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Did Eugenia’s hands tingle after each touch the way hers did? Did Sorin’s? Was that why he seemed so oblivious to everything else? Did he have a preference for women with dark hair? Lush figures? Sultry laughs? Such thoughts raced through her mind, each one chipping away at her soul.
She tripped and barely caught herself, embarrassed to have been paying so little attention to what she was doing. Thankfully, Marston seemed not to have noticed. Please let this dance end soon! She needed to get out of here and find a place where she could breathe and settle her frayed nerves. Dipping her curtsy at the end of the dance, she fled.
And very nearly slammed right into Yarborough.
“Lady Eleanor,” he exclaimed with a delighted smile. “How very fortunate. I was hoping to see you here tonight. I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”
His words were lost on her, for at that moment Sorin passed by, Lady Eugenia on his arm. The jealousy that had been steadily gnawing at Eleanor intensified, ripping at her heart like a vicious, ravening beast.
Turning to Yarborough, she smiled brightly. “I’ve been meaning to speak with you, as well. Could we find somewhere a bit more private? Over there, perhaps?” she suggested, nodding toward the terrace doors. Their path would take her right past Sorin.
“Of course,” said Yarborough, offering his arm.
But Sorin was facing away when she passed. Frustration ate at her.
“May I offer you a glass of champagne?” said her escort, gesturing for a passing servant to stop with his tray.
“No, thank you.” Her confidence slipped as Yarborough’s smile faded. “But I would greatly appreciate some punch.”
“It will be my pleasure,” he said, his smile instantly returning.
Watching as he strode away to do her bidding, Eleanor debated whether to disappear. No. To run away now would ill serve her in too many ways. Besides, she really did need to speak with him. Spotting a nearby vacant chair, she sat and scanned the crowd for Sorin. There he was. All she could see of him was his back.
And Eugenia was still hanging on his arm.
An idea formed in her mind. A sly, underhanded idea. It was so wrong, but desperation drove her to take desperate measures. Her discuss
ion with Yarborough could wait just a little while longer—just until after they danced. Given the rumors running about Town, it would cause too great a stir for Sorin to ignore.
“Your punch, Lady Eleanor.”
She looked up to see Yarborough standing before her, glass in his hand. “Thank you,” she said, taking it. Thirsty, she swallowed several gulps before realizing how bitter it was. Ugh! Someone had forgotten to sweeten it. Struggling not to make a face, she set the half-empty glass aside and stood.
But Yarborough wasn’t ready to dance just yet. “You know, I must admit that I did not expect you to be here when I returned.”
He’d never know how close he was to the truth. “I would never be so discourteous.”
“And yet you do not answer any of my letters or accept any of my invitations.”
Her cheeks warmed at the gentle recrimination. “That is part of the reason I wished to speak with you tonight.” Hell, she was going to have to do this now rather than wait. “I think that perhaps you’ve been laboring under the misimpression that I seek more than your friendship. If I have in any way given you cause to believe it to be so, then I must apologize, for it was entirely unintended.”
A twitch of his jaw muscle was the only betrayal of his displeasure. “Lady Eleanor, I would not dream of asking more of you than you’re willing to—”
“Excellent,” she said, smiling in spite of a sudden rush of dizziness. She sank back down onto her seat, all thoughts of a hasty retreat gone. Her upset over Sorin must have been greater than she’d imagined, for she’d never before experienced the faintness so many ladies claimed accompanied emotional upheaval. “I worried that you might be in disagreement with me on the matter,” she continued. “I’ve been hearing the most alarming rumors concerning us. Rumors we both know to be untrue.”
He stared at her for a long moment, his face inscrutable. “Yes, of course. Please don’t take this the wrong way, Ellie, but you look a bit pale.”
Ellie!? She decided to let it pass. It wasn’t worth causing a scene. “It’s a bit stuffy in here.”
“Indeed it is. Perhaps a breath of fresh air is in order?” He nodded to the doors immediately to her left.
How very convenient. Looking at him, she grew even more suspicious of his polite manner. Surely a great bully like him would react more unpleasantly to her rejection than this? But perhaps she’d been wrong about him. He was, after all, much older now.
Her head felt strange, as if it were full of wool. She attempted to stand and found her legs weak. A silk-sleeved arm hovered before her. She took it and allowed him to help her rise, feeling much steadier for the support.
Thoughts of Sorin swirled. Longing, confusion, and most of all hurt.
Yarborough opened the door and led her out onto the terrace. Even in her muzzy state, Eleanor had enough sense to stop before attempting the stairs leading down to the garden. Not only were stairs a non-negotiable obstacle at the moment, but a tour of the gardens by night was off limits to any young lady of good reputation—or at least as long as she was with anyone other than Sorin.
