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Sammy's cheeks flamed. Certain that guilt was written all over her face, she avoided the viscount's gaze.
An instant of silence followed—an eternity to Samantha.
Finally, Anders cleared his throat. "The strings have begun, my lady. About the dance . . . ?"
"Certainly, my lord." Somehow Sammy found the ability to go through the motions, allowing Anders to guide her onto the dance floor. She forced herself not to look about, although she sensed Rem's eyes on her, assessing her... probably with pity and remorse. Pity for the self-loathing she was undoubtedly feeling in light of her scandalous behavior, remorse for his contribution to rendering her a fallen woman.
How would he react if he knew she longed to run back into his arms, to relive that first exquisite kiss? Would his gray eyes turn chilling with censure, as they had in the tavern, or indulgent with humor, as they had when she'd guzzled her brandy?
Either way, she didn't want to know.
"The next time you need air, I'd be delighted to escort you," Anders was saying. "You shouldn't stroll about Almack's on your own."
"Thank you. I'll remember that." Where was Rem now? Sammy couldn't see him anywhere.
"Did you lose your way?"
"Pardon me?" She blinked.
"Did you lose your way?" Anders repeated. "You were gone from the ball for quite some time."
Sammy lifted her gaze, dreading the condemnation she expected to see. But the viscount's expression was solicitous, not reproving. Perhaps he really didn't know. "No, my lord," she answered, determined to be as honest as she could without damning herself. "I found a small anteroom and renewed myself."
"I see. An unoccupied anteroom?"
He most definitely knew, "Yes, the room was empty ... when I arrived." She wanted to kick herself for the hesitation.
"Not everyone at Almack's is honorable, my lady." Anders held her eyes. "I would feel much better if you would call on me the next time you leave the party."
"Very well, my lord." Sammy fell silent again. Despite her best resolution to the contrary, she found herself scanning the room for Remington.
She found him...and wished
she hadn't.
Leaning against the far wall, he was immersed in intimate conversation with one of the most exotically stunning women Sammy had ever seen.
How much more could she withstand?
"You're far lovelier, you know."
""Pardon me?" Sammy blinked.
Anders followed Sammy's gaze. "Lady Sheltane—she cannot compare to you in beauty."
Sammy almost laughed aloud. "You must need spectacles, my lord."
"I assure you, I do not."
His stiff tone alerted Sammy to the brusqueness of her reply. "I apologize. That was dreadfully rude of me. 'Tis only that I feel so inadequate beside these accomplished ladies."
"Believe me, Samantha, their accomplishments are nothing you should envy."
She looked startled. "Why? What are they?"
"Things that are unsuitable for a lady's ear."
"Oh." Sammy blushed.
