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“Yesterday afternoon. I was going to call on you in a day or two.”
“You still could,” she said, the words just slipping out.
He gave her a long look before answering. “If you’d be willing to see me.”
She tried to make her voice casual. “Of course.”
“Madeleine—”
She had never in her life been so happy to hear the chime of dinner bells. The people standing around the room began turning toward the double archway that led to the adjoining dining hall. Faint, delicious aromas wafted through from the other side.
“Finally!” Madeleine exclaimed, jumping to her feet, which caused Reese to release her hands at last. “I’m starving.”
Reese stood a little more slowly. “Sometimes stress will do that to you,” he said. “Give you a ravenous appetite.”
She patted her stomach. “Stress, or perhaps the fact that I didn’t eat much all day because I wanted to makesureI fit into my dress.”
“And a lovely dress it is.”
“I had it made especially for tonight. I thought—”
A tremendous crashing sound came from beyond the archway. Madeleine cried out and threw herself blindly at Reese, clutching his sleeve and hiding her face against his jacket. She felt his arms tighten around her, felt him swing her in a half circle, so his back was to the archway and his body would shield her from danger. Maybe that was his mouth against her hair.
Around her, she first heard muffled shouts of alarm and then a wave of nervous laughter. “Some poor servant dropped a whole tray of wine glasses,” a man said, and there was another round of mirth.
It still took her longer than it should have to stop trembling and raise her head. Reese stood unmoving, limitlessly patient, still holding her close, still absorbing half her weight. She had the impression he would stand, just so, for the rest of the night if that was how long it took her to regain her composure.
She was tempted, for a moment, to take him up on his silent offer.
But she drew in a deep breath, she lifted her chin, she stepped back, and he let his hands fall. “That was a little unexpected,” she said. The noise. Her reaction. The feel of his arms around her.
“Nowdo you want to go home?” he asked.
She stood even straighter. “NowI’m hungrier. Let’s have dinner.”
Madeleine had expected Tivol to be remorseful that he had abandoned her for most of the evening, but she had not reckoned with the allure of midnight racing.
At the dinner table, she had been seated between one of her father’s cousins and Tivol’s oldest uncle. Across from her, but three seats up, Tivol lounged between Madeleine’s elderly neighbor and a nervous young Kissidell girl who had to be at her very first social outing. Tivol glanced over frequently to give Madeleine an encouraging grin or toast her with a glass of wine, but they weren’t close enough to have a conversation.
She had always thought this room was beautiful, but tonight she was ready to change her mind. Three of the walls were covered from floor to ceiling with bits of mirrored glass, and the endlessly reflective mosaic flickered with so much light and movement that Madeleine had a headache within twenty minutes. Once she’d consumed the first two courses and had a glass of wine, her stomach started to turn on her as well.
Now I want to leave,she thought.But people have stopped suggesting it.
Well, she could make it through the meal, and then she would beg Tivol to take her home. The party would go on past midnight, but Madeleine was suddenly quite thoroughly done.
During one of the brief pauses between courses, Tivol came to his feet and circled the table to bend solicitously over her shoulder.
“You’re starting to look tired,” he said in her ear.
She was grateful that he had noticed. “I am. I’m ready to leave at any time.”
“Excellent. So is Coretta,” he said, naming Madeleine’s ancient neighbor. “She just sent for her driver. You can ride with her.”
She twisted around in her chair to get a look at his face. “You don’t want to take me home?”
His smile was half sheepish and half excited. “Denton has his new sprinter here. Fastest one yet, he says. He wants a few of us to go out and test it. Night’s the best time to race, you know, because there’s almost no traffic—”
She couldn’t believe it. “You’re leaving Harlo’s party—to goracing?”
