Page 22 of A Fragile Enchantment

Niamh warmed under his compliment. “Hello, Sinclair.”

He handed her a glass and clinked his own against it. Niamh sipped at the punch—and nearly spit it back into the glass. Alcohol burned her throat and roiled in her stomach. She tasted no fewer than three different types of spirits—and wine besides. Goodness, how did anyone manage to dance, much lesswalk,if they drank more than one of these?

Sinclair leaned on the wall beside her and gestured vaguely at the ballroom. “How are you enjoying yourself?”

Niamh set her glass down on a nearby table. “It has been, ehm… interesting? But the food is incredible.”

“It looks incredible on you as well,” he said good-naturedly.

She glanced down to see the fingers of her gloves stained bright red with jam. At least she hoped it was jam. “Oh, gods. Please pretend you did not see that.”

“I make no promises. It is very endearing.” He grinned. “Do you have space on your dance card? I’d never forgive myself if I missed the opportunity to stand up with you.”

“You may take your pick.” She flashed him her empty card. That stubborn, maudlin loneliness threatened to overtake her again, so she added, “It’s for the best. I never learned to dance like you do here.”

In Machland, parties were a more intimate affair: fewer people, faster dances, less formal clothes. Here, she imagined the dances were as prim and regimented as everything else, all of the guests twirling on their course like figures in a music box.

“Then allow me to teach you to waltz. A lovely girl like you not dancing on the first ball of the Season? I won’t allow it.”

A tentative spark of excitement kindled within her, but she smothered it as best she could. “I couldn’t! I will embarrass you.”

“That’s half the fun, isn’t it?” His expression turned so overwrought and pitiful, she couldn’t help smiling. “Please say yes.”

“Very well, but don’t say I did not warn you when I step on your feet.”

“I very much look forward to it.” He squinted at the dance floor. The tarp laid over it remained undisturbed, like a fresh bank of snow. Some of the guests lingered at its edge, eyeing it with eager, impatient interest. “Assuming we ever get the chance.”

“I was told the dance floor will not open until Infanta Rosa arrives. Is that customary?”

Sinclair waved a hand. “In a way. Every year, Jack commissions an artist to chalk the dance floor for the inaugural ball of the Season. I imagine that this year, he’s asked for the design to pay homage to our Castilian guests. We cannot have it ruined before they see it.”

She could envision it now. Couples turning about the room as magic sparkled in the air. Chalk dust rising in clouds around them. The artwork smeared across the floor in wild, giddy lines. The bittersweet thought of such fragile, impermanent beauty made her heart ache with longing. “It sounds spectacular.”

“It is. You ought to see it when it’s unveiled.” He offered her his arm and smiled when she took it. “Let’s get a better vantage point.”

“All right,” she said, unable to keep the excitement from her voice.

As he led her through the crowds, the whispers began. At first, Niamh could ignore it. But as gazes followed them across the floor—some pitying, some derisive, some amused—she couldn’t deny it any longer. Her stomach dropped with shame, and her skin felt boiling hot beneath their scrutiny.

“Sinclair?” Niamh whispered. “Why is everyone staring at us?”

“Hm?” He scanned the room briefly. “Ah. That would be my fault.”

“Please, do not spare my feelings,” Niamh pressed. “Everyone tonight has made it very clear what they think of me. I don’t want to cause you any trouble.”

His easy gait faltered, then slowed to a stop. He determinedly avoided looking at her. “It isn’t because of you. I don’t know how to say this, but I haven’t been entirely forthcoming with you.”

“I see.” Niamh searched his expression, half-concealed beneath the tousled mop of his hair. “What do you mean?”

“My attention to you thus far hasn’t been entirely selfless. That isn’t to say I don’t enjoy your company. I do, but I…” He let out a choked laugh. “I could use some air. How about you?”

Whatever he had to confess clearly weighed on him. She squeezed his forearm reassuringly. “You can tell me. I will not be angry.”

“At the presentation of the debutantes, do you recall when Jack asked if I’d put any thought into what he said?” When she nodded, he barreled onward. “He asked me to court someone this Season. More accurately, topretendto court someone. I know it sounds mad. But I don’t have the best reputation, and he doesn’t want it to touch Kit more than it already has. Of course, I will do my best to help you navigate the Season. I could introduce you to what few acquaintances I still have, if you would like. But I would never presume—”

“Sinclair, ah… I am very sorry to interrupt.” Her head spun. “May I ask why? You are perfectly charming. Surely, there is a woman here who would encourage your affections—”

“I don’t want to court a woman.” He held her gaze steadily, and it took only a moment for his meaning to dawn on her.