“I’d sense someone long before they could see us,” he said as if he’d read her mind. He reached to skim his thumb along her cheek but thought better of it. “Why are you crying again? Who has hurt you?”
“It’s nothing of concern.” She sniffled and swiped away more tears with her free hand.
“Anything to do with you is of concern to me.”
Isobel wanted to believe him, but whether he realized it or not, it wasn’t true. His concern would disappear as quickly as he would into the stars. Besides, how could she even begin to explain what was wrong? She didn’t think she had the energy to. “I don’t wish to speak on it.”
He mercifully dropped the subject and moved their arms into a waltz position. And then he began to step with her. The music inside the dance hall was just loud enough to drift into the hedge maze in soft waves.
At first, she numbly followed along, her heart a battleground within her. She wanted this. She wanted to be with him here in this moment, so fully present that years from now, when she was an old woman, she could still remember how his hand felt holding hers.
But with that came an ache. The knowing that it would always be a memory.
“You are preoccupied,” he rumbled as if he could read her mind. “Let me carry whatever worries you. Be here with me.”
Looking up at him, she gave him a brief nod. She pushed her heartache down and danced.
Ved led her through the movements without missing a single step. In fact, he was better than half the gentlemen of theton. They flowed into a comfortable silence, and she relaxed against him. Dancing with Ved was what dancing was supposed to be. It was a poem—and they were two beautifully intricate stanzas that made little sense apart.
“How did you learn so quickly?” Isobel asked after a moment. “My demonstration was severely lacking in all theintricacies.”
“I watched you dance inside,” he rumbled. “It is no more difficult than learning how to fight.”
Something licked down her spine—an overwhelming awareness. He’d come to watchher?
“That male, the one who looks like he has smelled something foul, what is he to you?”
That had a laugh bubbling out of her that she couldn’t quite stifle. Lord Richard did tend to look as if he’d caught a trace of something unpleasant—it was the slight curl of his upper lip, she thought. “He’s my brother’s best friend and the man I am promised to.”
Ved misstepped, sending them jerking gracelessly before he righted them again. “He is your starborn mate?”
“My what?”
“Your … soulmate?” It sounded like it took him a great effort to ground the word out.
“Oh, no. It is merely an arrangement. After my father died two years ago, my older brother took me into his care. He’s never complained, not really, but I can tell I’m a burden to him. Clara will be out of the house in a year or two. For me to stay unmarried just because I haven’t found the love of my life is selfish,” she whispered, “and not how it’s done here. The Lord Richard Seymour, my betrothed, he was willing to take me even though I’m six-and-twenty.”
“Willing to take you? As if you are inferior in some way?”
They’d somehow moved into a sway, and she wasn’t sure if the song had changed or not—she was far too focused on Ved’s tone. He almost sounded angry.
“I am, in a way. A woman is expected to marry in the first year or two of debuting. I’ve missed that mark by several years now. Securing a good marriage is a woman’s sole purpose. Well, that and havingher husband’s children so she can continue his line. We are merely property to be passed from our family to our husband.”
“Property?” he ground out. “So, he doesn’t claim you but will have rights to you? He wouldn’t fight beside you on the battlefield or hand-shape a blade for you. He doesn’tseeyou.”
Swallowing the lump in her throat, she nodded. “He doesn’t see me.”
Ved clicked his tongue. “This Richard takes what he has for granted. Nevskolny’ak.”
She blushed and looked down to hide her face. “I don’t know,” she murmured.
“I do.” His tone brooked no argument. “Why must you bind yourself to him? If he does not claim you, doesn’t see you, tell him no.”
“I have no choice but to wed him. The arrangements have already been made,” she said miserably.
Ved let out a string of rough syllables, undoubtedly cursing in Xaala. “I remember him from his playtime in the woods, and his scent irritates me. When will you bind yourself to this weak male?”
A vise wrapped around her lungs. “Next week. But I only found out tonight. It was supposed to be three months from now.”
