The musicians struck the opening notes of an allemande. Couples drifted toward the floor. Edward led Miss Stanton to their position, his arm entwining with hers, and they began to move in perfect, practiced harmony.
Sophia turned away.
“Lady Sophia.”
The Duke of Thornwaite appeared before her, immaculate in evening dress, his smile carrying its usual hint of mischief. He swept into an elaborate bow.
“Might I have the honor of this dance?”
Sophia blinked. Of all the people she had expected to approach her tonight, the Duke of Thornwaite was not one of them.
“I…” She recovered herself and placed her hand in his. “Yes. Thank you, Your Grace.”
He led her onto the floor with easy confidence. His hand settled at her waist, light and proper, and they joined the swirling dancers.
“You looked as though you needed rescuing.” His eyes sparkled. “Standing there alone and watching everyone else have all the fun. It was terribly tragic.”
“I was not tragic.”
“You were at least melancholy. Perhaps wistful.” He guided her through a turn. “I have a keen eye for these things.”
Sophia laughed despite herself. “You are ridiculous.”
“I prefer charmingly unconventional.” Hugo’s grip tightened as he spun her. “Now. Tell me. How are you finding Heatherwell Hall? Has our illustrious host been suitably hospitable?”
“The house is lovely.” Sophia chose her words with care. “And His Grace has been perfectly courteous.”
“Perfectly courteous.” Hugo’s lips twitched. “What damning praise. Edward would be devastated.”
“I doubt the Duke cares much for my opinion of his hospitality.”
“Do you?” Hugo’s gaze sharpened, though his smile remained. “I rather think he cares a great deal more than he lets on. About a great many things.”
Sophia didn’t know how to respond. She glanced across the ballroom and found Edward dancing with Miss Stanton. His posture was rigid, his movements precise.
He was looking at her.
No, not at her. At Hugo.
His expression could have frozen the Thames.
“He’s glaring at us.”
Hugo did not bother to look. “Is he? How delightful.”
“You don’t seem surprised.”
“I am rarely surprised by Edward. He is remarkably predictable once you understand him.” Hugo spun her through another turn. “For instance, I predicted he would spend the entire ball watching you instead of the lady he’s supposedly courting. And look. I was correct.”
Heat crept up Sophia’s neck. “He is watching you, not me. He’s probably wondering why you are dancing with a spinster rather than with an eligible young lady.”
Hugo leaned closer, his voice dropping. “Trust me, my lady. He is not thinking about that. He is thinking about you.”
The music swelled toward its conclusion. Sophia kept her eyes fixed on Hugo’s cravat, refusing to look at Edward again. Refusing to let herself hope.
“And young Oliver?” Hugo shifted to safer ground. “How is he? I noticed he was quite attached to you during the lawn games.”
Sophia’s voice softened. “He is a sweet boy. Lonely, I think. He misses his parents terribly.”
