Across the floor, the Duke waltzed with Lady Helena Forsythe. The earl’s daughter smiled up at him, her hand resting delicately on his shoulder, her movements precise and elegant. She was saying something, her lips moving, her expression animated.
The Duke’s gaze drifted over her head.
Toward Sophia.
Their eyes met. Something passed between them, a current of awareness that made Sophia’s breath catch. Lady Helena continued speaking, oblivious to her partner’s distraction.
Sophia looked away first. She did not want him to see the loneliness that had crept into her chest. Did not want him to know how much she wished someone would take her hand and spin her across the floor, making her feel, for just a moment, like she belonged.
The music swelled. The dancers turned. And Sophia stood alone, watching love bloom all around her while she remained rooted to the spot, a wallflower in a faded green gown.
She scanned the room for her mother. The cluster of dowagers near the windows had dispersed.
Lady Brimsey was not among them.
Sophia’s heart stuttered.
She moved along the edge of the ballroom, searching. Her mother was not by the refreshment table. Not near the orchestra. Not in the small sitting area where older guests had gathered to rest their feet.
Panic clawed at her throat.
She slipped through the doors and into the corridor beyond, her footsteps quick on the polished marble. The sounds of the ball faded behind her, replaced by the muffled quiet of empty hallways.
“Lady Sophia.”
She spun around. The Duke strode toward her, his brow furrowed with concern.
“What are you doing out here?” she demanded. “You were dancing with Lady Helena.”
“The set ended. I saw you leave.” He stopped in front of her. “What is the matter?”
“I cannot find my mother.” The words tumbled out before she could stop them.
His frown deepened. “She is a grown woman. Surely, she has simply gone to powder her nose, or stepped outside for air.”
“You do not understand.” Sophia pressed her hand to her chest, trying to calm the frantic beating of her heart. “I must find her.”
“Is she ill?”
“No. I…” She shook her head, in no mood for excuses, “Please, return to the ballroom. We shouldn’t be found alone together.”
“Tell me what is wrong.” He stepped closer, his voice dropping low. “You’re frightened. I can see it in your eyes.”
She became acutely aware of him. The breadth of his shoulders blocking the corridor. The scent of sandalwood, warm skin and exertion from the dance. The way his evening coat stretched across his chest.
She turned away and resumed her search, pushing open doors, peering into darkened rooms. He followed, a persistent shadow she could not shake.
“Lady Sophia?—”
“Your Grace, please?—”
Voices echoed from around the corner. Female. Approaching.
Sophia froze. If they were discovered alone in a darkened corridor, her reputation would be in tatters. The scandal would destroy what little remained of her family’s standing.
“We cannot be found.” Her voice emerged as a whisper.
The Duke’s hand closed around her wrist. He pulled her sideways, through an open door, onto a moonlit balcony. In one fluid motion, he pressed her against the wall beside the French doors, his body blocking hers from view, his palm covering her mouth.
