Silence settled between them, but the party around them carried on as if nothing had happened. Servants passed with trays of champagne, ladies laughed their tinkling laughs, and the band plucked their instruments, preparing for the next song. Their silence only existed in that corner of the room where two strangers stood side by side, apart from the rest.
Silas looked at her again with his unreadable expression. It took a moment for him to speak.
“Will you dance with me?” he asked.
Elswyth blinked. “What?”
“Will you accompany me in the next dance? The cotillion. Or the waltz, if you prefer. There might even be a polka…”
“You want to dance. With me,” Elswyth said.
“Yes,” Silas said flatly.
“Did Venus put you up to this?”
“I’m afraid we’ve had something of a falling out. I thought her stunt with the poison ivy was a bridge too far.”
Elswyth looked over her shoulder to where Venus swirled on the dance floor in the arms of the prince.
“What will she think?”
Silas laughed. “I imagine she’ll be quite irritated. But that’s rather the point, isn’t it?”
Ah. There it was—he wanted to dance with her to annoy Venus. That, at least, Elswyth could understand.
She mulled it over for a moment. Silas was a bastard and a known rake. He was not of the same station as Elswyth despite the fact that his natural father was one of the most powerful men in the British Empire. He was not an ideal dance partner, but he did not seem to fear the queen’s disapproval, and she doubted that she would receive any other offers. She could leave alone and confirm her status as an outcast in the eyes of the ton, or she could make a scene and rankle Venus while doing it. The choice, it seemed, was clear.
“Well?” Silas asked.
Elswyth looked over her shoulder, frowning. “I won’t say that I am ecstatically accepting, but I will accept, Sir Silas, if only to irritate Miss Forscythe. And I do not think I will have other options. The disdain of the queen has made me all but untouchable.”
Silas frowned, looking her up and down. “I wouldn’t say that.” He extended his arm. “If it suits you, we can take the next waltz. That shall limit the amount of time you must bear my presence.”
Elswyth sensed something in his tone. Bitterness? Resentment? Perhaps, even, disappointment?
“Fine,” Elswyth said.
“Fine,” replied Silas.
They stared at each other for a moment, and then Elswyth begrudgingly took his arm. It was firm under her grip, even through the suit, and she couldn’t tell if he was tense or simply very muscular. She could venture a guess. The thought harried her.
The crowd seemed to part for them as they walked, and ladies quickly dispatched their fans to whisper behind them. The room was almost as fixated as when Venus danced with the prince, although this time there was an air of scandal to their whispers.
Silas led her stiffly to the dance floor. “Smile,” he said, forcing a smile himself. “Pretend as though you fancy me.”
Elswyth noted the way his cheeks dimpled. “That will be rather difficult, Sir Silas.”
“Do try your best.”
When they reached the dance floor, Elswyth spotted Venus in a group of women, frowning as she sipped her champagne. Then Elswyth really did smile.
The dance was a diagonal waltz. Elswyth took her position across from Silas. When the music began, he led, his massive hand against the small of her back. They stood breathtakingly close, and she could smell his cologne: juniper and mahogany. The swift movements of the dance made her heart race.
She risked a look around the room.
“What’s the matter?” Silas asked.
“Everyone is staring,” she said. It was true. Now even the queen leaned forward in her seat, watching with cold curiosity.
