What in damnation did she have to be amused about? They had figured out her identity, and any association she had with them would serve to scandalize her situation. Yet she didn’t seem concerned, and that was troubling, it was odd, it was . . . challenging. Either she was daft, or she had nothing to lose.
If she thought this was amusing, would she allow other liberties? The thought was delicious, and utterly impossible. She was an innocent—at least innocentenough.She wasn’t one to trifle with, at least without unnecessary risk. And that risk wasn’t simply the ire of a scorned woman, it was the social constraints of being forced to marry, of entering into the very convention that turned his heart cold.
Hell would need to freeze over first.
And it would have to be a damn solid freeze.
Heathcliff’s voice pulled his thoughts back to the situation at hand. “Lady Liliah, would you do me the honor of this next dance?”
Luc’s gaze shot to his friend. Clearly the man was daft. First, because they had shown up to a party, unannounced and probably uninvited—since Luc made it a point to toss out any invitation that dared cross his threshold. Second, because Heathcliff was to bloody prance around in the quadrille? Luc tried to remember the last time he’d seen his friend dance.
And failed to remember one instance.
This ought to be interesting.
“Of course.” Lady Liliah blushed prettily, even as her gaze lingered on Luc, causing a strange sensation to rise up within him before he determinedly tamped it down.
She placed her delicate hand in Heathcliff’s monstrous one and strolled off toward the dance floor. Luc scoffed silently at the reaction of the ton. As if Heathcliff had become Moses, the ballroom parted like the Red Sea. As the first notes of music hung in the air, the dancers took position. The men cast wary glances toward Heathcliff, while the women’s gazes lingered appreciatively. It was nauseating.
“Would you care to dance?”
Luc glanced behind him, watching as Meyer, the Baron of Scoffield, reached out and extended his hand toward the other lady beside him, whom Lucas had utterly dismissed the moment he’d made her acquaintance. Yet the intensity of the gaze between the two people caught his attention. It wasn’t the gaze of interest; it was the gaze of desperation.
He’d seen it hundreds of times before. When what you want is just out of reach. You can touch it, but cannot grasp it. Gamblers, men with broken hearts, women offering their love . . . only to have it rejected—it was the same for each one.
Something seemed off.
And he couldn’t help but wonder if the lady dancing with his friend was the keeper of many secrets.
Lucas watched as the couple danced past him. The woman ignored his presence, but the man studied him, as if taking his measure. It wasn’t the gaze of a man studying a competitor; it was the gaze of a man looking out for a friend.
And as they walked into the center of the room, Lucas’s mind filled with questions.
He only hoped that Heathcliff was having better luck finding answers than he.
Chapter Nine
Liliah could feel the gaze of the ton on her back like an open flame. Rather than focus on the attention she was receiving, she kept her focus on the man before her. His ready smile was a contradiction with the size of his frame. Heshouldbe formidable, yet wasn’t. It was his eyes, she decided. They crinkled just enough to put her at ease. He truly was a handsome man, but his appearance was easily glossed over when he stood beside the raw beauty of Luc. Heat simmered just below her skin and she glanced away to the other dancers.
“Ach, why are you grinning so?” Lord Kilpatrick asked, just as they passed one another in the quadrille. Liliah grasped hands with another partner, nodding to the gentleman before releasing his hand and grasping another’s and doing a turn. Across the circle, the viscount’s expression implied he was more than willing to patiently await his answer.
As the music continued, Liliah again found herself grasping the viscount’s hand. “You seem to be a keeper of secrets, my lady,” he whispered quickly before releasing her to her next partner.
Liliah wasn’t certain how to reply to such a statement, but was blessedly relieved from giving an immediate response as the dance continued. It was several turns later that she was once again with the viscount.
“Perhaps, or maybe you are assuming much where no foundation for truth lies,” she answered, then released his hand, taking another’s.
An amused smirk tipped his lips, and Liliah wondered how long he’d dance around the topic in which he was likely most interested: how she’d escaped.
It was ironic how they were dancing with their bodies and their words, as the flow of the music prevented a full conversation. As the final strains ended, Liliah curtseyed to her partners, and held her breath as the viscount came to escort her.
“My lady.” He offered his arm.
She could have walked away . . . but her curiosity was too strong—far stronger than her good sense—and she took his arm delicately.
She broached the topic boldly. “You wish to know how I escaped?”
The viscount gave her a sidelong glance. “Amongst other things.”
