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He led her out to the centre of the room, just as the band began to play. The first dance was a fast-paced country dance with lots of motion. Since Lucy wasn’t familiar with it, she had to focus on the steps, imitating what everyone else was doing.
There wasn’t much occasion for talking, not that Lucy wanted to talk with Mr Sweet. On occasion, though, her gaze would lock with his. She would be the first to look away, as though burned. She could tell by the sparkle of mischief in his eye that he wanted to discuss the kiss… perhaps picking up where they’d left off.
It slowly wound down. She curtsied to him, then turned away, just as the second set began. She felt relieved, looking for her escape in the form of either Dinah or Aunt Joan. She saw neither.
“Please,” he said, reaching for her. “Don’t go yet.” The music for the next dance began, and Lucy found herself pulled into his arms. Their eyes met as he pulled her closer, his hand on her waist. It was a waltz, with slowly swelling music that Lucy could feel in her bones. His hand pressed into her lower back, pulling her body closer to his. She felt her face burn crimson. She could not deny that she was enjoying this. It was unfortunate that they were in the middle of a crowded room, so anyone could see.
He leaned in and whispered in her ear, his breath warm against her skin. “I’ve been thinking about you all day.”
Their eyes met as he pulled away. His lips quirked upward in a grin. Lucy felt electricity flow through her. She felt like he was the sun and she was a flower, turning her face to follow wherever he decided to move.
“Really?” she asked, cursing herself for sounding eager. She needed to put space between them, for she felt like she was losing her balance.
“Yes. Please tell me that you haven’t forgotten about the library?” His eyes remained on hers, holding her there.
“No.” She swallowed, looking away from him. “I—”
“Surely, you feel it, too.” When she dared meet his gaze, his eyes were softened, though he was no longer smiling. She swallowed. The longer she didn’t answer, the bigger his smile became. “You do. You can’t deny it.”
“To what end?” she asked, shaking her head. “You are the heir of a viscount, and I am nobody.”
“Not nobody,” he insisted. She could feel her cheeks flaming with embarrassment. “You are Miss Lucy Wilds. There is no one else like you in all the world.”
Why is he paying me so much attention, in front of everyone?
The waltz ended. She curtsied to him, her eyes on the tiles of the floor between them. She stared at his boots, trying to think of something to say. Quickly, before he could entice her into yet another dance.
“I need some air.” Then, Lucy made her escape out to the terrace. She breathed in great gulps of air. Silas Sweet was intoxicating—if she didn’t watch out, she’d lose her head. Who knew where it would end up? She needed to be smart. She couldn’t go falling for him—he would make her fall in love with him, and then, when she was inextricably in love, he would vanish.
As men are wont to do, she thought bitterly.
***
Silas walked slowly, letting Miss Wilds have a moment out on the terrace. He was getting mixed signals from her—she seemed to want more, yet kept running away whenever he tried to make a move. He wasn’t sure how to read them, but decided to follow her, to find out.
He caught Percy’s eye as he passed him. Percy grinned, his eyes lighting up as he raised his glass to Silas. He was talking to Lady Violet Potsmore, who seemed capable of keeping herself protected from Percy’s advances. She was an earl’s daughter, which meant that she would never seriously consider Percy.
Not to mention, Lady Violet was fanning herself, stepping backward as Percy slowly inched closer to her. Percy’s grin was bright, but Lady Violet was frowning, completely unimpressed.
Silas spotted Lord Browning and Dinah, her hand resting delicately in the bend of Lord Browning’s elbow. They had just stepped off of the dance floor and were heading over to the punch bowl. Dinah was beaming, roses in her cheeks. Silas was happy for his sister. They were a good match—very well-suited in terms of temperament.
He then stepped out onto the terrace. It was less crowded out there, yet there were several guests. Two elder gentlemen were smoking their pipes, joined by a third gentleman. Four ladies stood in a circle, their fans doing extra work.
Miss Wilds was up near the balustrade, leaning against it. Torches burned brightly at intervals throughout the garden. He strolled slowly towards her, his hands in his jacket pockets.
“Miss Wilds,” he called out softly.
She whirled around to face him. He smiled. She couldn’t say this was inappropriate. There was quite a crowd out there, not including the few couples who were strolling about the gardens.
“What do you want, Mr Sweet?” she asked. Her tone was guarded, and a little fatigued. He felt concerned for her.
“To make sure that you are well,” he replied. “You ran away so quickly, and I wanted to be sure that you didn’t need assistance.” He paused. “Are you well, Miss?”
“I’m fine.” She turned back towards the gardens with a great sigh. “I’m not much for balls. I think I’ve gotten tired.”
He moved to stand beside her, allowing there to be a considerate gap between them. He leaned against the balustrade, his hands on the cool stone as he let the silence stretch between them. She seemed to relax. She wasn’t one for idle chatter. That was nice about her.
“The gardens are always so lovely at this time of year,” he commented. “Granted, they were even more lovely when my mother was still alive.”
