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“Ah, a waltz,” Royce commented as the strings began to play. He straightened, took her near-empty glass, and set it down on a tray. “May I have the honor of sharing it with you? Once you've recovered from your shock, that is.” He extended his hand, his gaze darkening, looking directly into hers. “By the way, I don't blame all these men for fighting over you. You're breathtaking.”
Instinctively, Breanna placed her fingers in his. “Yes,” she managed, first answering his request for a dance. “And thank you.”
“Splendid. And you're welcome.” He guided her onto the dance floor, his fingers burning through the fine material of her glove—and her gown—as he led her into the waltz.
For the first time Breanna understood why some people considered this dance to be scandalous. Then again, most people hadn't drunk three glasses of Regent's punch on an empty stomach before attempting it. Still, it was unlike any dance she'd shared with any man this evening. The steps, the motions, even the proximity—those were all the same. And yet...
“So far, so good,” Royce murmured.
Breanna blinked, finding it suddenly difficult to focus on his face. “What's so far, so good?”
A corner of his mouth lifted. “Your party. The fact that there haven't been any unwelcome guests all day, nor thus far tonight.”
“Oh.” She nodded, wishing the punch had done more to eliminate the knot of dread this topic incited.
Royce seemed to sense her distress, because he frowned. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring up this subject. You've been living with it too much as it is.”
“That's your job. Besides, it's not something I can forget.”
“Maybe you should—at least for a while.” Abruptly, Royce halted capturing Breanna's elbow and drawing her off the dance floor.
She blinked, wishing she weren't so dizzy and puzzling over how two and a half glasses of punch could wreak so much havoc. “I felt fine before,” she announced.
“It takes time for the spirits to hit.” Royce guided her forward, and she felt a blast of cold air strike her face and arms. Abruptly, she realized they were standing just outside the French doors. “Come with me,” he urged. He led her onto the balcony, nodding as they passed the guards. “Lady Breanna and I are going to get some air,” he said quietly. “We won't go far. And I have my pistol.”
“Fine, my lord. We're here,” replied one guard, a big, burly fellow whose size alone was intimidating.
“Where are we going?” Breanna asked, stumbling a bit and wrapping her arms about herself as her teeth began to chatter. “It's cold.”
“I know. The cold air is good for you.” Even as he spoke, Royce was shrugging out of his coat. He wrapped it around her, covering her bare arms and enveloping her in a layer of woolen warmth. “Better?”
“Yes.” She felt odd, like she was floating, gloriously numb to the anguish of the past weeks. “I think I'll drink more often,” she announced.
Royce chuckled, snaked an arm about her waist as she teetered on her feet. “I wouldn't suggest it. You don't hold your spirits too well.”
“I guess not. A bit of fruit punch and look what happens to me.”
“Fruit punch?” Royce echoed dryly. “There are several bottles each of Madeira and champagne in Regent's punch, not to mention a pint of rum, and a quart of brandy. No wonder you're foxed.” He scanned the area, led her over to a small rock garden that was lined with shrubs—enough to ensure privacy but not isolation—and came complete with a small, outdoor b
ench. “Sit.”
“All right.” Breanna sank down, leaning her head back and staring up at the sky. “The stars are waltzing.”
“Really? Who's leading?”
She didn't smile. “You're mocking me. I'm not too foxed to realize that. I suppose I can't blame you.”
“I'm not mocking you.” He stood beside the bench, hands clasped behind him as he stared off into the darkness. “I'm teasing you. I want you to smile.”
“I do smile.”
“Not often enough.”
She twisted around to look up at him. “And how would you know that?”
“The same way I know you're less conventional than you think. And the same way I know you need relief from the worry you've been carrying around.”
“Oh.” Breanna's heart gave another of those little skips, and she wondered if Royce realized how excruciatingly charismatic he was, how powerful an effect he had on women.
