Yearning, fierce and pure, shot through Olivia, threatening to unravel her thread by thread until nothing remained but the raw, quivering core of this longing. Miss Fox’s words were the simple and absolute truth. She wanted what Nick and Mariana had. Wanted it so bad, she could taste it. It tasted of . . .Jake.
If she was being honest with herself, she longed for a different sort of freedom from the one she’d fought so long and hard to obtain. She longed for the freedom to gaze upon Jake the way Mariana gazed upon Nick. To claim him in front of thetonfor a single dance as hers . . .As hers?
She blinked, once, twice, and snapped to. He wasn’t the man for her. And she wasn’t the woman for him. They’d made those facts very clear to each other.
Another tray littered with bubbly champagne appeared to her right, tempting her with its happy dance. She found her own glass empty—when had that happened?—and traded it for a full. She took one . . . two . . . three . . . whoo! . . . bracing gulps. The bubbles effervesced all the way up to the tippy top of her head, and she felt lighter, floatier, even if she didn’t feel preciselybetter.
“They waltz as if no one else in the world matters,” Miss Fox said.
“Mm-hmm,” Olivia assented around the lump in her throat.
There was a proper way of dancing the waltz that involved distancing oneself from one’s partner, back held straight and rigid, arms stiff and unyielding, eyes averted and aloof. It was entirely possible to remain separate from one’s dance partner, both in body and spirit, during a waltz, if one put enough effort into it. If onecaredto put enough effort into it.
Clearly, Nick and Mariana didn’t, their bodies flat up against each other, the entire length of her body pressed full length against his. Mariana, feline and sensual, stretched up to whisper into his ear. A quicksilver smile flickered across Nick’s lips, and his eyes glowed with promise.
“It looks like the prelude to a coupling,” Miss Fox whispered.
Olivia ripped her gaze away and stared down into her champagne glass. It wasn’t only yearning that was turning her stomach into knots. It was jealousy, pure and primitive. She wanted what her sister had.
She wanted the carnality and the passion . . . the love and the ease . . . She wanted it all.
And it wasn’t possible. Not for her.
What Nick and Mariana shared was unique to them. Olivia would wager her new townhouse that no other couple in this room experienced that sort of love, singular and true. During their courtship, she’d thought she had it with Percy. Their marriage had shattered that particular illusion. But she now understood she could have it with the right man. And in her very soul she knew who the right man was.
But she couldn’t have him. She was the wrong woman.
The music ended on an upbeat flourish, and the couples cleared the floor to make way for a new set. Nick and Mariana melted into the crowd.
“That was quite an elucidating experience,” said Miss Fox, a bewildered smile belying her sardonic tone. “Is it only me or has this room warmed by a few dozen degrees?”
A wry chuckle escaped Olivia. “I’m afraid my silk fan may not be up to the task of cooling me sufficiently after that display.”
Miss Fox’s familiar vulpine smile spread across her face, even as an unfamiliar warmth reached her eyes. “Lady Olivia, I rather like you.”
With that, Miss Fox departed on a shush of silk skirts, taking the moment of levity with her. Olivia closed her eyes and exhaled a sigh on the hope that her breath could force out the horrible feeling gnawing at her stomach.
“You should be dancing.”
Her eyes startled open on a surprised gasp. “Jake?”
Could it be? She blinked. It could.
He bowed. “In the flesh.”
Flesh. The word caught between the chinks of her armor, and her heart hammered in her chest. It was possible that her heart would break free of her ribs and reveal itself to him. “It’s really too bad that yours is—”
She stopped herself from finishing that sentence.So thoroughly covered.
Had she been about to speak those words aloud?
The smile that curled about his lips and reached all the way up to his eyes told her that she didn’t need to. He’d done it for her in his head.
A flurry of anticipation shivered up her spine. She liked that he had. The way he was looking at her . . . She liked that, too. It was entirely possible she liked everything about this man.
On a reckless wave of abandon and desire, she stepped forward, a slight wobble in her step. From two glasses of champagne? Lord, she was light as a titmouse when it came to wine. He likely noticed, but she cared not. She lowered into a deep curtsy that might have listed left. She steadied herself before rising and extended her hand. “Lord St. Alban, would you do me the honor of the next dance?”
The arctic blue of his eyes warmed, and the distance between them melted. He reached out and wrapped his gorgeous, capable fingers around her hand. “It would be my utmost pleasure.”
