“TheAmazon?” Paul said with a laugh. “She is the woman you long to court?”
George quickly turned to them, his face flaming red. “I beg your pardon? Miss Ashwood is a perfectly normal height.”
“Not compared to you, old chap,” one of the others contested, clapping him on the back. “Why, she will look positively gargantuan next to you. It would not do to court her. No, never!”
George stumbled forward, catching himself. “You will cease this ribbing at once.”
“Agreed,” Nicholas got in, feeling unusually charitable. The woman was, in truth, only an inch or more taller than George. Hardly grounds for such bullying. “By my eye, she is perfectly suitable to court, though I shall offer you to context. You would make a fine pair.”
“Thank you,” George said in relief, composing himself. “Theirs are the japes of jealous minds! Miss Ashwood is by far the loveliest woman in the room.”
Despite his reassurances, Nicholas was not so sure. Miss Ashwood was certainly lovely, but beside her, face halfway hidden behind the plant, a woman seemed to be staring in wonder at the architecture above, which he deemed much more pleasing to the eye.
There was something strangely familiar about her, though Nicholas at first could not place it.
He heard George’s group dare him to cross the room and speak with Miss Ashwood. And almost as if she had heard them, the gentlewoman led her concealed friend by the arm and began moving elsewhere...
Allowing Nicholas a clear view of her friend, in a rich blue gown.
He had unwittingly committed the lines of her body to memory, surprised to find them enhanced by her attire—amaddeningsight. He adjusted his cravat again, shifting his weight, certainly not because of the air this time, though it pained him to admit it.
She glided effortlessly through the crowd, her pale face flushed a touch with the heat of the room, her eyes, he was sure, glittering like the sea…
As his own eyes widened in horror at the danger her presence promised.
To his lie.
To hisvow.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Amelia looked absently across the mezzanine, watching Mary-Ann speak with the theatre director. Her cousin gave the middle-aged man’s shoulder a squeeze. If that gesture of familiarity did not secure the theatre at Christmastide, Amelia did not know what would.
Suddenly, Philippa gave a roaring laugh beside her, waking her from her daze. She blinked hard and took a restorative sip of punch, startled when Philippa grabbed her and turned her around, tearing her eyes from her cousin.
“You must hear this, Amelia!” Philippa cried, positioning Amelia beside her like a ragdoll. “Mr. Bright has just told me the most absurd thing about the Duke of—” She stopped herself. “Why, Amelia! You seem a million miles away!”
“Miles away in Kolkata?” the man before Philippa joked.
Amelia had almost forgotten all about their male company. As soon as Philippa had suggested they move upstairs, where it would be less packed, the gentlemen had found them, saying they were friends of a friend.
Together, they had retreated to the mezzanine, though Amelia had no real interest in speaking with them. She had concealed her dance card beneath her sleeve the moment they had entered the library, utterly overcome by the noises, the heat, the flashes of color, the smells of perfume and food.
Another man stood beside the first, tall with wavy golden hair. He looked at Amelia with interest, and she mustered her most convincing smile.
“Forgive me, sirs,” Amelia said, staring into her now-empty cup. “You were saying?”
They shared a knowing look, though Amelia missed it.
Philippa laughed nervously.
Like the other women present, she was dressed to impress, in a teal silk gown with a sheer muslin overlay in red. When she had first laid eyes on her friend, Amelia thought she had never seen anyone more beautiful—a far cry from Philippa’s usual disguise at the orphanage. She had gone on record saying she would not be caught dead coming and going fromthatplace in any sort of fine garment.
“Are you not the socializing sort?” the taller man asked Amelia kindly, gesturing around the room for emphasis. “Perhaps you are like me, then, preferring the peace of your own company.”
Amelia observed him, wondering what was proper to say. She so rarely attended events of this nature—so rarely spoke with gentlemen.
“I am not a solitary creature, no. But I find the noise inside... Well, it is all quite overwhelming. I feel much more relaxed in smaller groups, where one can converse properly and be heard.”
