“And you?” he asked softly.
“I don’t shine in that way,” she admitted and then found herself looking away.
Something about the admission made her throat tighten. Made the sting of tears threaten to fall.
“I think you’re mistaken, Miss Bridewell,” Sir Tristan said in a confident tone.
“Do you?” Hyacinth couldn’t keep the hopefulness at bay as she met his gaze again.
He chuckled. “We’re dancing a waltz because another gentleman was so set on having you in his arms. He is watching us even now. Clearly, you underestimate your appeal.”
“Oh, but he isn’t…”Who I want. He is nothing to me. He isn’t you.
“I understand,” he murmured when she left the rest unsaid. “He is a rotter. Not worth of your attention. I agree. But surely there are others who wish to dance with you.”
The waltz drew to a close, and Sir Tristan led her off the floor, then stopped, no doubt to take his leave and move on to his next partner.
“Thank you for the dance, Sir Tristan.”
“It was my pleasure, Miss Bridewell.” His smile looked genuine. It made his eyes so bright that Hyacinth felt her heart flip in her chest.
For a moment, they both stood observing one another, still and connected while others moved around them. To Hyacinth, itfelt as if she stood on a precipice, heart in her throat, eager for something, for him to ask her for a second dance.
He took a breath as if he might, but then he simply nodded. “I hope you enjoy the rest of your evening and a certain nobleman troubles you no more.”
“Thank you,” Hyacinth breathed.
Then he sketched a slight bow and was on his way.
He’d given her no reason to make her believe that it was more than a single dance, but something inside her, something in her heart, whispered to her that it was.
CHAPTER 4
After their dance, Hyacinth was floating. As if gravity itself could not pull her down from the high of being in Tristan’s arms. She stood in front of Emma and didn’t remember the journey to reach her. A smile, pleased and bright, brought out the dimples on each of Emma’s cheeks. Apparently, her friend was proud of the maneuvering she'd done.
“I take it you enjoyed the dance,” Emma said, arching a brow.
“I did.” Were her cheeks as pink as they felt? Was the giddiness bubbling inside her clear enough for anyone to see?
“And Lord Litchfield seems to have been claimed by Miss Browning.” Emma pointed surreptitiously to a corner of the ballroom. “Her mama has had him cornered earlier, and he’s already danced with the girl once this evening.”
Hyacinth couldn’t be bothered to glance over. Knowing the man was occupied was sufficient relief.
Emma eyed her, assessing. “Will you admit now that you enjoy dancing?”
A breath huffed out of Hyacinth that turned into a chuckle. “I only say I don’t enjoy it because I’m not terribly good at it. But that went…well.”
The tremor in her voice would surely give everything away. She prepared herself to admit she was utterly infatuated with Emma’s elder brother.
She couldn’t hide her happiness. Her hand still tingled from where they’d touched. If she’d been alone, she would have stripped off her glove and pressed her palm to her cheek, savoring the lingering warmth of his hand.
His scent lingered too. Not an overwhelming scent, spice and bergamot. His hands had been bare as he’d touched her so tenderly. One hand clasping hers, the other at her back, leading them expertly around the ballroom.
Emma was saying something to her.
“Forgive me. What did you say?” Hyacinth hadn’t heard a word of it.
Emma tipped her head, and took a step closer. “Are you unwell? You seem…a bit overwrought.”
