“I shall leave you two to yourselves,” Lady Cromwell said. Amelia had forgotten she was there. She began to step away, then stopped, looking at Edward. “Oh, I nearly forgot. Lady Anderson begged me to tell you to save her a dance.” Lady Cromwell sounded exasperated by the fact.
“Of course I shall.”
Amelia took his distraction as an opportunity to leave.
“Where are you going?” Edward’s voice stopped her from taking a second step away.
“I am looking for Henrietta.”
Edward narrowed his eyes at her. “She will still be greeting guests, surely.”
Drat.“Oh, yes, well...”
“Dance with me.”
Amelia stilled. Edward stepped closer.
“Dance with me, Amelia.”
“It is hardly done. Husbands and wives rarely dance together at these events.”
“But it would solidify our appearance of being so very in love, would it not?”
Amelia scoffed. “We were only pretending at a normal marriage. We were never pretending to be in love.”
Edward’s eyes fixed on hers as he took the now-empty glass from her hand and set it, along with his own, on the tray of a passing servant. “You are correct. I was never pretending.”
Oh, good heavens. She had no defense againstthat. Nor had she any defense against the sudden tingling sensation starting in her stomach.
“Even still,” she managed.
“Hang the pretense, Amelia. Hang Society’s customs. Dance with me.” His eyes stared into her. “Please.”
She did not know what made her do it, and she was aware of the dangerous line she was walking, but she nodded.
It took no more than that. He offered his arm and immediately directed them to the end of the line awaiting the next set. Amelia could have groaned at the warm sensations coursing from the place her hand now rested. So much for her newly erected walls.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Edward, it would seem, enjoyedinflicting pain on himself.
Once the music began, the pain intensified. Every touch, every brief look, every time he had to watch Amelia complete a pattern with the man to his side, pain lanced through him. His thoughts still worked madly, seeking an understanding of what had happened in the carriage. But, more than that, he sought a way to fix the mess he had created. Dash it all—it was a wretched mess!
His hands took Amelia’s for the next pattern, and he barely refrained from pulling her close.
“You dance very well,” he murmured, instead of something ridiculous likeI’m in love with youorKiss me, would you?
“Thank you,” she returned. To his shoulder.
“I would like to—” He stopped as they separated to travel farther down the line. By the time they met again in the middle, he couldn’t say any more. He had been about to tell her he would like to continue their conversation in the carriage, but she had expressly asked—no, begged—him not to speak of it again tonight. He had to abide by her wishes.
And so they danced without a word. Every touch was exquisite torture. Every look, however quickly averted, left him wondering what thoughts were spinning around her head. Was she, even now, formulating her escape? Did she feel a fraction of the desire he felt for her? She had to feel something.
He prayed she felt something.
Too soon, the dance ended, and then the next, concluding the set. Regrettably, he returned with her to the edge of the crowd where she almost immediately said, this time to his shoes, “I ought to find Henrietta now.”
And then she was gone, and Edward, without any idea what else he could do, walked to the card room.
