“I am aware.”
They turned, palms touching through kidskin.Her cheeks were pink.From exertion,he told himself.Only exertion.
“I leave in two days,” she reminded him.
“I know.”
She cleared her throat and added, “I am to marry next spring.”
He didn’t know what to say to her impending wedded bliss.Maybe they were rushing into it.On the other hand, were she his betrothed, he’d be dragging her to the altar immediately.
“It seems awfully soon,” he said.“Have you been hasty in agreeing to wed?”
She frowned at the suggestion.Then the dance pulled them apart, spun them through other hands.When they came together again her expression was carefully blank.He didn’t care for the lack of warmth.Better she were angry with him, at least.He preferred when her blue eyes had been stormy at the Spencer’s ball, rather than dull with cool politeness.
“I am grateful our paths crossed, even if only for a moment, like travelers at an inn,” Jonathan said quietly.“And this dance is merely a courtesy.”
“Yes, that is all,” Lise agreed.
When her voice broke on the last word, he felt a sense of victory.She was not unmoved.But it was painfully clear that he was the one drawing her into a flirtation, when she would rather not be tempted.
The lively cotillion ended.He escorted her from the floor, bowed over her hand, and said the thing a gentleman ought to say.
“I wish you every happiness, Miss von Ostenfeld.Truly.”
She looked up at him and did not look happy.He saw in her face something that made his chest ache.A blend of resignation, sorrow, a flicker of rebellion, quickly smothered.
“Thank you,” she said.And then, more softly, “I wish the same for you.”
Releasing her hand, he stepped back, because to linger would be cruelty.At least to himself.Then he frowned, trapped, for he couldn’t leave her by herself, unaccompanied.
Blasted Henrik!
As if conjured by Jonathan’s thoughts, the lieutenant reappeared, full of good will, a little rumpled, and smelling of rum punch.Jonathan made his excuses, complimented the assembly, and retreated to the card-room, where there were libations more to his liking than punch.
A glass of contraband French brandy and a round of cards had him on an even keel once again.After a second of each, winning at whist despite a poor partner, he wondered why he’d ever been upset.
Wanting a third glass of the cognac, he stopped himself and returned to the ball.After dancing with someone whose name he instantly forgot, he partnered with another young lady whose enormous eyes made her seem too sad and too young to be out in society.During both, he’d looked for Lise and not seen her.
After escorting his second partner safely back to her mother and dodging the woman’s questions, Jonathan strode to the other side of the room, trying not to search for a vision in pale green.Somehow, whether a blessing or a curse, Henrik was striding toward him again, with Lise in his wake.
The lieutenant was like a newly whelped pup, and Jonathan wished he could shake him off with a twitch of his leg.
“We’re heading into the supper room,” Henrik announced.“Smells like we are in for a treat.”
“Past midnight already,” Jonathan wondered aloud, thinking he would depart rather than torment himself with her presence.
When he turned to excuse himself, however, he fell headlong into the wistful beauty of her cobalt eyes and also fell into step beside them before he realized what he was doing.They entered the supper room through one of the three wide doors that had been thrown open at the stroke of twelve.Jonathan could scarcely credit having missed the small ceremony and the announcement of supper, but put it down to his endless distraction.
Although the room was more utilitarian than luxurious, the walls were hung with crimson silk damask, while numerous sconces lit the fare spread out on enormous sideboards around the perimeter.The aromas promised every manner of meat, baked goods, and other delicacies.
As the lieutenant had said,a treat.
Immediately, he and Henrik peeled off their gloves.One quick tug at the wrist, a twist to free each finger, and they each turned their gloves inside-out in a single practiced motion before shoving them away.Henrik’s went into a low front pocket while Jonathan’s went into his tail-coat pocket.It had happened so quickly, he now had a moment to watch the slower, sensual elegance with which Lise turned down and stripped off her long, thin kid gloves.
Jonathan nearly groaned out loud at the erotic sight.Then she folded them in her palm and slipped them into her reticule.In the blink of an eye, her pale bare hands, delicate wrists, and slender forearms were on view.Only then did she accept a plate from one of the attending footmen.
Feigning the need to speak with an old chum on the other side of the room, Jonathan excused himself and turned heel to escape his attraction to her.Utter madness!In fact, there were people he knew at one of the sideboards.While chatting about nothing, he accepted a plate and surveyed the supper at hand.If rumors were correct, there were at least a hundred and fifty cold items: hams in aspic, pyramids of forced pineapples, chilled roasted beef, game birds, lobster salad, and fresh oysters on ice doused with lemon and vinegar.
