They paused near the edge of the dance floor, and she reached for her fan to give her hands something to do.
The waltz swelled to its peak before the musicians let the final notes drift into silence, and a smattering of applause followed.
Then another waltz began.
Jason glanced at her then, his expression unreadable.
“Will you dance with me, Lady Pembroke?” he asked, his voice low enough to keep the question just between them.
She hesitated for the barest moment, then slipped her glove-clad hand into his. “I suppose I ought to,” she murmured.
The corners of his mouth curved, not quite a smile, but something close.
He led her onto the floor, his hand warm and firm at the small of her back as they joined the other couples already moving to the graceful rhythm.
It wasn’t the first time she’d waltzed, of course, but it was the first time she was aware of every single point of contact, the press of his palm, the faint brush of his coat against her skirts, the steady weight of his gaze.
Around them, she could feel the stares, hear the whispers. But tonight, she found herself almost daring them to look. If they were going to gossip, let them. She wasn’t going to cower in a corner while they did it.
Jason’s eyes found hers as he guided her through a particularly tight turn, and for a moment she forgot what she’d been thinking entirely.
The music, the murmur of voices, the whispers, they all fell away until it was just the two of them, moving in perfect time.
When the final notes faded and the couples began to clap once more, Georgie caught sight of Poppy and Bea near the edge of the floor, their eyes shining with something between delight and mischief.
After the music stopped, they both waved her over with such unladylike enthusiasm she couldn’t help but laugh under her breath.
“I believe my friends are conspiring,” she murmured as she curtseyed to Jason.
His mouth curved faintly again. “I have no doubt,” he replied.
She stepped away to join them, glancing back just once to find him watching her, his expression softer than she’d ever seen it.
For the first time since this entire ordeal began, she felt…almost as if she might make a perfectly wonderful countess.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
The carriage ride home was quiet but heavy with something Georgie couldn’t name.
Jason sat opposite her, his long legs stretched toward hers, his gloved hands resting on his knees. He didn’t speak, and neither did she, but she felt his gaze now and then, flicking to her like a touch she couldn’t quite shake.
Her pulse still thudded from the ball, from the waltz, from the way he’d looked at her while everyone whispered around them. From the way his hand had felt at the small of her back, firm and possessive.
She told herself it was nothing. But she knew it wasn’t.
When they arrived at Pembroke House, he helped her down with quiet, impeccable manners, his hand lingering at her waist a fraction longer than it needed to.
Inside, the butler took her shawl and gloves, and she murmured something vague about retiring, but she didn’t go upstairs.
Not yet.
Instead, she stood just at the foot of the grand staircase, fingers grazing the polished wood of the banister, watching as Jason shrugged out of his coat and handed it to the footman.
Their eyes met across the space. Neither moved.
It was she who turned first, moving toward the drawing room instead of the stairs, as though something larger than herself compelled her feet.
He followed without a word.
