She almost pitied him then. He had no idea what it meant to know her, or anyone. Thought the idea of allowing him to court her danced on her mind. Another from him would get them out of poverty.
But his character. He was even more detestable than Mr. Crawley. She could not bring herself to be with a man who lacked honor.There has to be another way…
The waltz ended, and as the applause erupted, he held her a moment longer, his grip just shy of possessive.
“May I bring you another glass?” he asked, his voice softening as if it might entice her.
She disengaged her hand, careful to maintain the illusion of cordiality. “You may do as you wish, Lord Dawnford. I am sure you always do.”
He smiled, but the muscles in his jaw worked. “You cut deeper than a rose’s thorn.”
“Only when pressed,” she said.
She drifted away before he could say more, back toward the edge of the ballroom. She fanned herself, counting the seconds until she was alone.
A hush falling over the assembly signaled the entrance of new arrivals. It was as though the air itself had thickened. All eyes swung toward the door, where a man stood just inside the threshold, broad shouldered, impeccably dressed, his dark hair wind-tossed and his features set in an expression of total, almost bored authority.
Lavinia’s heart stopped and started again, tripping over itself.
Why are you here?
CHAPTER 23
Tristan surveyed the room, though he did not appear to see Lavinia at first. Instead, he made the prescribed greetings to the nearest host, shook off the advances of two desperate mamas, and accepted a glass from a hovering servant. But then his eyes moved across the room, seeming somewhat disinterested in everything, until they caught hers.
The effect was as physical as a blow, and Lavinia stiffened while her hand froze on her fan. He looked at her, just looked, and the memory of the rain and the storm and the kiss that was not supposed to happen crashed through her all over again.
He did not look away.
The room seemed to shrink, the other people blurring into nothing. It was as if the two of them stood alone, a hundred yards apart but connected by a taut wire. Her breath caught, and she forced herself to look down at the fan, to will her heart back to its proper place.
Lord Dawnford reappeared at her side with a glass in hand and oblivious to the world shifting beneath his feet. “Are you quite well, Lady Lavinia?”
She startled. “I—yes, thank you,” she replied, too quickly.
Dawnford followed her gaze, then saw the Duke. His demeanor changed; his shoulders drew back, and his smile sharpened. “I see the competition has arrived,” he murmured.
She arched an eyebrow. “Are you running a race, Lord Dawnford?”
“Always.” He laughed, but it sounded forced.
She shook her head. “I do not think you need worry about the Duke. He is not here for me.”
Dawnford’s smile thinned. “Everyone is here for you, Lady Lavinia. Some simply hide it better than others.”
A movement at the edge of her vision drew her attention back to Tristan, and he was breaking from the line of guests, making his way away from Lady Montfort, who hurried after him with the obsequiousness and predation reserved only for men of his rank. Lavinia watched as Montfort angled herself to intercept, her feathered turban nearly taking flight with enthusiasm.
God preserve us all.
“You know, you could do far worse than me, Lady Lavinia.” Dawnford drew closer. “Dukes are not as powerful as they appear, you know.”
She did not dignify his words with a reply, and moved closer to the unfolding drama.
“Oh, Your Grace! What an honor!” Lady Montfort’s voice soared above the music.
The effect on the crowd was immediate as all attention moved to Tristan. Lavinia watched as Lady Montfort sailed across the floor and captured Tristan’s arm with an authority that brooked no resistance.
“You must dance with my niece,” she announced, as if unveiling a rare painting or an unusually well-behaved dog. “Lady Frances, you recall His Grace, the Duke of Evermere.” They were now close enough for Lavinia to hear them without strain.
