Page 46 of One Waltz with the Viscount

The other man was much younger than him, likely no more than twenty-two or twenty-three, but he stood his ground despite his discomfort, leaning in so he was a little closer to Miss Shepherd.

‘In truth, I couldn’t help but notice how tightly this gentleman was holding your hand, and I wished to ensure you did not need any help.’

Henry glanced down in surprise—his hands had moved, from underneath Miss Shepherd’s delicate touch, to him gripping her so hard the tips of her fingers had turned white. With great effort he relaxed his grip.

‘Thank you for your concern, but I am perfectly fine,’ Miss Shepherd said, managing a small smile to reassure the young gentleman.

He looked between them uncertainly.

‘She said she was fine,’ Henry said firmly, standing up. ‘In fact, she has promised me this dance.’

The young man took one final look at Miss Shepherd and then backed away, holding up his hands as if in surrender. Miss Shepherd looked stunned as Henry took her hand and led her to the dance floor, where half a dozen couples now congregated.

He held her stiffly at first, ensuring there was the proper distance between them, but as the first few notes sounded he found himself pulling her just a fraction closer.

Henry did not look at her as they danced, even though he could feel her eyes searching for his. Instead he fixed his gaze over the top of her head, his expression serious. He felt every brush of her hand, every swish of her skirt as she danced the lively steps of the quadrille. It was torture, but perhaps all he deserved was torture right now.

For four minutes they twisted and twirled, until the music started to quieten then fade. At the end he glanced down at Miss Shepherd to see her looking completely devastated, her hand resting on top of his but she pulled it away as soon as was acceptable. He said nothing, still trying to work through everything she’d told him a few minutes earlier, as her face crumpled.

As the other couples began to move away from the dance floor Miss Shepherd spun, wrenching herself out of his grip, and fled, darting into the darkness beyond the clearing.

For a moment Henry was so surprised he could not move. Then he cursed loudly, drawing curious glances in his direction. He didn’t care, instead thinking of Miss Shepherd running, upset and unthinking, to a deserted part of the gardens, where dangers might lurk in the shadows.

Quickly he followed her, hoping to see a swish of fabric or a glimpse of her retreating form, terrified he might lose her in the maze of paths.

Chapter Fourteen

Sarah ran, the tears streaming down her face, head bent against the crowds of people making their way through the gardens. When the path forked she took the left side, the quieter side, which curved away into the darkness. There were no lanterns lighting the way down here, and a couple of times she slipped and stumbled, the grip on her delicate shoes not ideal for the outdoor terrain.

As she ran she kept replaying the conversation with Lord Routledge—Henry—in her mind, and the awful, stiff way he had held her for the dance after. She hadn’t wanted to hurt him, but perhaps her blunt delivery had left a lot to be desired. She wanted him to see how wonderful he was, how any young woman would be lucky to have him. She wanted him to realise that he deserved to be loved. Of course she understood he had been through so much, that wasn’t something to be dismissed. She just wished he wouldn’t resign himself for a life without love.

Letting out a sob, she felt the tears flood onto her cheeks. It had gone so badly. He’d looked at her as if she had just coldly and deliberately ripped out his heart, thrown it to the floor and stamped on it. She’d felt the anger underneath the disbelief too—although as ever Lord Routledge had managed to keep a relatively calm façade. Then, when he had escorted her to the dance floor, he had spent the entire time not looking at her. It had been the most cold and impersonal quadrille ever danced.

Sarah slowed, looking around her. The only light in this part of the gardens was from the moon and the stars around it. Her eyes had started to adjust to the darkness, but she was suddenly aware of how vulnerable she was out here, away from the other revellers. She checked over her shoulder and listened for a moment, relief flooding through her when she did not hear anyone approaching.

She screamed when she felt a hand on her shoulder, whipping round and lashing out. She would have caught the man in the abdomen but her assailant jumped back, light on his feet. She was about to kick out with her own feet when Lord Routledge’s familiar voice cut through the air.

‘I would thank you not to kick me.’ His hand pressed against her half-raised leg, stopping her from acting on instinct.

It took a minute for her heart to stop thumping in her chest and return to a normal rhythm. For that time they stood facing one another in the darkness of the gardens.

‘You shouldn’t have run off,’ Lord Routledge said, his voice gruff.

‘I needed to be alone.’

‘However upset you are, it is not worth risking your safety.’

Even after everything she had said, he still cared for her wellbeing. She took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to gather her thoughts.

‘I am sorry, I did not think of my safety.’ They stood in silence for a long moment before Sarah spoke again. ‘I am sorry for speaking so bluntly before.’

‘You spoke your mind. I cannot criticise you for your honesty.’

‘I was insensitive in how and where I told you what I thought.’

‘Why do you care what happens to me, Miss Shepherd? After tomorrow we shall go our separate ways, never to see one another again.’

His words nipped at her, stinging and biting, and she flinched.