She shifted, so she could see properly around the curtain, and swept her gaze over the room. Her eyes landed on a pair of men just entering—one short and frowning; the other tall and golden and blithely smiling, utterly and completely in his element, dressed in evening blacks. No few glances stole his way. Archie was simply that magnetic.
Valentina forgot to breathe as his gaze shifted and discreetly scanned the room, slowly making his way toward…her. Their eyes locked, and the distance between them turned to nothing. It was only he and she in this too-grand room. The smile on his mouth fell not an increment, but the one in his eyes deepened as he gave her a slow, thorough up-and-down, taking in her evening finery.
A bold thought came to her.
He would like what he saw with her every curve on display.
Except the fichu.
He wouldn’t like that.
In the next tick of time, his gaze returned to the man at his side—Lord Nestor. They exchanged a few words with Nestor’s gaze flicking toward Valentina. Then Archie began walking. Toward her. Though not in a straight line. Every few steps, he was accosted by a differentacquaintance or friend or even family member, for all she knew. It was widely known that most aristocrats were related either through blood or marriage or, more than occasionally, both. And all the while, his too-charming smile didn’t slip a whit. This was Lord Daniel Windermere, Viscount Archer—Archie—in his natural element. Yet…
His gaze never strayed from her for longer than a few seconds at a time.
The other guests might receive his charm, but she held the entirety of his attention.
She rather liked that.
Too much.
He only stopped when he’d come within three feet of her. Silence stretched between them. There was simply too much to say.
“Smile,” he said at last.
“Pardon?”
“For Nestor.”
And she understood. The ruse was on. A too-large smile stretched across her mouth. All the muscles in her face would be sore in the morning if she kept this up for longer than two minutes.
“Now, pretend we’re talking.”
“We are talking,” she couldn’t help pointing out.
A hint of his true smile shone in his eyes. “Are you…” he began. “Are you being treated well?”
She nodded. “Your family is most kind.”
“Are you thirsty?”
“Delilah and Juliet are fetching me a cup of punch.”
He laughed as if she’d told the funniest joke in the world. “Now you laugh,” he said.
She laughed, knowing it was for Nestor.
“Have you eaten?” asked Archie.
“I’m not hungry, my lord,” she said. “And you?”
“What about me?”
“Did you eat your fill this afternoon?”
He went stone still, the only movement on his body the flare of black pupils pushing blue irises into thin rings. Of a sudden, her question wasn’t about Sunday tea with her family.
Had she intended it that way?
