Catherine nodded. “It appears Lord Cherrington has asked her to dance. Though I cannot say I am surprised.”
“And why not?” Lucas asked, attempting nonchalance.
“Well,” she replied in a sing-song tone, “I noticed that he has been eyeing her all evening. I am merely surprised it took him this long to make his move. And I cannot fault him for it—she is quite beautiful.”
“Why would you notice such a thing?”
Catherine shrugged, flicking open her fan. “I enjoy observing others.”
“I am astonished you have had the leisure,” Henry said rather bashfully, “considering you have been dancing all evening. Or so Lucas tells me. Not that I doubt it, of course!”
Catherine laughed lightly behind her fan. “I assure you, my lord, I can manage more than one amusement at once.”
Lucas paid them no mind. His attention remained fixed on Elowen and Lord Cherrington, gliding together in the steps of the waltz. The marquess was speaking; Elowen seemed to listen, though her eyes wandered—until they met his.
For the first time that evening, their gazes locked. Mere eye contact—and yet the world seemed to tilt. The air thickened; the chandeliers burned brighter. She did not look away. Neither did he.
It lasted but five seconds. Yet in that brief eternity, Lucas knew his life had altered course.
He could no longer remain a silent observer.
Tonight, he had to meet her.
Chapter Two
Lord Cherrington was quite the talker.
Elowen did not think she had managed more than five words before he launched into yet another tale—this time of his exploits in the army or his travels abroad. His stories might have been interesting, had it not been so very clear that he chiefly enjoyed hearing himself speak.
Not that she minded overmuch. She listened politely, offering her“indeed”sand“I see”swhere propriety required, unwilling to offend him. Though she would far rather have remained at the edge of the ballroom, observing the evening unfold from a comfortable distance—with, of course, a glass of that divine lemonade in hand—she could not deny that the marquess’s attention was something to be appreciated.
After all, she had promised her parents she would make an effort tonight. They still held out hope that she might find a suitable husband, though she was already one-and-twenty and invitations to fashionable events had grown scarce since the scandal. To be seen at the debut ball of the Duke of Beaushire was, therefore, an honour—and an opportunity she could not lightly dismiss.
Not that she held any true interest in Lord Cherrington himself. But perhaps a dance with so prominent a gentleman might draw the notice of others. It might remind society that she was not the dreadful creature the gossip sheets had painted her to be.
“Do you not agree, my lady?” Lord Cherrington asked, twirling her lightly back toward his chest.
“Quite so, my lord,” she replied automatically, having no idea what she was agreeing to.
He nodded, pleased. “I thought as much. Perhaps I might invite you to the Epsom Derby, so that you may see for yourself.”
“That sounds delightful, my lord. I should be honoured.”
“As should I, to have a lady such as yourself upon my arm.”
She returned his smile out of politeness. He was, objectively, a handsome man—somewhere in his late thirties—with an easy charm and the confidence of rank. With his looks and title, he might have commanded the interest of any lady present. She was not naïve enough to forget how fortunate it was to have caught even a moment of his attention.
“Excellent,” he said, his grin widening. “I shall see that you receive the particulars.”
“Does that mean our conversation is at an end for the evening, my lord?” she asked, lowering her lashes in a manner her mother had once instructed her to employ. “How very disappointing.”
It seemed to have the desired effect, for Lord Cherrington replied at once, “It need not end—if you would rather it did not.”
“I would not, my lord. I find our conversations most... stimulating.”Even though I have barely said twenty words in the past ten minutes.
“As do I,” he said warmly. “You are not at all what I expected, Miss Tremaine.”
“And what, pray, did you expect?”
