Cordelia was at his side before he could turn away.
“Ah, Winston,” she said with infuriating brightness, “a quadrille is about to begin. If you have not already acquired a partner, perhaps you should ask Adeline. Let the young ladies see your footwork.”
“No.” His refusal was flat.
I will not be paraded like a prize bull before eyes that weigh and measure me. Certainly not with Adeline.
He could not trust himself near her, not after the maze. Not after that kiss. Another kiss.
I am not some wet-behind-the-ears boy! I should be capable of controlling myself and ridding my thoughts of that damned woman!
He strode to a table, clicking his fingers for a passing servant who carried a tray of wine glasses. The young man hurried over, and Winston took one, seating himself heavily and fixing his gaze on bubbling, golden liquid rather than the gathering dancers. Louisa sat next to him, with Adeline preparing to take a chair next to her. Winston was aware of her presence, of the rustle of her skirts, of the faint floral scent she carried. But before she could lower herself into the chair, a young man stepped forward, bowing with a flourish.
“May I have the honor, My Lady?” the gentleman asked, eyes shining with eagerness.
Adeline looked stricken. “I am merely a governess, sir. I am sure you do not want to dance with one such as me.”
“Merely?” The young man smiled warmly. “You cannot possibly bemerelyanything. I would be honored if you would allow me this dance.”
Winston’s grip tightened on his glass. Heat rose in him, irrational and unwanted. Jealousy. Again. He despised himself for it, and yet he could not look away as Adeline, blushing, allowed herself to be led onto the floor.
“What is his name?” he asked curtly of his mother.
Cordelia, who had taken a seat beside him, feigned a look of innocence. “Whose name?”
“You know very well,” Winston growled.
His mother’s lips curved. “I cannot recall.”
He did not believe her.
She is not exactly well-connected, living out at Briarwood. But something in her tone tells me she is toying with me.
He glowered at the dancing couple, resentment simmering. He told himself he did not care and that what passed in the maze was folly. Adeline was nothing to him. Yet the memory of her lips lingered, and the sight of her dancing with another man twisted like a knife. Cordelia’s voice cut through his thoughts.
She spoke of eligible women, young ladies of good breeding, appropriate fortune, and docile temperament. Winston half-listened, his gaze fixed on Adeline’s flushed face as she moved gracefully through the figures of the dance.
“Yes, yes,” he muttered distractedly.
“Then it is agreed,” Cordelia said with satisfaction. “I shall speak to her father.”
“What?” Winston snapped, dragging his attention back.
But his mother was already on her feet, gliding away before he could challenge her. Pride kept him rooted. He would not chase after her. Instead, he returned to his glowering, only to find Adeline approaching, her cheeks still pink from exertion. He pushed back his chair, intent on greeting her, perhaps even claiming her hand for the next set. But before he could rise fully, another gentleman intercepted her with a bow.
“Your name is Miss Wilkinson? Will you grant me the pleasure?”
Adeline hesitated, her eyes flicking towards Winston, then dancing away. She inclined her head and accepted. Winston’s jaw set. She was giving him a chance to intervene, and he had refused. Pride chained him to his seat. He resumed it stiffly, even as his chest ached with the refusal. Cordelia returned presently, a young woman in tow. She was plump-cheeked, with dark curls framing a pleasant face, her expression open and hopeful.
“Winston,” Cordelia declared, “may I present Lady Amelia de Burgh, daughter of the Earl of Denbury.”
Winston inclined his head. Across the floor, Adeline’s eyes lifted to him, and he saw the faintest tightening in her expression.
Jealousy? From her? This is too much!
Something illogical stirred in him. It was irrational, he knew it. He had no right to jealousy if he refused to name his feelings toher. If he refused to intervene and claim her. Yet, he could not help it. It was too late to insist on her hand, but not too late to give her a taste of what he was tormented by.
He smiled at Lady Amelia and gestured to the empty chair. “My Lady, pray join me.”
