And Then She Fell (The Cynster Sisters Duo 1)

James devoted himself to keeping her breathless and giddy, an activity that confirmed two things. One, that he could, if he put his mind to it, achieve such an outcome, and two, that he enjoyed doing it. Henrietta Cynster breathless and giddy was a sight that warmed his heart. Literally.

Which, he supposed, said more than enough.

But he wasn’t yet ready to think more on that, on what she made him feel. On what he had felt when he’d kissed her so lightly in the walk at Osterley Park.

He was still coming to terms with that.

But she seemed as pleased as he to simply take tonight as they found it. There were enough guests crowding her ladyship’s ballroom for them to keep to themselves without anyone truly noticing. The gossipmongers and the grandes dames tended to watch the sweet young things, or those for some reason in the limelight. At twenty-nine, Henrietta was long past the age when matrons kept a watchful eye on whom she was consorting with, and as for him, he’d never featured as a pawn in their matrimonial games.

So they had all the evening to laugh, and share anecdotes, and drown in each other’s eyes. Had hours to spend discovering this and that, the minutiae of each other’s characters that made them what they were, that made them themselves and fixed the other’s attention.

That focused them, each on the other, to the exclusion of all else.

They waltzed again, and the ephemeral connection between them burgeoned and grew stronger.

On one level, he recognized it; on another, he didn’t.

Familiar, yet not; known, yet unknown. Expected on the one hand, yet so much more . . . that summed up his reaction to her.

A reaction that escalated from curiosity to desire, and then to wanting.

They chanced a third waltz, but even that was not enough. He could see the same calculation in her eyes.

She glanced around, then met his gaze. “It’s dreadfully stuffy—shall we stroll on the terrace?”

Where it was quieter and they stood an excellent chance of finding themselves alone.

He looked over the heads, saw the doors to the terrace standing open. “An excellent idea.” He offered his arm. “Let’s.”

He steered her through the crowd of chattering guests. They’d reached the terrace door and were just about to step through when a young lady in a magenta gown appeared in a rush beside them.

“Miss Cynster.” The young lady met Henrietta’s eyes, then inclined her head to James before addressing Henrietta. “I’m Miss Fotherby—we met at Lady Hamilton’s at-home a few weeks ago.”

“Oh, yes.” Henrietta lightly clasped Miss Fotherby’s proffered fingers. “I remember.” She introduced James, adding, “Miss Fotherby is Lady Martin’s niece.”

James bowed and Miss Fotherby curtsied, then, rising, spoke to them both. “I wonder if I might have a private word with you.” She gestured to the terrace. “Outside might be best.”

James met Henrietta’s eyes, saw them widen slightly.

Miss Fotherby glanced back at the crowd, then looked at Henrietta, then at him. “Please,” she said, and stepped over the threshold.

Mystified, James waved Henrietta before him, and followed.

They found Miss Fotherby, hands clasped nervously before her, waiting for them a little way from the door. She swung away as they neared. As Miss Fotherby was shorter than Henrietta, Henrietta went to one side and James to the other; flanking Miss Fotherby, they strolled deeper into the shadows further along the terrace.

“I hope you’ll understand my reasons for approaching you like this, but . . .” Miss Fotherby paused to draw in a tight breath. “I have to marry. I live with my mother and stepfather, but for various reasons I wish to leave my stepfather’s roof. My aunt has been all that is kind, and she’s sponsoring me into the ton, as you know. I’m twenty-five, so finding a husband isn’t all that easy. I have a decent dowry, but . . .” She paused to draw in another breath, then, fingers twisting, went on, “I’ve had one offer, and while everyone else is thrilled and I’ve been advised by many to accept, I simply don’t trust the gentleman involved.”

They’d reached the end of the terrace. Placing a hand on the balustrade, Miss Fotherby swung to face them. She focused on Henrietta. “And no, I’m not here to ask you to vet him. I know well enough not to trust a man such as he. However”—she transferred her gaze to James—“I have heard, Mr. Glossup, of your need for a wife. I realize that you are looking over candidates and would like to ask that you put my name on your list for consideration.”

She glanced at Henrietta and smiled faintly. “Miss Cynster, I’m sure, will know how to learn all you might wish to know about me.” Raising her head, Miss Fotherby met Henrietta’s gaze. “I’ve heard that all Cynsters marry for love, but in my case . . . I know I’ll be happier taking the other tack.”

Turning to James, she met his eyes. “I distrust gentlemen who vow love too readily, Mr. Glossup, and infinitely prefer you and your honesty in approaching the matter as you have.” She inclined her head, then simply said, “Please do consider me for your position.” Her gaze traveling along the terrace to fix on the open ballroom door, she hesitated, then added, “And, if at all possible, I would appreciate some indication of your thoughts in the next several days.”

With that, she nodded to Henrietta, then walked swiftly back up the terrace, leaving James and Henrietta staring after her.

Cynsters marry for love.

I distrust gentlemen who vow love too readily.