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“Yes,” Adeline agreed, her voice taking on a higher, nervous pitch. “It’s good to see the both of you.”
“Doubtlessly, it’s better for us to see you,” Lord Brookshire replied.
Now,thatwas a flirtation Marcella had heard repeated time and time again.
“I hope you’ll not find me too forward,” Marcella said, quite aware that a gentleman ought to ask a lady to dance, “but I hope you’ll forgive me for breaching protocol. My friend and I would quite like to dance, but we’ve not been asked yet. I see, though, that you two gentlemen are presently unoccupied.”
They reacted just as Marcella had anticipated they would, with quick smiles and an eagerness to dance. Marcella let Lord Brookshire’s younger brother lead her into a dance, and while she followed the familiar steps, her mind wandered. She imagined herself in the place of her soon-to-be heroine, dancing and dreaming of more. In Marcella’s novel, though, something exciting would happen. Something extraordinary.
Then, her heroine would leave the dance and find her adventure somewhere in the night, and Marcella’s chest ached in regret because shewasn’tthat heroine on the cusp of something new and wonderful.
* * *
The night was long, and it was two more dances before Marcella could gracefully excuse herself from her partner. She moved towards the wall, but her stepmother’s sharp eyes found her at once. Marcella found Adeline quickly, but although she’d found a new partner, she looked as though she was enjoying herself immensely. Her eyes were bright and her face flushed.
Marcella looked at all theton,scattered about in their colorful fabrics. If she married Lord Reginald like her father and stepmother wanted, this would be her life forever. The most exciting thing she’d ever do would be dance at these balls.
What a miserable accomplishment.
She crossed the room, quickly disappearing behind the dancers, and slipped between the doors leading to the vast gardens behind the country manor. The winter wind bit against her arms and tore her hair, but she still hurried over the path, which wound its way around the hedges and grasses, now dead and sheathed in frost.
The sounds of the ball fell away, and finally, she halted. Although she still saw the manor in the distance, Marcella felt as if she’d stepped into another world. The night was quiet and clear, the stars all bright and twinkling in the black canvas of the sky.
She took another step, and her foot slipped. There had been a patch of ice, and she hadn’t seen it until it was too late. With a startled cry, Marcella fell backwards, wincing as she justbarelycaught herself on her hands.
“Are you all right?” a man’s soft, low voice asked.
Marcella jumped and hastened to her feet, smoothing over her gown and adjusting her hair. Her head snapped up, taking in the man who’d appeared, seemingly from the shadows. By his dress, he was a gentleman. A guest, then.
A hot flush spread across Marcella’s face. She shouldn’t be alone with him, but the two of them were far enough from the ball that she doubted anyone would notice them. The gentleman was handsome, exceptionally so. He was a tall, well-built man with thick, brown hair and a pair of pale eyes. It was difficult to determine their exact color in the darkness, but she thought they might be blue or green.
“Miss?” the man asked.
“Ah, yes,” she replied. “I’m not hurt. I was only startled.”
He nodded and crossed his arms. “What brings you out here? Don’t you have a ball to be enjoying? A very extravagant ball?”
Marcella straightened her back and tipped her chin upward. Her mind raced, trying to put a name to the young gentleman, but it was difficult. Thetonwas so vast, and she’d not seen many of them for years. Young men of good breeding attended Oxford and Cambridge, which resulted in long absences, and Marcella herself had never paid much mind to them anyway.
“I could ask you the same thing,” she retorted. “It seems that you’ve also been invited to this ball. Why aren’t you enjoying it?”
He took a couple steps closer, standing nearer to her than was strictly proper. His posture wasn’t threatening, though. He looked relaxed, and both his eyes and lips smiled. “I suppose that’s fair,” he said, lowering his voice conspiratorially, “but I’ve never been terribly fond of balls. These occasions are just posturing. I feel like I’m some rare animal on display, and I’m obligated to ensure everyone sees me before the night is out.”
Despite herself, Marcella laughed. “What a romantic image you paint of it all.”
The man shrugged. “Sometimes, life isn’t particularly romantic. It’s cruel and cold and dirty.”
There was something sad in the man’s voice, a nearly imperceptible catch that seemed to pierce Marcella’s own heart in a way that she couldn’t quite put into words.
“But I’ve told you my feelings on the matter,” he continued. “What brings you out into the gardens unaccompanied? Has your suitor angered you? Did you find that another lady wore a gown too like your own?”
“How strange that you—having bared your soul to me—assume that my reasons for leaving the ball must be superficial. Did it not occur to you that I might also detest these events and that I might also feel as though I’m an exotic animal being flaunted before the masses?”
“I don’t think that’s a proper observation for a lady to make,” he said.
“Nor was yours proper for a gentleman,” Marcella countered. “Nor is your standing so near to me when we are alone in the garden proper. In fact, I’m quite convinced that you would not recognize propriety if it slapped you in the face.”
He leaned ever closer, and Marcella’s breath gave a short, nervous hitch. The man wore a fine cologne of orange and sandalwood, which filled her nostrils with its warm, spicy scent. She could tell then that his eyes were blue, and there was something wild in them.
