Page 16

Tristan was crossing the room. Lydia followed the movement of the dance, losing sight of him as another couple passed between them. When she turned back, he was nearer. Perhaps he needed to speak to his friend. She kept her attention on Dunhaven, who was describing an unsigned annotation in a book he owned. He had reached the point of explaining why the date mattered when his gaze moved past her. “Tristan?”

“Forgive the interruption.”

His voice was pleasant. Lydia recognized the expression he had worn for every guest that evening, but at this distance she could see the effort it cost him. Dunhaven stopped at the edge of the dancers as the movement brought them around. “Is something wrong?”

“Nothing at all. Lady Lydia, may I claim the rest of this dance?”

She stared at him. They had already fallen out of place. Another pair passed them, and she saw the woman glance toward the three of them before returning her attention to her partner. Beside her, Dunhaven’s expression changed. “The rest?” he said.

“If you do not object.”

Tristan was looking at Lydia. She could refuse. But he had approached in full view of the room, and now both men stood waiting while the dance continued around them. Refusal would demand an explanation or give everyone permission to invent one. She resented being forced to consider what others might think before she could decide what she herself wanted. She placed her hand in his. “Of course, Your Grace.”

Dunhaven looked from one to the other. After a moment, he bowed to her. “Thank you, Lady Lydia. I hope we may finish our conversation another time.”

“So do I.”

She made certain he heard her. Tristan led her back among the dancers, and for several moments the music spared her the necessity of speaking. He guided her into place with an assurance that made the interruption seem ordinary. It had not been ordinary to Dunhaven. Lydia had seen his surprise.

Her glove lay against Tristan’s hand, and through the kid leather she could still summon the pressure of his thumb beneath her fingers the day before, the care with which he had turned her hand toward the light. It irritated her that something as ordinary as a dance could bring those sensations rushing back. He had made it perfectly clear that he could offer her none of the things she wanted in life, yet her body seemed determined to ignore that inconvenient truth. She was acutely aware of the warmth of his hand at her waist, even through the silk of her gown, the subtle pressure of his fingers as he guided her through each turn, and the way her breath caught whenever the dance brought them closer.

The figure carried them past the musicians’ dais, where the cellist had loosened his collar, and down again toward the doors. Candle wax had begun to run in bright threads along the sconces. Someone had trodden a bloom from a garland into the boards, and its sweetness rose each time the line of dancers crossed it.

“Was there something you needed?” she asked.

“I wished to dance with you.”

“You could have asked when this one ended.”

“Yes,” he said. “I could have.”

She waited for an explanation. He offered only the pressure of his hand at the turn. The movement separated them briefly. When Tristan returned to her, she spoke first. “Dunhaven was telling me about a book,” she said.

“I did not realize the conversation was so absorbing.”

“It was. I would have liked to finish it.”

His expression tightened. It might have been anger. It looked more like the discomfort of hearing her speak warmly of another man. “You may speak to him later.”

She looked directly at him. “I did not require your permission.”

“No. Of course not.”

Near the edge of the room, her mother stood beside the Dowager Duchess. Both were watching them. Tristan followed Lydia’s glance, then returned his attention to her. “I meant no offense by what I said when you arrived,” he said. “I would not have you think badly of me because I do not wish to marry.”

“Then why are you explaining it again?”

He guided her through the next movement before replying. “I would prefer that we were on better terms.”

“I thought we were. You were kind to me in the library.”

His fingers shifted beneath hers. Lydia wanted him to explain why he had sought her company yesterday and starved her of it tonight, but she had spent enough of the ball inventing reasons for him. Then he glanced toward Dunhaven, and she followed his gaze. Across the room, the duke had joined a group near the windows. Dunhaven was listening to someone, but as they watched, he turned his head toward them. “Is it because I was dancing with him?” she asked Tristan.

“I know Julian very well.”

“He was perfectly courteous.”

“I have not said otherwise.”