His gaze lingered on her face, then her lips, then back again. The memory of the balcony returned all at once, the kiss, the heat, the feeling of being completely unable to think. Her breath became shallow. He leaned closer, close enough that she could see every dark lash, every tiny line beside his eyes, close enough that she knew, absolutely knew, he was going to kiss her again.
I should stop him. I will not survive another kiss.
A crash echoed from somewhere nearby, followed immediately by laughter. The spell shattered.
Reality rushed back. Seraphine jerked backwards, her heart hammering painfully. Neither of them spoke. For one endless second, they simply stared at each other. Then panic won. She gathered her skirts.
“Good night, Your Grace.”
And before Damien could answer, she fled down the corridor. She did not look back. She absolutely refused to look back. Yet somehow, she knew. Knew with complete certainty that Damien was still standing there watching her go.
Seraphine practically fled back into the drawing room. Her pulse was still racing from her encounter with Damien, and every sensible thought in her head seemed to have dissolved into complete disorder. The laughter of the guests, the music, and the warm glow of candlelight washed over her as she crossed the room. Without hesitation, she made directly for a passing servant carrying a silver tray of drinks. Snatching a glass of port, she offered a distracted smile and took a large swallow. It was far stronger than she expected. The warmth spread instantly through her chest.
Before she could take another drink, a familiar voice sounded beside her.
“Good heavens, Seraphine,” Thalia said, eyeing the nearly empty glass as she approached. “One would think you had crossed a desert rather than a party.”
Seraphine nearly choked on her port. “I am merely thirsty,” she replied, attempting dignity as she lowered the glass.
Thalia looked thoroughly unconvinced. “Then I shall join you,” she declared, taking a glass from another servant. “It would be cruel to let a friend suffer thirst alone.”
Seraphine laughed despite herself. Sometimes it was impossible not to laugh around Thalia. The Duchess raised her glass dramatically. “To surviving house parties.”
Seraphine lifted her own. “To surviving relatives.”
Thalia blinked before bursting into laughter. “That sounds suspiciously specific.”
Seraphine merely smiled and took another sip. Thankfully, Thalia did not press the matter.
For a few moments they stood together near the fireplace, watching the guests mingle. The atmosphere had become pleasantly relaxed. The gentlemen had loosened somewhat, and several ladies appeared far less concerned with propriety than they had been earlier in the week.
Thalia swirled her port thoughtfully before sighing. “The children have finally been put to bed.” Her shoulders visibly relaxed. “I adore them, but there are moments when I understand why governesses exist.”
Seraphine grinned. “You are not supposed to admit that aloud.”
Thalia lowered her voice conspiratorially. “Then pretend you did not hear it.”
Seraphine laughed again. It felt surprisingly good, but then suddenly she was thinking about Damien's face inches from hers in the corridor. Thinking about his voice. Thinking about the way he had looked at her lips. She firmly pushed those thoughts away.
“Tomorrow is our final official day,” Thalia continued, taking another drink. “Which means tonight I intend to consume more port than is advisable.”
Seraphine widened her eyes theatrically. “Your Grace, such recklessness.”
“I know. I scarcely recognize myself,” Thalia teased.
Seraphine lifted her glass toward her friend. “I approve of this shocking behavior entirely.”
Their glasses clinked together. Both women dissolved into laughter. At that precise moment Caspian appeared, looking deeply offended, while Mr. Harper followed behind him wearing an expression of complete satisfaction.
Thalia immediately narrowed her eyes. “What has happened?”
Caspian pointed accusingly at Harper. “It is no use. The man is impossible.”
Mr. Harper looked delighted. “I prefer talented.”
“You cheated,” Caspian declared.
“I won,” Harper corrected. “There is a distinction.”
