Pain he’d put there.
The realization cut deeper than any blade.
The music began. He took her hand and they moved together, eyes locked, the steps coming without thought.
Something seemed to trouble her. The lines of worry seemed to deepen. They did not mar her beauty but temper it, making her appear older, more worldly.
“I need you for more than tonight.” The words came out in a low whisper. “I should have made that clear earlier. I didn’t.”
Somewhere in his mind, Aaron’s spectre howled at his weakness.
Catherine’s brow smoothed slightly. “No. You did not.”
The lights whirled around them. They reflected in Catherine’s eyes, as though she had stepped into a fairy tale. Gideon had never danced so well, so smoothly, and with so little thought put into it. He did not need to. He only needed to hold her hand, draw her closer.
“I thought it was understood between us. I see now it wasn’t.”
“You made me feel...” She furrowed her brows, choosing her words carefully. “Like a means to an end.”
He met her gaze steadily. “Lord knows I am heartless enough to consider it.”
Her smile returned at his self-deprecating solemnity, tentative but real. The tension eased from her features. “At least you are honest.”
“You deserve honesty.”
They had drifted closer with silent consent. The required frame and prescribed posture that convention dictated a pair shouldadopt when dancing had narrowed to something bordering on intimate. His hand at her waist could feel the warmth of her through the silk. The ballroom blurred around them until there was only her face, her smile beginning to mirror his own.
“I’m learning I can be stubborn too,” she offered softly.
“You absolutely can be.” His thumb traced a small circle against her palm. “I'm discovering that myself.”
Catherine laughed. “Thank goodness. If I were meek and submissive, you would be bored within a week.”
“I cannot think of anything more tragic.”
One dance flowed seamlessly into the next. No gentleman dared approach to cut in. Not one. The Duke and Duchess made too perfect a couple.
Finally, the dinner bell summoned them. Jeremy materialized at Gideon’s elbow once more like a cheap trick as they moved toward the dining room.
“On the subject of rumors—“
“Not now, Everdon,” Gideon interrupted. “And not in present company.”
The last thing he needed was paranoia poisoning what little ground he’d regained with Catherine.
“Don’t exclude me on my account,” Catherine offered diplomatically, “I can be quite interested in—” She broke off with a delicate cough.
When she lowered her hand, her face looked pale despite the flush high on her cheeks. Her eyes were over-bright.
“That's twice in as many minutes,” he said, frowning.
“I'm fine. The room is simply warm.”
“I've said all I know, anyway,” Jeremy interjected. “But I could make discreet inquiries, if you’d like.”
“Yes. Do that.” Gideon wanted the subject closed.
They took their seats as Sir Obadiah launched into a lengthy blessing that had several guests shifting restlessly. When they were finally permitted to sit, Catherine leaned close.
