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And when she swung back around toward her partner, he filled a disappointingly small area of her vision. But he was pretty. There was no doubt of that, and she could happily stare into his blue eyes for hours.
So that was what she focused on during the last steps of the dance. His eyes and the way the smiled at her, crinkling with delight at her attention.
By the time he escorted her off the dance floor, he seemed perfectly nice again. Not inadequate. Not disappointing.
Until she turned and found herself face to face with Jude Bertrand.
Her eyes traveled up and up until she met his dark gaze.
"Miss York," he rumbled.
"Mr. Bertrand."
"Are you enjoying the dancing?"
"I am. And you, sir?"
"Well, Miss York, I would en joy this evening more if you would grant me the honor of a dance."
"I... pardon?" The dazzling width of his shoulders must've turned her head. "A dance?"
"Yes, a dance. With your beloved. Surely that can't be too much to ask?"
"Of course not. No."
"May I claim the first waltz then?"
Could he dance? She felt ungenerous when she thought of her toes, but more than anything, she was concerned for her poor heart, which beat a mad rhythm at the prospect of his hands touching her.
The first waltz. When would that be? A few moments from now? An hour? Marissa stared up at him, caught by his eyes. Finally, Jude offered that crooked half smile, and she realized that she'd missed it, missed that feeling of a secret joke that only they shared.
A throat cleared beside her. Marissa blinked and spun to face a gentleman who was offering a sheepish bow. "Pardon the interruption, but I believe this is my dance?"
"Oh, Mr. Jessup, of course." She took his arm with only a glance back toward Jude as she left, and did not let herself notice the delicate feel of the man's bones beneath her hand.
Jude Bertrand might be a friend, but he was not the type of man she intended to marry. Strong bones were nothing to recommend a husband. Nothing at all.
"You watch her," a soft voice said from behind him. Jude turned to see Patience Wellingsly smiling softly. She'd decamped a week ago, but she'd only-moved to a cousin's estate a few miles away, so he wasn't surprised to see her.
"Pardon?" he asked.
"Your fiancée. You watch her. As if there were no one else in the room."
He inclined his head.
"I wish someone would look at me that way," she sighed.
"Come now, Mrs. Wcllingsly. You're beautiful. Lovely. Don't tell me that men haven't looked at you that way."
"Not the right ones."
She looked so lonely in that moment, so lost, that Jude sighed and offered his arm to lead her to a pair of chairs against the wall.
"If you'll allow me to speak plainly . .. ?"
She looked surprised. "Of course."
"You've no business entertaining Aidan York if you want a man who'll cherish you. You're clever enough to realize that."
