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“Suppose Miss Dowding doesn’t care for a kiss from me?”
“Then promise me you’ll kisssomeonebefore the night is out. It might be more eye-opening than you realize.”
“Suppose, after a few dances, I come back for you and the two of us take a stroll down the corridor?”
“Do you wish for a slap?” she said, not at all sounding as though she were in jest.
“Would you not give me a kiss then, Aunt?”
“After you soiled my evening with talk of marrying for money? Certainly not.”
This time, Isaac did laugh out loud. As he did so, he caught sight of Lady Nightingale watching him. A tingling awareness spread over Isaac. The moment their eyes met, she looked away.
Gads, but she was breathtaking tonight. She always was, so he wasn’t surprised. Still, seeing her here brought back the memories of laughing with her in the snow, of trying to secure a scarf, of her in his arms.
Was it wrong that those few moments had replayed over and over in his mind almost constantly since then? Or that he found himself wishing he could relive them?
“Mrs. Turner,” Aunt Margarette said as the woman drew near. “How good to see you again.”
“My dear friend,” Mrs. Turner said. “The pleasure is all mine. Might I join you?”
Isaac shook himself and turned to both elderly women, now sitting side by side. With his aunt taken care of, he truly ought to find someone to dance with.
“If you will excuse me, ladies,” he said.
They inclined their heads his way and he took a step toward Lady Nightingale.
Aunt Margarette reached out and caught his arm before he departed.
“There she is,” Aunt Margarette said, pointing the opposite direction he had been planning to walk. “Miss Dowding. She’s standing next to her sister and mother.”
Isaac glanced over his shoulder. It was as his aunt had said. Miss Dowding stood with Miss Cecilia Dowding and Mrs. Dowding. More still, as he looked, Miss Dowding caught sight of him and offered him a small smile.
“You’d best hurry over there,” Mrs. Turner said, none too helpful. “If you don’t ask her to dance now, she’ll feel it’s a slight.”
Mrs. Turner was right. He couldn’t turn his back on Miss Dowding now. Still, he glanced back to where Lady Nightingale had stood. She was no longer there. He quickly glanced about the room. He found her easily enough; finding Lady Nightingale was something he never struggled to do. She was making her way to the dancefloor with Lord Sempill.
His stomach flipped painfully.
Lord Sempill was titled, well-connected, and quite wealthy. In fact, he was exactly the sort of man he could see Lady Nightingale pairing well with.
He didn’t think Lord Sempill would build a snowman or argue over how to wrap a scarf. But if all she wanted was a rich man who would help her keep her standing in society, Lady Nightingale could hardly find a better fit.
“Well?” Aunt Margarette said. “You mustn’t keep the lady waiting.”
“No, of course not.” With that, he spun about, turning his back on Lady Nightingale, and hurried to the other side of the room.
