The very idea of such a thing was very bewitching, of course. That she and Nicholas could face the past, address whatever had happened between them and even find a way forward. But when she thought of his angry reaction when he first saw her, the way he pulled away if they got too close…she wondered if that was possible. If they had a next sentence, would it only be another goodbye?
“Aurora?” Katherine said.
She jerked as she realized her mind had wandered and she’d been staring off at nothing. “I appreciate your support,” she said. “I don’t know what will happen in the future, but if there is any hope for me, any hope for Imogen, it will all be because ofyourkindness.”
Katherine blushed and shifted as if the comment made her uncomfortable. Then she laughed. “Enough of that. Let’s join the others, shall we? And leave the future to the future and the past to the past.”
Aurora nodded and followed her friend into the parlor, where they were greeted by the rest of the party. But she had a great deal to think about. And a great deal to hope for, even if she knew that hope could be a dangerous thing.
Nicholas stood in the parlor, a drink in his hand as he looked out over the drive below. It was a busy scene, with carriages arriving and guests of the ball pouring from them. His stomach fluttered a bit with nervousness he didn’t often allow himself to feel.
This ball was for him. Robert and Katherine never said it out loud, but it was true. This was a way for him to connect with more of their powerful friends, to make an impression in his bid to be gifted the title. It was a kindness he appreciated more than he could have expressed to his brother, and he needed to hone his focus on taking full advantage of that opportunity.
“Oh, Nicholas!”
He jolted at the voice behind him and turned to find Aurora had just entered the room. His breath caught. She was wearing a green gown that clung to every voluptuous curve he’d ever worshipped from afar. Her breasts made his mouth water, he wanted to grip those hips and tug her against him. Her golden hair was pulled up in a high Greek-style bun with tendrils of curls teasing the line of her jaw. Her pink lips trembled as she took a step closer and her dark eyes swept over him in his formalwear.
“I-I didn’t realize you were the only one in the parlor,” she whispered, her voice trembling.
He cleared his throat. “I—er…you know me. If I’m on time, I’m late.”
She tilted her head back and laughed, and for a moment the world stopped spinning and everything in his being swirled in to only see her. “That was always true,” she said. “It must have served you well in the army.”
He nodded. “If they’d given medals for it, I would have a chest full.”
She smiled, mesmerizing him all over again. Making him think about only her and not the plans he’d been making for his night when she’d walked into the room. And making him think about what he’d talked to Derrick about a few days before.
Resolve the past. Or give in to the desire. He still didn’t know the right answer, but he had a chance here and he had to take it.
“Aurora,” he began, taking a long step across the room toward her.
Her gaze lit up, desire and fear and warmth all at once. “Yes?”
Before he could say anything more, though, Morgan and Lizzie came through the door together, laughing and talking, and were swiftly followed by the Duke and Duchess of Northfield. Nicholas pursed his lips at the interruption, even as he tried to force a polite greeting. Yet another opportunity stolen.
Aurora shrugged slightly in his direction, as if to tell him that they’d tried. Then she began to compliment Lizzie on her beautiful gown. The moment passed, and he wondered when the next would come. Could he manage it differently so he could actually have what he wanted, figure out what he needed, and move the hell on at last?
Within an hour of the ball starting, Nicholas was looking for a way out. He certainly wasn’t in the mood to participate in frivolity and small talk, not when his gaze kept shifting across the room toward Aurora. It was difficult to tell how her night was going. She smiled and chatted with their friends, but in the moments when she was alone, she looked exhausted. A reflection of his own feelings, truth be told.
He’d always watched this world from a comfortable distance. As a child, a servant’s son, he’d peeked in through the curtain. Later, when he was dragged to things by friends who had a higher place in the world, he’d stood on the edges. But tonight he was on full display, the center of attention thanks to Robert’s actions. People approached him, talked to him. Ladies watched him. He had no idea if that was a positive or negative, but it was happening and it was very disconcerting.
“…don’t you think, Mr. Gillingham?”
Nicholas blinked and forced his attention back to his companion. He was currently standing with a viscount whose name he had promptly forgotten the moment the man started droning on about his vast wealth and holdings. Was it Stephenson? Sweetington? Something with an S, at any rate.
“I…yes,” Nicholas said. “I agree.”
He found it was easier to play along than to try to figure out what the real topic was. And the answer seemed to make the man happy, for he grinned. “I had my hesitations about you, I admit. A title should be a birthright, I’ve always said.”
Nicholas’s jaw began to tighten and he gripped his cane until his knuckles went white. “I’m sure you’re not the only one.”
“But talking to you, I’m sure you’ll make an excellent addition to the Upper Ten Thousand.”
Nicholas forced a smile, but felt no joy. He supposed he should. Every time a man of title supported his cause, it created another voice to add to the chorus of those who said he should be marquess. It would all filter back to those in charge of those decisions. But in this moment, staring at the grinning face of the man at his side, Nicholas found himself questioning the future he’d wanted.
A lifetime making chitchat with people like this? Of agreeing to God knew what awful statement just to create a sense of camaraderie with a man who wasn’t fit to shine the boots of those Nicholas had fought beside years ago?
Not that there weren’t decent and good men in their upper ranks. Northfield had proven himself of great distinction and decency in the few days Nicholas had known him. And Morgan talked often about his employer, the Duke of Brighthollow, as a man one could have faith in. If Nicholas could call those kinds of men friends, he would be proud.
