Miss Aldridge was everything a young lady was supposed to be, blonde and ethereal, with cornflower-blue eyes and a rosebud mouth that seemed perpetually poised on the verge of a smile. She was the daughter of an earl, possessed of a substantial dowry and an unimpeachable reputation. She had been declared an Incomparable before her first season was a month old, and she had suitors queuing three deep at every ball.
Now she gazed up at Martin with open admiration, her lovely face alight with interest. Lady Portsmith's expressionsoured visibly as the younger woman commanded Martin's attention.
"The competition heats up," Helena murmured. "Poor Lady Portsmith. Outflanked by a debutante."
Martin was polite to Miss Aldridge, of course he was; he was polite to everyone,but Vanessa noticed something that made her heart lift despite herself. His smile didn't change. His posture didn't shift. He spoke to the beautiful Miss Aldridge with exactly the same pleasant detachment he had shown Lady Portsmith.
Neither of them moved him. Neither of them mattered.
"He's not interested in either of them," Helena said.
"How can you tell?"
"Because he hasn't looked at them once the way he's been looking at you for the past ten minutes."
Vanessa startled. "What?"
"Over Lady Portsmith's shoulder. While pretending to listen to Miss Aldridge. He keeps glancing in this direction." Helena's smile was smug. "He's been tracking you since you entered the room."
Vanessa looked toward Martin and found him observing her.
Their eyes met across the crowded ballroom. Lady Portsmith was still talking, still touching his arm, and he was not listening to a word she said. His gaze was fixed on Vanessa with an intensity that made her skin prickle.
She should look away. A lady did not stare at a gentleman across a ballroom, no matter how much she might wish to.
She did not look away.
Neither did he.
The moment stretched between them, a silent communication that felt more intimate than any words. Then someone jostled Vanessa's elbow, and she was forced to turn,and when she looked back, Martin had returned his attention to his companions.
But his expression had changed. The pleasant mask had slipped, just slightly, and beneath it she glimpsed something raw…something intense.
Something that matched the feeling burning in her own chest.
A whisper of unease curled through her. Martin had been different lately…at the park, at dinner, and now here. Watching her with an intensity that was new, or perhaps newly revealed. As though something had changed. As though he knew something he hadn't known before.
The letters.The thought surfaced before she could stop it.What if he received the letters?
She pushed it away. She had been torturing herself with that fear for weeks, and it had produced nothing but sleepless nights and anxious days. Martin's behaviour could be explained a dozen other ways. She was seeing patterns that didn't exist.
Wasn't she?
"Well," Helena said. "That was illuminating."
"I don't know what you mean."
"Of course you don't." Helena patted her arm. "Come. Let's get some champagne before Lord Deane finds you and monopolises your entire evening."
***
Lord Deane found her within the quarter hour.
He approached with his customary eager expression, his pleasant face brightened by the sight of her. He was handsomely dressed in dark evening clothes, his cravat tied with mathematical precision, his hair carefully pomaded. Everything about him was correct, appropriate, exactly as it should be.
Everything about him left Vanessa utterly unmoved.
"Lady Vanessa!" He bowed over her hand with evident pleasure. "You look radiant this evening. The gold suits you tremendously."
