“Does that mean we still have time for a dance?” He offered his bent arm, and Emma laid her gloved hand atop it.
“As it so happens, I saved you a spot on my dance card.”
Emma glanced at Hyacinth.
“Enjoy yourselves,” she urged, then watched as the two made their way to a spot closer to the dance floor, waiting for the current set to end.
Hyacinth searched the ballroom. She couldn’t help it. Now that Emma had departed,hewas all she could think about.
Sir Tristan stood speaking with a gentleman on the far side of the room. But he kept looking out across the other guests, almost as if they were searching for someone.
Then he suddenly broke from the other gentleman and beelined for the French doors. She suspected they led out to the Beckfords’ garden. He slipped outside, and Hyacinth had the immediate urge to follow him. Which was foolish. Impulsive.
Yet where was he going?
The current set had begun, and Emma beamed as Lord Cartwright held her in his arms.
Hyacinth told herself that it would be improper if she followed an unmarried gentleman out into the garden alone, but the prospect of spending another moment with Tristan was too tempting.
Giving in to impulse, she wove around other guests to make her way to the doors, stepped out onto the veranda, and scanned the broad stones for any sign of him.
Another lord and lady stood in the shadows, but the man was golden-haired. Definitely not Tristan.
Maybe he'd gone out for a stroll in the gardens.
A flash of movement caught her eye, and she spotted him not too far off on the main garden path. Lifting the edge of her skirt, she dashed down onto the pebbled pathway.
Tristan moved quickly, eating up the ground as he proceeded away from her. The garden extended farther than she imagined, and hedge rows taller than her, taller than both of them, stretched up along the pathway’s edges.
Ahead of her, Tristan cut into one of those tall hedge lines, turning left and disappearing from the path.
Hyacinth hesitated for only a moment, then followed, stepping from the pebbled walkway into the grass. Even under the clear moonlit sky, it was difficult to make out where she was going.
A spot of light shone from a tree with its long, low branches strung with lanterns. As she approached, she glimpsed a small fountain in the distance.
She couldn't see Tristan anymore, but she heard a sound that made her heart drop to her toes.
The titter of a lady's laughter carried on the night breeze.
Oh, God, he's come out here for a rendezvous.
Hyacinth told herself to turn back. No, she didn't want to see this. Didn't want to know which lady had caught his eye. It hurt already. Yet her curiosity knew no bounds. She couldn't scurry away. She had to know.
Taking a few more steps, she veered toward the lantern-lit tree. Just as she drew closer, a figure darted out from behind one of the hedges and nearly collided with her. His foot came down on hers and she stumbled forward. Two large hands gripped her arms to hold her upright.
“Good God. Are you all right?” he whispered.
Tristan.She could make out the broad-shouldered shape of him in the darkness, and his voice, his scent, were already familiar.
“I'm fine. I'm well,” she told him quietly.
“You're not well. I stumbled over you. Did I hurt your foot?”
“A little, but I'll be fine.” Her foot twinged and a rush of pain shot up her ankle, but she didn’t want admit it to him.
“I’m not certain I believe you,” he said softly.
He hadn’t let go of her, and she dreaded the moment he would. The heat from his hands on the bare skin of her upper arms was delicious.
