Page 101 of The Matrimonial Advertisement

He cleared his throat. “No. It’s…I hadn’t realized…”

“They’re only waltzes. And the supper dance, of course. It’s a reel, but I thought—”

“Quite.” He relinquished her dance card, but not her hand. He tucked that gently into his arm. “I’ll escort you back in.”

She tugged at him until he looked down at her. “I’m sorry I ever accepted Lady Wardlow’s invitation,” she said in a low voice. “I know you’re not enjoying any of this.”

“Nonsense,” he replied. “Who doesn’t enjoy a ball?”

It was the last dance of the ball. The final waltz. Justin whirled Helena round in another dramatic turn. After four dances together, they’d developed something of a rhythm. A rather good one, he thought. Who the devil cared if they were unfashionable? In his opinion, all that rot about husbands and wives spending most of the evening apart was damned ridiculous. Obviously such rules were promulgated by people in unhappy marriages.

He looked down into Helena’s face. She was flushed and beautiful—and infinitely dear. “Careful,” he said. “Your indifference is slipping.”

A smile twinkled in her eyes. “Oh, I needn’t worry about that anymore. Haven’t you heard? Our marriage is a love match. We’re expected to act foolish.”

Justin’s heart clenched painfully. “A love match? Who told you that?”

“Lady Leticia Staverley. It’s what everyone is saying, apparently. That, and that you’re a friend of my brother’s.” Her silk skirts swished about her legs as he swirled her round the floor. “It seems more trouble than it’s worth to correct them. After all, we won’t be here much longer, will we?”

Justin didn’t know what to say. The future of their marriage was a subject that had been preying on his mind a great deal of late. Indeed, in the past several days, the entire affair had become far more complicated than it had seemed when first he and Helena had met in Devon.

He still wanted her. Of course he did. He wanted all of her. Her laughter and her smiles. Her soft kisses and the tender caress of her hands. He wanted her heart and her soul—and her body. He wanted her so much that at times it was painful to look at her.

The problem was, their relationship could no longer be reduced to what he wanted.

But he didn’t wish to think about any of that. Not now. Not when she was in his arms.

“One-two-three,” he murmured in her ear.

She laughed softly. “I fear we passed the remedial long ago.”

“Indeed. But one mustn’t ever forget the basics.” He executed another outrageous turn, taking immense pleasure in the way her eyes brightened and her lips curved into a smile.

When the music came to an end, he led her from the floor. They were briefly caught in a sea of other guests saying their farewells and fetching their coats and wraps. But they didn’t linger. After taking leave of their hostess, they proceeded outside to the street. It was lined with gleaming black carriages, many of which had crests lacquered on the doors.

Their own more humble vehicle was at the end of the block. There was no use hailing the coachman. The street was too congested for him to drive any closer. “We’ll have to walk to it,” Justin said.

Helena tucked her gloved hand more securely in his arm as they started off down the street. They’d gone no more than a few steps when Justin felt the fine hairs on the back of his neck lift in warning. He turned around sharply, a flicker of foreboding bringing him to abrupt attention.

“What’s wrong?” Helena asked.

Justin looked up and down the street, but there was no sign of Mr. Glyde—or anyone else who appeared to be a villain. Even so, he had the distinct feeling they were being watched.

“Nothing,” he said. But when they reached their carriage, he lost no time in bundling Helena inside. He climbed in after her, sitting beside her on the forward facing seat.

Helena withdrew several pins from her coiffure. “The ballroom was uncommonly hot,” she said as she removed the floral wreath from her head. “Look. All of my flowers have wilted.”

“I noticed. You were dropping petals from your skirts all through the reel.”

“Was I? How embarrassing.” She set aside the wreath. “I suppose wax flowers would have been tidier. Then again, they wouldn’t have smelled half as well.”

He stretched his arm along the back of the seat and, as had become their custom during carriage rides home, she settled closer to him, resting her head against his chest.

“Ah well,” she sighed. “It was good while it lasted.”

He draped his arm around her shoulders, even as her words sent a pang of despair straight through his vitals. She was speaking of the trimmings on her gown, but to him such sentiments took on a whole other meaning. Yes, it was good. And he fervently hoped it would last a very long while. But one must be realistic.

They were reaching the end of things.