She moved to leave, but Mrs Foster caught her arm. “Your father spoke with Lord Templeton before he left the ball. They agreed to meet privately that night, after he’d visited Mr Irving. I don’t know if they ever did. But I can’t risk causing trouble.”
Daphne went stone-still.
Lord Templeton and her father, meeting in secret the night of the murder. The implications were difficult to ignore. No wonder he’d argued with Dominic. Templeton was up to his neck in the mire.
Charlotte touched her sleeve. “We must go.”
“Is Dominic still there?”
“Yes. Ainsley’s gone, but Hawke hasn’t moved.”
She stepped onto the grass and saw him beneath the terrace lamps, his hands clasped behind his back, though she remembered how they felt on her skin. The firm line of his mouth was unchanged, though she knew how it softened when he kissed her.
Her pulse quickened as she drew nearer, unsure how he would greet her. With warmth or the cold civility he had shown the day before?
His gaze never left her as she mounted the steps.
She managed a smile. “Mr Hawke.”
He inclined his head. “Miss Harland.”
Formality sat between them like a stone wall.
Unsure what to do, she stepped past him, but his hand closed around her wrist. Not roughly. Firm enough that she felt the heat of his fingers through her glove.
“Dance with me.”
It was the last thing she should do.
A dance would be a slow, exquisite form of torture.
She lifted her chin. “Is that an invitation or a command, Mr Hawke?”
He held her gaze. “I seek permission, Miss Harland.”
That, more than the request itself, undid her.
She should have refused. Thought of her sanity.
Instead, she said, “Very well. Perhaps we might compare notes. I assume you’re here to make enquiries.”
“Something like that.”
Charlotte excused herself. “I believe I see someone I ought to greet. I’ll leave you to your enquiries.”
Dominic inclined his head, but they did not follow Charlotte into the ballroom. Relaxing his grip on her wrist, heclosed the distance between them and every nerve in her body sparked to life.
“Shall we dance here on the terrace?”
“The terrace?” She had to admit the idea was romantic.
“I know you like to feel breathless beneath the stars.”
Only when he was the cause.
She glanced towards the ballroom. “Without music?”
“We don’t need music.”
