“I am, at present, devising numerous methods by which to stab you with my hairpin.”
“Excellent. Do ensure you cast me an adoring glance whilst doing so. It will make for a far better tale when the onlookers recount it at their next assembly.”
“You are insufferable. I wish I never involved you in this dreadful scheme, Theo. In truth, I might very well have managed it unaided, had I been in full possession of my senses.”
“Why this sudden vexation? Have I truly become so insufferable in so short a span?”
Hetty did not deign to reply, for to do so would have granted him the satisfaction of knowing he had ruffled her composure, and she would rather perish in her sleep than concede him that particular triumph. The music swelled, the floor gleamed, and her thoughts retreated inwards once more to her carefully constructed scheme to avoid marriage to Theo or indeed, to any gentleman at all.
She would endure precisely three more weeks of this nonsense and no more. That was all the time she required to appear blissfully engaged and to prompt just enough envy, admiration, and speculation to ensure that when the match inevitably dissolved, no gentleman of sense or reputation would dare risk his heart where she was concerned. She would remove all thoughts of nearly kissing Theo from her memory and bury them so thoroughly even the most scandalous gossip in thetoncould not resurrect them. After all, a lady must have limits, and hers did not include indulging in confusing flirtations with childhood friends masquerading as rakish knights.
Her plan had been perfectly simple, effective, and – most crucially – painless, until her slipper, that traitorous little beast, decided to stage a rebellion. The tiniest misstep upon the traitorous gleam of the parquet floor – scarcely more than a breath of imbalance – was all it took to send her carefully rehearsed performance careening off course. (Yes, dear reader, this is where the universe gleefully reminds you that no matter how much a lady plans, fate has a wicked sense of humour.)
Theo caught her, of course. It was swift and instinctive, and so alarmingly natural that it could hardly be called deliberate – though in moments such as these, one begins to suspect it is all very, verydeliberate indeed. One strong arm wound firm about her waist, the other rising to steady her shoulder, and suddenly, in that perilous, breathless instant, the charade slipped away.
Hetty found herself pressed against the solid plane of his chest and her fingers, betraying her entirely, curled into the fabric of his coat. Her mask shifted just so, and when she tilted her head, she found his face impossibly close, mere inches from her own. She was close enough to discern the shadow of stubble along his jaw, the golden flecks that stirred in the ocean depths of his eyes, and the slow rise and fall of his chest in time with her own wildly tumultuous breathing. It was a most inconvenient and entirely distracting turn of events, indeed.
Gasps arose from the edge of the ballroom like a flock of startled birds abruptly disturbed from their roost.
“Oh,” breathed one matron near the refreshment table.
“Did you see that?” hissed another, clutching her lace-trimmed handkerchief to her throat. “Like something out of Byron!”
“How romantic,” murmured a third.
Theo straightened slowly, guiding Hetty back into perfect posture and resuming the waltz as though the entire incident had been little more than an agreeable rehearsal.
“Try not to swoon a second time,” he murmured beneath the swell of the orchestra. “I fear the poor dowagers may expire from excitement.”
“You caused the spectacle, not I,” she shot back, her gaze fixed just above his shoulder.
“You were the one who very nearly sent us careening into that Grecian urn,” he returned, smiling as though discussing the weather.
“I did no such thing.”
“I respectfully disagree. For a harrowing moment, I beheld the entirety of my life flash before me. It was dreadfully dull until you appeared at my servants’ door, I admit.”
“Then allow me to offer my sincerest regrets. Had I known your dull existence was in need of such embellishment, I might have hurled you into the urn myself and spared society the burden of your continued presence.”
Theo’s low laugh rumbled from his chest rather than his throat, an altogether dangerous sound. “I suppose I ought to consider myself fortunate that your mischief remains confined to jeopardising your own reputation, rather than my spine.”
“There is still time. We’ve three weeks left before this charade dissolves and you are free to limp off into bachelorhood once more.”
“Three weeks,” he repeated. “An eternity, in the currency of gossip. Imagine what further horrors we might contrive before our tragic farewell.”
“Oh, I intend to orchestrate something most memorable. A duel, perhaps.”
“I do hope I shall be invited.”
“You shall be the duel-ee, naturally. The heartbroken fiancé with your honour so grievously bruised you must demand satisfaction. Only pistols at dawn shall suffice.”
He tilted his head, eyes glinting. “And who, may I ask, is to assume the role of the scandalous interloper in this little drama?
“I should think it best to keep the role uncast,” she said airily.
He hummed, guiding her through a final turn as the music began its gentle diminuendo. “Take care, Hetty. You sound almost as though you enjoy my company.”
“Hardly. I delight only in the idea of you, as I always have. Thoroughly theatrical, wholly decorative, and entirely disposable.”
