He heard her breath catch. Or perhaps he imagined it. Either way, he did not stop.
Roderick fell into step beside him, amusement fading as they moved toward the alcove near the far wall.
“You did it,” Roderick murmured. “You danced with her.”
“It was required.”
“No,” Roderick said. “It was chosen.”
James’s jaw tightened. “Speak of something useful.”
Roderick’s gaze sharpened. “Fine. Harrowby has arrived.”
James stilled. “Where?”
Roderick tipped his head subtly. “Near the second column by the west window. Speaking with Lord Fenwick.”
James followed the line of sight and saw him. Harrowby was not an imposing man. He did not need to be. His power was in his smile and his connections, in how easily people leaned toward him.
James’s hand tightened around his glove.
Roderick’s voice dropped. “He is watching you.”
“He can watch,” James said.
“And he is watching her,” Roderick added.
James’s chest tightened. “Who?”
Roderick inclined his head toward Eleanor.
James turned before he could stop himself.
Eleanor stood near the edge of the floor, posture perfect, expression calm. A gentleman had approached her. Not Harrowby. Younger. Familiar to her, by the ease of his smile.
He bowed and spoke to her. Eleanor responded politely. Then the man offered his hand.
Eleanor hesitated, just for a heartbeat.
Then she accepted.
James’s jaw clenched.
“She will dance with him,” Roderick murmured. “And she has every right.”
James forced himself to look away. “She can do as she pleases.”
Roderick’s tone was mild. “That is not what your face says.”
James’s gaze snapped to him. “Mind yourself.”
Roderick lifted his hands in surrender. “As you wish.”
James looked back across the ballroom.
Eleanor stepped onto the floor with the gentleman. She moved into position with him with perfect grace.
No one watching would suspect a fracture.
