His gaze snagged on a whirl of colour, the swish of red hair and a wide laughing mouth. ‘You are perfection as always, Isadora.’
‘Oh, what fustian you talk. We both realise I should never have allowed my dressmaker to convince me of the extra ruffle. It makes me look like a pudding.’
Edward managed to glance down at the dress; Isadora was right about the extra material. He lifted his head, once more searching for flame-coloured hair. Had it been her? Was she on the dance floor again? Not long after they had arrived at the Albrighton ball, Kate had attracted admirers, undoubtedly down to the dark green dress she wore, her curves and her hair, which glimmered like golden flames in the candlelight.
‘A delicious pudding,’ he said, because he knew what was expected of him.
Her deep, throaty laugh sounded, but still he didn’t look down to see what was amusing her, his feet following the steps of the dance he’d performed many a time. He caught a flash of red again and his fingers flexed involuntarily.
‘Your compliment almost sounded sincere, Edward, darling. If you could take your eyes off the beautiful red-headed woman for more than a few seconds, I might even have believed you.’
His gaze snapped to his companion. He hadn’t realised he had been so obvious. She smirked up at him. ‘Who is she?’ He opened his mouth. ‘And do not try to pretend you do not know whom I am talking about.’ He closed his mouth. ‘Oh dear. It is that bad, is it? Well, you will not be the first young buck to experience heartbreak.’
‘My heart is very much unbroken, thank you.’ He feared he might have the opposite problem, that his heart was working too much, going too fast, flipping over and doing acrobatics when he just wanted it to be still.
Isadora patted his arm. ‘Quite right, my dear. Do not let the rejection bring you down. You will find someone else.’
‘No, I…’ He paused; he’d been about to confess all. He glanced down to find Isadora grinning wickedly up at him. ‘You are adreadful woman. I do not understand how Mr Winstone puts up with you.’
‘Well, I am very good at…’ She waggled her eyebrows.
‘Isadora!’
She cackled. ‘It never fails to amuse me how prim and proper you young gentlemen are. Besides, I was going to tell you how very good I am at hosting parties; my husband loves that about me.’
‘Of course you are.’
She cackled again. ‘Mr Winstone puts up with me because he adores me as I do him.’
That was true; no matter how much she liked to tease, Isadora was as devoted to her husband as he was her. It made flirting with her even more enjoyable; there were no expectations on either side other than to enjoy some light-hearted conversation. ‘Tell me about the woman, Edward. Give me a name and a reason for the tightness in your eyes.’
There was no point asking to whom Isadora was referring. No matter how much he had been trying, Edward could not stop tormenting himself by watching Kate laughing and spinning around the dance floor in the arms of men who were not him. He should have asked her for a waltz as soon as they had arrived. But he’d remembered what it was like to hold her and he hadn’t been sure he would be strong enough to hide his increasingly obvious feelings. Now he wished he had, because her card had filled up immediately and the whole evening was an exercise in torture.
‘Her name is Katherine Hornel. She is the sister of an old friend of the duke and is staying with us at Glanmore House for a while.’
‘The duke has friends?’
‘He is not aloof.’ Although Edward had thought of his brother as distant and uncaring for years, he was beginning to see another side to Tobias, a side he kept hidden for most of the time, hidden so deep Edward sometimes thought he was imagining the thaw in his brother’s demeanour.
‘Has the brother or the duke warned you off then? Is that the reason for your puppy-dog eyes?’
Edward’s spine tightened. ‘Of course they have not. I have no interest in Miss Hornel,’ he lied.
‘You need to inform your face.’
Mercifully, the dance came to an end and he was able to escort Isadora back to her husband before she made any further observant remarks. Edward’s heart clenched at the soft, private look between the married couple. What would it be like to have that connection to another person?
He caught sight of Kate being led off the dance floor. Her partner had the dazed look of a man who had just met a goddess and who couldn’t believe his luck. Edward was moving before he was properly aware of it, pushing his way through the crowds to get to her.
‘Miss Hornel,’ he said, bowing to her, acting like he had never mopped up tea with her or listened to her giggling over the funny steps in the cotillion. ‘May I have the pleasure of the next dance?’
‘Oh.’ Her hand fluttered to her dance card and it was a measure of how far gone he was that he followed her movement like a hawk. She glanced at the words on it. ‘I am to dance with Christopher next.’
‘Excellent. I can take his place.’ He held out his hand, frowning at Christopher, who was approaching.
She stepped closer to him, ignoring his outstretched hand. He dropped it, knowing someone, somewhere, would be watchingtheir every move. He was not in the mood to become the centre of gossip. Little curls had escaped from their pins and strands of hair were sticking to her neck. His thumb twitched against his thigh with the urge to sweep them away.
‘Your name is not on my card,’ she said, quietly but firmly.
