And Then She Fell (The Cynster Sisters Duo 1)

Henrietta watched from the sidelines. Although she maintained her part in a steady stream of conversations, she was aware that James remained the true cynosure of her senses, even while he was circling the dance floor with another lady. She wasn’t sure she approved of her senses’ apparent fixation, but she wasn’t particularly adept at lying to herself; that moment when she’d seen him as she’d walked down the stairs . . . if she’d been carrying a fan, she would have used it.

James Glossup in evening attire, looking up at her, his lovely brown eyes, their soulfulness tonight entirely unmarred by temper, fixed on her, was a sight designed to make her heart leap, then speed into a ridiculous cadence, to make her lungs seize and her wits grow giddy . . . luckily he couldn’t know the effect he had on her. She was perfectly sure no good would come of him gaining such revealing knowledge.

Indeed, when it came to that, she wasn’t at all sure she wanted to know—in fact, she wasn’t at all certain what her strange reaction implied.

The waltz currently in progress ended. James bowed to Miss Swinson, raised her from her curtsy, and escorted her back to the group where Henrietta, still chatting easily, waited. As he released Miss Swinson and took up his previous position by Henrietta’s side, she surreptitiously arched a brow at him. He saw it, but other than briefly meeting her eyes, he didn’t respond.

Once the group had re-formed, at her instigation they excused themselves and moved on into the, if anything even denser, crowd. “Now . . .” She looked about her with what was fast becoming feigned interest. “Who can we assess next?”

She felt James glance at her, then he murmured, leaning close so she could hear, so the waft of his breath swept the shell of her ear and sent shivery tingles coursing down her spine, “Perhaps we should take a moment to compare notes—before I forget which of my observations refer to whom.”

“Yes, of course. An excellent thought.” Her voice was weak, nearly breathless. She cleared her throat and dragged in a breath. “I could do with a break from the relentless conversations. Can you see a spot where we might talk without being overheard?”

The next instant, his fingers closed about her elbow. She very nearly startled, shocked by her instant response to his touch, totally innocent though it was. Heat and a sensation that strung her nerves tight streaked up her arm, then spread in a slow wave through her, dissipating, yet in its wake leaving her aware as she’d never been before. Aware of the heat and solidity of his body close beside her in the crush. Aware of the strength in his hand, his fingers, even though he was barely touching her gloved arm.

She glanced at him. He’d straightened and was looking over the heads, searching for a solution to her request. She could only hope he’d missed her odd reaction entirely; she didn’t think she’d actually jumped.

Once again, she rued the fact she’d long ago given up carrying a fan.

“There’s an alcove over there. Not large, and no potted palm to hide behind, but at least it should get us out of this accursed crush.”

She summoned enough strength to say with passable normality, “Lead on.”

He didn’t, of course—he steered her on—but he knew what he was doing, and in short order they’d laid claim to the shallow alcove at the end of the room, and could breathe more freely. Even though the long windows had been propped open to the night, with so many now crammed into the ballroom, fresh air was in short supply.

“I’d forgotten how the perfumes rise with the heat, then coalesce into a miasma.” James glanced at her, straight-faced. “You’re not feeling faint, are you?”

She almost bridled. “Good heavens, no! It’s only a ball.”

She saw his lips twitch and realized he’d been teasing her.

But all he said was, “Good to know that you’re not the fainting sort. Miss Alcock, however, apparently is, so I think we can leave her name off our short list. Swooning females can be distinctly wearying.”

“Indeed. But what about Miss Chisolm, now you’ve danced with her?”

“She . . . can remain on the list, at least for the nonce.”

They went through the other young ladies with whom he’d spent time, but other than Miss Downtree, none had passed muster with him. Henrietta frowned. “I had hoped we’d find more candidates here, but at least we still have two.”

“Hmm.”

She glanced sharply at him; he was looking out over the crowd and didn’t seem overly concerned with what she considered their still too short short list. She wondered what was distracting him; he certainly seemed to be thinking about something else.

As if he’d read her mind, he murmured, “Actually, I’m rather amazed the pair of us, given the unlikeliness of my appearance here, let alone what by now must have been noted as your assistance, haven’t raised more eyebrows.”

“Ah—that’s because I took care to plant the right seeds at luncheon and at the three teas I attended this afternoon.”

He glanced down at her. “Three teas?”

She shrugged. “I wanted to spread the word widely enough.”

“And what was that word?”

“That I’ve agreed to help you look over the field because your mother is so rarely in town these days and isn’t here at the moment, nor expected up this Season, and as your next nearest useful connection—correct me if I’m wrong—is Lady Osbaldestone?” She paused and arched a brow at him. When he looked appalled, but nodded, she went on, “Well, given that, it wasn’t all that hard to suggest that after your retreat from Melinda Wentworth, you turned to me, Simon’s sister and someone very well acquainted with the unmarried young ladies of the ton, for assistance. Mind you, I took care to paint your interest as being merely idle—the sort of thing a gentleman might do at a certain age, that sort of thing.”

“So you concealed that I have a deadline looming?”

She nodded decisively. “You were perfectly correct in thinking it won’t do for the matchmakers to get wind of that. If instead they believe you have nothing more than a vague interest in matrimony, they won’t rush you all at once in case you balk, fling up your hands in horror, and run away to the country.”