shrugged. “From another girl it might.” He leaned over the table then, his smile deeply sympathetic in the candle’s glow. “But not from you. Not from fresh-as-a-daisy Luna Talbot of Crimble. Ifyoutell me your auntie died and you’re torn up about it, well . . .” He took up his wine flute and held it aloft. “Here’s to—what was her name? This auntie of yours?”
“Apolonia.”
“Here’s to Auntie Apolonia. May she rest well in the hallowed halls of great and powerful aunties of yore.”
Luna smiled at this. Auntie Apolonia certainly merited such a salute. No doubt she even now marched those hallowed, heavenly halls with a commanding stride.
Picking up her own wine glass, Luna clinked it against Ward’s. He took a large swallow, while she merely wetted her lips, another little something that did not escape the wardsman’s swift eye. His brows rose slightly. “And let me guess,” he said, “you’re a teetotaler, aren’t you?”
An embarrassed giggle escaped through her smile. “Auntie Aurora didn’t approve of strong drink,” Luna admitted, “so I’ve never had a chance to develop any taste for it.”
Ward tilted his head to one side. “And exactly how many aunties do you have to your name?”
Luna met his gaze across the table.“Plenty.”
He chuckled at this, white teeth flashing in the chandelier light. “Here’s to plenty of aunties, then!” he declared, clinking her glass once more before draining the contents of his. “Now,” he said, setting the flute aside and rising from his seat, “how about a dance, Luna Talbot? We’ve got to make room for dessert, after all.”
Somehow the moment of crisis seemed to have passed. Her hand taken in Ward’s firm grasp, Luna let him lead her through the forest of tables to the dance floor. Soon she was wrapped in his arms, her chin close to his shoulder, his cheek pressed in her curls, her body flush against his powerful frame. She didn’t know if this counted asdancing, per se. Merely sway-stepping in time to the music. But it was easy, and she felt very supported. Some of the knotted tension in her middle began to unravel, making room for . . . what? A little happiness? Maybe. Maybe she was happy to be out with Ward after all. Maybe, if she weren’t due to run for her life in the middle of the night sometime very soon, she would like to stay on at Ballycastle. Get to know this man a little better.
Maybe with a handsome wardsman by her side, she wouldn’tneedto run anymore.
