His gaze narrowed as he looked at her face, and her heart stopped beating. Had he recognized her voice? Was he figuring her out right this very moment?
But then he shook his head and said, “I have come to ask you for a dance, my lady. If your card isn’t full.”
She stared up at him, with his false smiles and his overly solicitous tone. Everything about what he was asking now was… artificial. He didn’t want her. He wanted a way to escape and he saw her, a wallflower, as the easiest way to do that.
He was using her. Annoyance flared in her chest as she folded her arms. “Why?”
He sputtered at her response and said, “Wh-why?”
She nodded slowly. “Yes, why?”
He peeked over his shoulder at the Duke and Duchess of Crestwood. They were standing now with the Duke and Duchess of Abernathe. The duchess, Emma, was one of Adelaide’s closest friends, and Adelaide could see the concern on Emma’s face. They were all talking very closely and very obviously about Northfield.
“Because,” Northfield said, and then his countenance changed. The counterfeit pleasantness faded and was replaced by something more real. “Because I have the world staring, my lady. And I can’t run out of this room if I ever desire to return to it.”
Her lips parted at the pure honesty of that response. It softened the edge of her irritation and she reached out a hand. “Very well,” she said. “I would be happy to dance with you, Your Grace.”
Relief cascaded over his features like a waterfall and he took her hand to guide her to the dancefloor. Electric awareness jolted through her when he touched her, even though it was through two pairs of gloves. She thought again of being in his arms, kissed thoroughly, his big body hard and insistent and—
He cleared his throat as the music began, and she shook the thoughts away as best she could to focus on the steps. They moved together for a while in silence, coming in to each other, then away, for it was an elaborate country dance he’d chosen to participate in. He moved with grace and confidence, and she found herself looking at him from the corner of her eye.
“You’re good at this,” she said at last, unable to keep her tongue.
He moved in toward her, touching her palm with his as they slid in tandem. Then he swung away so it was just their fingers touching. “You are surprised?” he asked.
She shrugged one shoulder, keeping her eyes forward rather than stealing a half glance at him again. It was almost impossible, for he now drew her in a much deeper way than he ever had before. After all, she knew what he tasted like.
“I am, I admit,” she said. “After all, the world knows you do not dance.”
“I do notliketo dance,” he corrected as they came face to face again.
His expression was a bit more relaxed now than it had been when he first approached her. She found herself glad of that, for she felt like she was looking at the same man who had talked to her at the theatre. The other, the one who was twisted with discomfort and pain…he was hard to look at. At least without offering him comfort he would not want.
They spun away and came back in rapid succession, and he finished, “That does not mean I wasn’t trained to be proficient.”
She sighed. “Well, of course you would be perfect at this, just as you are at all things.”
The moment the words left her lips, she longed to call them back. Especially when his bright eyes widened and he tilted his head like he was examining her closer. Once again her stomach clenched. Would he recognize her? And if he did, what would he do?
She stepped away, ducking her head as she spun aside, glad for once that the ridiculously complicated steps kept her from being in his arms. Once there, she might lose her head. Once there, her being Lydia might be too clear.
“I am not perfect,” he said softly as they moved back together.
He was not looking at her anymore, but off into the crowd. Off toward the Duke and Duchess of Crestwood. She followed his gaze, trying to read it. Trying to understand the pain that was bubbling under the surface, but she couldn’t place the source. It could be that he was just humiliated by the circumstances, but it could also be that he had cared, perhaps still cared, for the woman who had thrown him over.
A fact that made her stomach hurt.
He shook his head and his gaze flitted to her again. “You are also a very good dancer, Lady Adelaide,” he said.
She smiled and repeated his earlier question. “You are surprised?” His beat of hesitation told her the answer, and she shook her head. “My lack of partners has nothing to do with my skill, Your Grace. I actually like dancing.”
There was a moment when surprise crossed his features and she almost laughed at his confusion. Of course he would be confused. With his confidence, he likely couldn’t understand her position in the slightest.
“You should do it more often then,” he said, proving her point exactly.
Her smile tightened. “It isn’t exactly my choice.”
Once again his gaze moved away from her, back toward his friends. His mouth thinned, those full lips becoming a line of painful emotion. “No. I suppose not.”
