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Lizette laughs, which she does a lot, and the cocktail in front of her probably has something to do with that. “I’m not quite sure it’s Mrs. Allen’s charity work you find exhilarating.” Her voice has a condescending note to it, but she does study Quint with curiosity.

“I hope so,” Quint says out loud, then leans in closer to me to whisper, “Thank you for trying.” When I turn to him, I catch gratitude in his smile.

“You’re welcome.”

“I suppose you’ll have to stick around instead,” he says. I narrow my eyes playfully and don’t answer.

We get our dinner, which Lizette and Quint explain is so terrible because the only reason people come to that particular club is to drink, not eat. I don’t mind the soup they bring. Once we finish, we head right back to the dance floor.

“Your enthusiasm is enchanting,” he says. He grabs my waist, dipping me, then rolling me up so that he holds my face inches from his. “Stay, love.”

“Tonight,” I promise, and I close my eyes against the heartbreak in his. I could dance with him all night. I wish the night could last forever.

Until I remember Ben.

It strikes me in a horrible way to think that I’ve forgotten about Ben. Being with Quint is so second nature, so normal, that Ben hasn’t crossed my mind since before we left the theater. For all he’s done to upset me, did he really deserve that?

“What is it?” Quint asks, brows furrowed at the alarm in my expression.

“It must be very late.” I don’t add that Ben will be furious that I left Gracewoods with Gibbons running around and up to who knows what. But Ben won’t just be furious. That I don’t feel compelled to fix.

He’ll be worried, incredibly so without any way to contact me. He doesn’t deserve that.

“Someone … might worry,” Quint says. The way he draws out someone tells me he knows exactly who I’m thinking of. So does the disappointment in his expression.

“I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head, already leading me off the dance floor. “I’m sorry. I lost track of time.”

I pull him to a stop, turning him to face me. “So did I.” I lean against his chest. “It was a wonderful night.”

He sighs, reaching up to stroke my hair with one hand while holding me to him with his other. “I know this is all balled up and … complicated.”

“Thank you for tonight. For all of it.” I wrap my arms around his waist and hug him close.

Darkness shrouds Gracewoods when we return, well past midnight. It isn’t a surprise when he shuts the car off but holds on to my hand to keep me in the car for a moment.

“Being with you is so natural, Clara,” he says, staring at our enjoined hands and avoiding my eyes. “And not just because of these … memories?” He offers the word like a question. He’s as unsure as I am about what to call this. “But also because you are the girl I’m looking for.”

I don’t have an answer for him. I can’t give in to the voice that tells me he’s the man I’m looking for.

“Let’s go inside,” I say.

He nods, rubbing the back of his neck, his expression heavy.

We walk softly through the halls and up the stairs to our rooms. He doesn’t smile again until he leaves me at my door.

“It really was lovely,” I reassure him.

He gives me a showy bow and that mischievous grin he can’t ever really be rid of and whispers, “Good night,” before disappearing into the shadows of the hallway around him.

Ben stands from where I hadn’t seen him sitting at the bottom of the stairs that lead to the third floor. I suck a small breath of surprise, then turn and walk into my room, waiting as Ben follows and closes the door behind him.

“Where have you been?” he asks, clenching his fists at his sides, his jaw tense.

I shouldn’t have stayed out as late as we did—guilt plagued me the entire ride home for making him worry about me—but his anger digs at me. I’m an adult, and worry or not, I don’t deserve a scolding like a wayward teenager. “Quint took me to the ballet.”

“I know about that,” Ben snaps. “I helped him find the theater.”