“Petworth?” Bridget asked, confusion tugging at her features.
“The handsome dark-haired fellow with the empty-headed smile.”
After another moment of thought, Bridget rolled her eyes with a short laugh. “He was rather sweet, wasn’t he. An excellent flirt, to be sure. But I wouldn’t say he’s quite worthcoveting,” she added with a wiggle of her brows.
Lydia snorted her amusement. “They so rarely are,” she noted drily with far more disillusion than one should have at such a young age.
And for some reason, the comment struck Eleanor as delightfully funny. She barely held back a burst of laughter. But then she made the mistake of glancing at Bridget who had her bottom lip caught in her teeth. Once their gazes met, it was all over.
Laughter bubbled free in a torrent. Bridget doubled over clutching her belly, eyes watering. Eleanor fared no better as she lost her breath in a hysterical release of tension. Lydia rolled her eyes at their sudden humor, but once Bridget started mimicking her words with an affected tone and expression of deep ennui, even the serious girl couldn’t keep from falling back on the bed in laughter.
It was several long minutes before they each managed to catch their breath. By then, they were all sprawled on their backs across Eleanor’s bed. As the hiccoughing gasps faded and sighs replaced the giggles, Bridget murmured gently, “You know it’s alright should you covet the man in return.”
There was a long pause as Eleanor considered the way she felt when Waring looked at her. The trembling and the tingling fire through her veins. Her hyperawareness of his physical presence and the way her body would become so overwhelmed with sensation whenever he was near.
“I don’t,” she finally muttered in denial.
A moment of pregnant silence passed before Lydia issued a short snort of disbelief. The extremely unladylike sound triggered another round of helpless laughter.
Chapter Ten
She didn’t wantto be looking for him. She told herself she was just glancing about the crowd, casually observing the other guests at Lord and Lady Michaels’s ball. She told herself it didn’t matter in the slightest if he was there or not.
He wasn’t. And as the night continued into the later hours without a single glimpse of him, his sister, or his niece, she acknowledged that he wouldn’t be attending this event.
It was fine.
She certainly hadn’t been looking forward to anotherprovokingconversation. And she sure as hell hadn’t chosen one of her loveliest gowns on the happenstance that he’d be there.
That would be ridiculous.
She silently scoffed at herself—though the silent part was entirely unnecessary since she stood alone at the edge of the ballroom dance floor. As per usual, Lydia had gone off on her own to hide in a library or study or some other darkened cave of solitude. Bridget was dancing with one of her many admirers and Ralston had taken a moment to get some fresh air and escape from the marriage-seeking debutantes who were ever nearby.
It had taken some firm words to assure her brother she’d be just fine by herself for five minutes. It’s not as though anyone would bother to approach her.
Her eye roll was also silent, but entirely visible. And apparently,someone had witnessed it as soft chuckle startled her from her mental musing.
Lord Ackerly, her occasional companion at the edge of society’s notice, stepped up beside her with a gentle smirk. “Enjoying yourself, my lady?”
Offering a slightly rueful smile, Eleanor tilted her head as she replied, “About as much as always. And you?”
“You know how it is…” He shrugged. “Judging glances, sly smiles, sniffs of disdain.”
Eleanor gave a soft laugh. “Indeed.”
Standing shoulder to shoulder with her, Ackerly grasped his hands behind his back and gazed outward at the room. He released a heavy sigh. “They find it so easy, don’t they?”
Knowing exactly what he was referencing as they often commiserated over their inadequacies with socializing, Eleanor replied, “Some do, certainly. Others—I think—might just be very adept at faking it.”
He made sound of agreement mixed with amusement followed by a length of silence she’d become accustomed to with this man. They often didn’t say very much during their encounters. She’d always assumed it was because he had the same trouble with small talk that she did.
Then he cleared his throat and rocked back on his heels before asking, “Is that what Waring does?”
Startled by the mention of the viscount, Eleanor turned to look at him with a furrow between her brows. “Excuse me?”
Ackerly kept his gaze forward, but she noted the way his jaw tensed before he replied in an expectedly stiff and frosty tenor. “The Viscount Waring. I’ve noticed the two of you in conversation more than once recently.”
She immediately recalled the night she first met Waring and how Ackerly had attempted to approach her while she’d been recovering in the ferns. His expression then had been similar to the one he worenow and an odd feeling rolled along Eleanor’s nerves. She didn’t know if it was the gentleman’s tone or his manner or his choice of words, but she was suddenly distinctly uncomfortable. When she didn’t say anything in response, just eyed the man in silent consternation, he turned his gaze on her—his stare a heavy, penetrating dark gray. “Has the man expressed his intentions?”
