Page 47 of A Holiday By Gaslight

His blue gaze drifted over her. “Sophie.”

“Hello.”

She’d never been more aware of him. Of the way he looked, so tall and handsome. Of the sound of his voice, so much deeper and huskier than usual. Her bosom rose and fell on a self-conscious breath. His gaze dropped and lingered there for a fraction of second. She was sure she blushed. She could feel the heat of it seeping over the wide expanse of exposed flesh at her neck and shoulders.

“Sophie,” he said again. His Adam’s apple bobbed on a swallow. “You look…” But he only shook his head, seemingly lost for words.

“You’ve seen me in evening dress before,” she reminded him, her cheeks burning. “A ball gown isn’t so very different.”

“Isn’t it? It feels a world of difference to me.”

“You approve, I take it.”

“I more than approve. I stand in awe.”

Well.

“Is that your dance card?” He touched a white-gloved finger to the dangling fan at her wrist.

“It is.”

“And how many dances may I claim?”

“How many would you like?”

Ned’s voice deepened. “All of them.”

Sophie’s lips tilted in a bemused smile. “You don’t even know if I’ll make a good partner.”

“I know.” He spoke with unerring confidence. “Shall I put my name down for all of your waltzes?”

“There are four waltzes this evening. And I can dance no more than three dances with any one gentleman.”

“Three, then.”

She nodded and Ned made short work of penciling his name into her dance card. When he’d finished, he looked at her again, the weight of his gaze making her feel a tiny bit flustered. “What is it?”

“You,” he said simply. And then: “I’ve never seen anyone look so vivid under the gaslight.”

“Oh, that.” Sophie gave her skirts a little rustle over her crinoline. “Most colors lose their brilliancy by gaslight. But this particular shade is complemented by it. The gaslight deepens the hue. Makes it warmer and richer, like a full-bodied red wine. Or so my seamstress claims.”

“She’s not wrong. It looks… You look…” He made a noise low in his throat. “I’m not sure I can let you—”

“What?”

But he didn’t seem disposed to answer. Instead, he caught her hand and pulled her into a small alcove off the hall. Once upon a time, it had contained a marble pedestal holding an expensive sculpture. Now, the alcove was empty—and just large enough to fit the both of them standing face to face.

Ned bent his head. “I don’t know if I can let you dance with anyone else. Not without kissing you first.”

Oh my.

Sophie’s heart skipped several beats. A wall sconce outside the alcove flickered, casting a half shadow over Ned’s face. This was to be her gaslight kiss, then. Just as he’d promised her. “We can’t. Anyone might see.”

He brought his hand to cradle her face. “We’re quite hidden.”

She refrained from pointing out that her skirts were spilling out into the hall. At this stage it didn’t seem to matter. He wanted to kiss her. And she very much wanted to kiss him back. She raised her hand to curl about his neck, the movement unsteady and uncertain. “I’m afraid I’ll crush your cravat,” she admitted, a little sheepishly.

Ned’s expression softened with something like tenderness. “Never mind my cravat.”