“We shall remedy that soon,” he promised, with that same glib charm. “Rest assured.”
Elowen nodded faintly, her mind elsewhere—caught on the question that would not leave her.Would Lucas dance tonight? Watch, perhaps? Think of me at all?
The waltz finally ended. Victor bowed deeply, returning her hand with a flourish. “I trust the experience has been enlightening?”
“It has been… delightful,” she replied, her voice perfectly calm, her thoughts already gone.
“Excellent!” Victor beamed. “I shall not stay away long, I assure you. I’m afraid I must make my rounds, but I could not let the evening begin without showing you where my true interest lies.”
Elowen inclined her head. “Yes, my lord,” she remembered to say.
Thankfully, he returned her to her mother’s side without further display. She could not even summon the energy to pretend interest.
“How was your dance with Lord Cherrington, my dear?” Mama asked, eyes bright with expectation.
Elowen straightened, her voice measured, unflinching. “It was… unremarkable.”
She scanned the crowd for Catherine and realised suddenly that she had lost sight of her entirely. The girl had vanished somewhere among the clusters of dancers and well-dressed guests.
Mama’s brows rose slightly, but she said nothing beyond, “Perhaps you will receive other requests to dance before the night is through.” Her tone was light, but beneath it lay that familiar note of hope Elowen always dreaded.
Elowen inclined her head politely, though inwardly she doubted it.Other requests? From whom?
Victor had claimed the first dance, and few others were likely to trouble themselves to approachher—the lady tainted by scandal. She said nothing, letting her attention drift as her mother continued to speak.
“The evening has been so beautifully arranged,” Mama went on, glancing about with evident satisfaction. “The orchestra exquisite, the company lively—so many eligible young men in one place. It is the perfect setting for a lady to find her husband.”
Elowen’s mind had already wandered. Her eyes moved idly over the room—and then froze. Across the crowded ballroom, Lucas’s gaze met hers.
The moment it did, her breath caught. Warmth unfurled through her chest, quickening her pulse until she felt as though her heart itself were reaching for him across the room.
He looked as though he might come to her—then Catherine appeared at his side, touching his arm, her face alight withexcitement. Lucas’s lips curved in a small, distracted smile. Henry joined them, his own expression bright with affection.
Elowen’s fingers tightened slightly at her sides. She told herself to look away, yet found herself watching as Catherine spoke and laughed, drawing Lucas’s full attention. Then Catherine moved off again, Henry close behind—and Lucas was alone.
Her pulse stumbled when he began crossing the floor toward her. Relief, anticipation, and something dangerously like joy tangled in her chest.
“Your Grace,” she said when he reached her, inclining her head with care.
“Elowen.” His voice was low, steady, his bow precise. “It is good to see you.”
She smiled faintly, her words measured. “You insist on using my given name, I see.”
“And you insist on pretending you mind.” His answering smile deepened—but only enough for her to see it, pitched low so that no one else might overhear.
Then he turned politely to Margaret Tremaine. “Good evening, my lady.”
Mama curtsied, pleased beyond measure. “Your Grace.” Then, with a meaningful glance at Elowen, she drifted away toward another group of guests, her satisfaction evident in the faint curve of her lips.
“Do you care for balls, Elowen?” Lucas asked lightly.
“I do not mind them.”
“That sounds dangerously honest.”
“I suppose it is,” she said, her lips threatening a smile.
“Good,” he said, feigning relief. “I would hate to learn you secretly detest dancing and be forced to imagine your silent protests while I trample your toes.”
