“It would cause talk,” murmured the older woman. “And he hasn’t even asked me.”
“Because he knows you will refuse.” When her aunt merely pressed her lips together, Joan added, “Do it to please me, then. I hate to think you’ve given up all enjoyment for my sake.”
“My dear, I would not dance with him anyway. I dare not.” Evangeline steadfastly faced away from where Sir Richard had retreated to stand with their host, although his eyes veered her way more than once.
“That’s rather cowardly, don’t you think?” Joan caught sight of Tristan. He was winding his way through the crowd toward them, his gaze intent on her. Just the sight of his face made her heart jump and her lips curve. “Haven’t you been telling me love is worth some risk?”
Her aunt glanced at her in amazement, but before she could speak, Tristan was in front of them. He bowed with a flourish. “Good evening, Lady Courtenay.” His voice warmed a degree as he looked at Joan. “Miss Bennet.”
“Lord Burke.” Joan didn’t care that everyone was staring at her anew. She couldn’t keep the smile off her face as she curtsied.
“I hope you’ll save the supper dance for me, Miss Bennet.”
That meant he would also escort her in to supper. Joan, who had eaten most suppers at balls with her parents or with her friends, felt almost giddy. “Of course,” she said, trying to sound poised and gracious instead of breathless with excitement.
He grinned, and raised one hand. “Excellent.” A servant, who must have been waiting for his gesture, hurried forward with a tray of champagne.
When Tristan turned to take the glasses, Joan hissed at her aunt, “Dance the supper dance with Sir Richard. Please, Evangeline?”
Her aunt’s face grew pensive as she took the glass Tristan offered her. “Very well,” she said under her breath.
Joan exhaled, and managed to catch Sir Richard’s eye. She gave him a quick, bright smile, tilting her head slightly toward Evangeline, before accepting her own glass of champagne.
They talked lightly through the next three sets. She had never seen Tristan so charming, so relaxed. He had a wry way of putting things that made her smile, as long as he wasn’t trying to infuriate her. Evangeline seemed quite taken by his manner as well, which wasn’t too surprising; she was fairly certain her aunt was doing everything possible to encourage him. And tonight of all nights, Joan had no wish to dampen her enthusiasm. Her skin seemed to tingle every time he looked at her, which was often. His gaze slid over her golden gown with obvious approval. He gazed at her with a brilliant intensity every time she spoke. All in all, the evening seemed to grow brighter and happier every moment. Although that might have been due in part to the wine; every time her glass was empty, a footman seemed to appear with another. Joan had drunk champagne before, but she had never before felt this same sort of thrill, as if the bubbles continued to fizz in her veins. When she took her third glass, her aunt put up a hand. “Yes, it’s my last,” Joan whispered to her. “I know.”
“Your pardon, Lady Courtenay,” said Sir Richard, who had come up behind them. “I beg you to honor me with the supper dance.”
“Oh, do!” said Joan before her aunt could speak. “As you know, I am already engaged, so you are quite free to dance yourself.”
After a long pause, Evangeline gave her hand to Sir Richard. “I would be delighted, sir. I will see you in the supper room, Joan.” With a quick glance of pure gratitude at Joan, Sir Richard led her off.
“Excellent work.” Tristan drained his glass before taking hers as well and handing them off to the attentive footman. “At last, a moment alone.”
Joan laughed, although it sounded more like a giggle. “Oh, no! I only wanted her to dance, for her own pleasure.”
“I hope she enjoys it very much,” he returned, taking her hand and leading her out. “I intend to as well.”
“Oh? How?” She seemed to have a bit of trouble getting her feet lined up. “Curse that champagne.”
“I’ll steady you.” His arm went around her waist, pulling her shockingly close. He grinned down at her. “Better?”
“Yes, thank you,” she said breathlessly as the music began. “Much.”
Joan gave herself up to the pleasure of the waltz. Her borrowed shoes seemed to have been made for dancing; she felt willowy and graceful in them, and not even a quarter inch too tall. Her gown might look unfashionable or daring to some, but all she cared for was the avid admiration on Tristan’s face.
“What are you thinking?” he asked.
She smiled dreamily. “Nothing, really. I was merely savoring the dance. You do waltz very well, my lord.”
“That’s something, not nothing.”
“But I didn’t think it until you asked, so when you asked, the correct answer was nothing.”
He grinned. “Thank you. You are my most desired partner.”
She blinked. “For ... the waltz?”
“Yes,” he murmured, although his jade-green eyes seemed to convey a larger answer.
