“Lady Louise, may I present my grandson, the Duke of Raynsford and his wife, the Duchess.” The Dowager Duchess of Raynsford performed the introductions with obvious pride. “Duncan, Catherine, this is Lady Louise Burrows, Cecilia’s companion.”
“A pleasure,” the younger Duchess said warmly, and Louise genuinely smiled for the first time since entering the ballroom. “Grandmama has told us about you. How are you finding life with Lady Merrow?”
“Never dull,” Louise answered honestly.
The young Duchess laughed. “I can imagine. These four together are a force of nature.”
They chatted easily about London, about the theater, about anything except Louise’s missing brother or precarious circumstances. Catherine had a gift for conversation that made Louise feel included rather than interrogated.
“Lady Louise?”
She turned to find a gentleman she vaguely recognized from various social events.
Mr. Sheridan, she thought.
Tall, reasonably handsome, with kind eyes and a gentle smile.
“Mr. Sheridan.” She curtsied slightly.
“I wondered if you might honor me with the next dance?” He seemed genuinely interested, not merely polite. “And perhapsyou could tell me about your brother’s health? I heard he was recovering in the country.”
“Yes, the London air didn’t agree with him.” The lie came easily now.
“These things happen. My own brother required a year in Italy for his lungs.” Mr. Sheridan offered his arm. “Shall we?”
Louise accepted, allowing him to lead her onto the dance floor. He was an accomplished dancer, guiding her through the steps with practiced ease. He asked about her interests, her time with Lady Merrow, and her thoughts on the unusual winter weather. He was everything a gentleman should be: attentive, appropriate, and complimentary without being forward.
Louise felt absolutely nothing.
No spark when their hands touched through their gloves. No flutter when he smiled at her. No warmth when he said she danced beautifully. He was perfectly nice, perfectly suitable, perfectly forgettable.
Her gaze found Aaron across the room. He stood with Ernest, but his attention was fixed on her, his expression unreadable but intense. Even from this distance, even surrounded by others, that single look made her pulse race in a way Mr. Sheridan’s proximity never could.
“You seem distracted,” Mr. Sheridan observed gently.
“I apologize. The grandeur of the decorations rather overwhelmed me.”
“Understandable. Lady Ashworth does nothing by halves.” He guided her through a turn. “Perhaps some refreshment after this dance?”
“You’re very kind.”
But Louise knew she would make excuses. Would return to Lady Merrow’s circle to chat with. Anything to avoid encouraging this perfectly nice man, who made her feel nothing, while the imperfectly difficult man across the room made her feel everything.
The dance ended, and Louise curtsied politely. “Thank you, Mr. Sheridan. That was lovely.”
“The pleasure was mine.” He seemed about to say more when Lady Merrow appeared at Louise’s elbow.
“My dear, you simply must come see what Lady Berrington is wearing. It defies description.”
Louise allowed herself to be rescued, but not before catching Aaron’s gaze one more time. Whatever had been building between them since that night at George’s apartment couldn’t be ignored much longer.
Tonight felt like a precipice, and she wasn’t sure whether she was about to fly or fall.
CHAPTER 17
“You’re going to burn a hole through her dress if you keep staring like that,” a familiar voice came from behind him.
Aaron forced his gaze away from where Louise stood with the dowagers, her laugh carrying across the ballroom like music.
