No one else seemed to mind the joyous cacophony; no one else seemed to mind being repeatedly jostled and apologized toin passing. Lily took a deep breath to calm herself and was nearly choked with the scent of rosewater. In her distraction, she made the mistake of glancing up and meeting Lord Rigsby’s eyes.
Across the way, Lord Rigsby was far from subtle—he’d been staring at Lily the past quarter hour with an expression that shared a border with shock. It was as if someone had come along and stabbed the man in the hindquarters with a straight pin and his features had become permanently lodged in that moment of surprise.
“Have you seen anyone you’d like to encourage?” Lily said, deftly trying to turn the conversation from the gentleman, who shifted side to side across the ballroom every time Lily did. At one point, the man had gone up on tiptoes to keep her in sight when someone stepped in front of him.
Margaret waved her hand. “Not particularly. Besides, I’m quite aware of my chances this Season. You needn’t try and encourage me. I’m the practical sort, remember.”
Lily frowned down at her. “Whatever do you mean?”
“I’m hardly going to attract a swarm of suitors when my sisters are all so lovely. My only hope is that several of the less handsome and interesting ones will realize they have no chance with you or Beatrice and decide it’s too much bother to get up and move to a different parlor to find a wife.” Margaret chuffed at her self-deprecating joke.
Lily’s frown creased her forehead. “Are you quite blind, or does your maid need to clean your mirror?”
Margaret blinked up at her. “Pardon?”
“Margaret, you are?—”
“Lily, may I have this dance?”
Lily froze.
Her heart started to pound before her mind caught up to the reality of the situation. Impossible.Impossible.
But that low voice…she’d know it anywhere. Lily replayed it to herself every waking hour and most of the sleeping ones, beside.
Still, it took an aching eternity for her wide eyes to slip from Margaret’s confused expression to the gentleman standing beside her. It was practice, nothing more, that kept Lily’s knees from buckling.
Lord Hayes.He was here. Really, trulyhere.
Lily had the sudden, fleeting thought that it was her constant remembering that had somehow conjured up Lord Hayes. Perhaps she’d caressed her memories one too many times—an unwitting Aladdin with a genie’s lamp.
In their months apart, Lily had wondered if she’d invented the magnetic tug she felt when Lord Hayes stood within ten feet of her. He wasn’t the most handsome in the room, though she’d always found his appearance pleasing.Morethan pleasing.
Lord Hayes was only half a head taller than she was, but Lily felt he commanded the space around him with the authority of a much larger man. Not that he was one of those brash and boorish types who were always looking about to see who’d noticed them and who they might impress. It was quite the opposite—he took up the space he took up, and that was that.
Lily’s eyes roved. It shocked her to see him in this setting. In her mind, he’d been part of her life in the north. He’d always dressed the part of a wealthy lord—but one engaged in country pursuits.
Now, here he was in elegant dark waistcoat and breeches, a fine tailcoat rounding out the ensemble. He appeared quite at home against the backdrop of shimmering silk and glittering diamonds. It was disorienting to her, as if the two halves of her life had careened into each other like a terrible carriage accident. And she was left blinking in the sudden rubble.
“MissPreston?” Lord Hayes cocked his head in challenge, and Lily realized she’d been staring at him, her mouth slightly agape.
Margaret looked back and forth between the two, a line of concern dimpling between her eyebrows.
“Of course,” Lily said by rote, offering her limp hand.
Lord Hayes took it, and her waist, and steered her unerringly to the center of the dance floor. Lily swallowed. She was suddenly grateful that she was years late—by some grand dames’ standards—at being presented. She’d had the interim to practice her dance steps with her sisters in their dark, dusty parlor.
She thanked Providence for all that practice now as her feet swept lightly through the steps instinctively. In reality, her legs—like the rest of her—felt as heavy as lead.
For several moments, Lord Hayes said nothing. Lily thought she might choke on the tension. Why on earth was he here?Howwas he here? And how had he found her out?
Margaret frowned at her from the sidelines of the dance floor. Lily mustered a weak smile to reassure her.
Just as Lily became determined to say something—though she couldn’t think ofwhat—Lord Hayes said, “Your name is Lily Preston.”
“Yes.” Her voice was breathless.
“You are a gentleman’s daughter and well-educated.”
