Page 8 of One Waltz with the Viscount

‘Am I to understand your antics are too wild for him? You bring the family name into disrepute?’

Henry felt a heaviness descend on him as he thought of everything that had happened in the last few years.

‘My wife,’ he said. ‘He did not approve of my wife.’

‘I am sorry.’ She looked genuinely appalled at having touched on such a sensitive subject.

He shrugged, not wanting to go into the details. He could barely talk of Anne to the people who had known her, let alone explain the impossibility of their situation to a stranger. With a firm resolve he pushed all thoughts of the past from his mind. He found it easier to thrust them away rather than deal with uncomfortable truths.

Focussing on the woman in front of him, he worked on losing himself in the dance. Miss Shepherd might not have danced in public before, and every so often she stepped in the wrong direction, but she was a natural. Her body was lithe and graceful, and he was reminded how easily she had climbed the wisteria to the first-floor balcony.

Together they swayed and stepped and twirled, Henry thankful of the distraction from darker thoughts that nipped at the edge of his consciousness.

Sarah made the mistake of looking up and for a long moment she was lost in Lord Routledge’s eyes. Of course she’d noticed them before—even in the semi-darkness it was impossible to ignore the man’s good looks. His eyes were a wonderful deep brown, full of sadness and intrigue.

She swallowed, her pulse racing and heat rising through her body.

She knew she was passably attractive, and there had been offers from a couple of young men of her acquaintance to step out over the last couple of years. Never had she been tempted. But, right now, if Lord Routledge asked her to run away into the night with him, she would find it hard to refuse.

Silently she scoffed at the idea. As if the poised and eligible Lord Routledge would ask her that. No matter what he said, he probably had five or six elegant and well-bred young women waiting for him downstairs.

‘You look sad,’ he said, an expression of genuine curiosity on his face. ‘The waltz isn’t meant to be a melancholy experience. At least not if I’m doing it right.’

With a press of his fingers he spun her quickly, and somehow they ended up closer than they had begun, her body brushing against his. She inhaled sharply, and for a moment it felt as though time had stopped. Their eyes met. Ever so slowly, he raised a hand to her face, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

In that instant Sarah wanted to be kissed. She felt her lips part slightly, her breathing become shallow. She’d never been kissed before, but instinctively her body swayed towards Lord Routledge. Her heart thumped within her chest as he moved a fraction of an inch towards her, and then stopped.

Immediately Sarah felt like a fool. She looked away, hoping Lord Routledge had not noticed the pathetic way she’d been staring at him, like some lovesick puppy. It would be a miracle if he had missed it, but hopefully in the darkness he could convince himself he had been mistaken.

The last few notes of the waltz drifted up to the library. Lord Routledge gently let go of her and bowed, taking a step back.

‘Thank you for the dance, Miss Shepherd.’

Sarah turned, not trusting herself to keep a neutral expression on her face.

‘I expect you need to get back to the ball.’

‘I expect I do. I shall check downstairs and return when I think we can get you out of here without anyone noticing.’

‘Thank you.’

She felt strangely bereft as he slipped out of the library, closing the door behind him. Sarah had been the one to push him away, shooing him back to the ball downstairs. It was a protective action, done to stop any further inappropriate thoughts on her part.

Letting out a loud sigh she sat back down in the chair, allowing her head to drop back against the soft fabric. She blamed the uncertainty and worry around Selina’s disappearance for her uncharacteristic behaviour. Never would she have ever imagined breaking into someone’s house, and her thoughts about kissing Lord Routledge were similarly out of character.

Chapter Four

It was half past two in the morning by the time Lord Routledge reappeared. Despite the long hours, which he must have passed dancing and socialising in a warm ballroom, he still looked impeccably smart, with not a single hair out of place. By contrast Sarah felt a mess, even though she had spent the last few hours doing nothing more vigorous than sitting in a chair reading.

‘Are you ready to make your escape?’ Lord Routledge asked as he slipped back into the room. His eyes glinted with anticipation—he didn’t try to hide the fact he was enjoying this.

‘Will we escape unseen?’

‘Most of the guests have left, and the few gentlemen that remain are so engrossed in their card game they wouldn’t notice a stampede of elephants flattening the house. The only person we have to be wary of is Lady Shrewsbury, our hostess. I do not think she has retired for the evening, and even with a glass or two of champagne inside her she is an observant woman.’

‘What is the plan?’ This was the moment Sarah had been patiently waiting for these last few hours, but now it had come she felt suddenly nervous.

‘I will descend the stairs and, if there is no one in sight, I will motion for you to follow. Move quickly, and I will escort you out.’