Oliver thought that Earnest had handed him the glass.
She tried to remember, but she couldn’t.
Earnest, with his bandaged hands.
Who else had been there?
Frannie and Copper.
Mr. Gatewood and his wife.
Ethel.
The talent manager.
Lillie.
Theodore Parker.
And then, suddenly, there he was, standing in front of her.
“You look…” he said, a slight frown crossing his brow.
“Beautiful?” she supplied wryly.
“Like you’re plotting something.”
She huffed. “Can’t I be both?”
“Indeed.” He offered her his gloved hand, and, with a spark of surprise, she took it.
“May I offer you my condolences, Mr. Parker,” she told him as he led her to the dance floor. “You’re dancing with the pariah of the Ball. I’m afraid your social standing is dropping by the moment.”
“You seem to mistake that I care.”
She flushed, her eyes catching on the way Earnest was taking Lillie by the hand and leading her to the dance floor.
He seemed to be purposefully ignoring Grace.
“Did you find anything out?” Theo asked, following her gaze.
“I’m not sure,” she said. “I might have mended one bridge, but I burned another.”
Her mind was reaching for something.
But she could feel the whispers, the murmurs of the crowd, closing in like shadows in her periphery. He read it on her face and dipped her.
“Are you trying to make me ill?” she asked.
“Don’t go soft on me now, Covington,” he whispered roughly. His mouth was at her throat.
“I wouldn’t even know how,” she breathed.
When he brought her upright again, his lips barely grazed her neck. She was trembling, her breath hitching. His hand tightened across her bodice.
No one had ever done this to her mind, her body before.
She was turning to melted gold. There were explosions of fireworks in her head as though she had stared too long at the sun. Champagne bubbles tingled just beneath her ribs, and the glow of euphoria was an undertow, pulling her in the longer she looked into his eyes and felt the grip of his hand on her waist.
