‘I have an idea.’ She tucked into the last of her salad. ‘Although you might not like it.’
‘I’m all ears.’
‘We’ll throw a ball.’
‘A ball?’ He felt as shocked as if he’d just been shot again.
‘Yes. I’ve only been to one and it didn’t go so well, if you recall?’
‘How could I forget?’
‘Then let’s go back to the start, as if we were meeting all over again.’
Back to the start... A fresh start... The idea was certainly tempting. The thought of the ballroom and all its memories appalled him, but perhaps she was right and it was time for them both to move on. Could he put the past behind him? He wanted to, and she seemed to want to do it with him, almost as if she wanted a real marriage, too. Having her at his side made it seem easier and at least this meant she wouldn’t be leaving again straight away...
‘So you’re not in a rush to go travelling again?’
‘No. I have a few other things I want to do first, like prove to the world I’m not a timid mouse any more.’
He lifted an eyebrow. ‘You’re not timid at all. In fact, I’m starting to think you might be more than I can handle. Very well, Mrs Amberton, if you want a ball, let’s throw a ball.’
Chapter Fifteen
‘Is that everyone, do you think?’
Violet peered around the edge of the front door hopefully. She’d been standing in the hallway greeting guests for so long that her feet were aching. So many new faces had paraded past her in the last hour that they’d all started to blur. Some had been vaguely familiar, though Ianthe, Robert and Mr Rowlinson’s were the only ones she’d recognised with any certainty. There was no way she was going to remember more than a dozen names.
‘I certainly hope so.’ Lance leaned against the doorjamb beside her. ‘If it’s not, then I think we should start refusing entry. Whitby must be deserted this evening. Did anyone refuse the invitation?’
‘No, though I’m starting to wish a few had.’
‘Then I’d say your ball is an unqualified success. Everyone’s come to catch a glimpse of the mysterious Violet Amberton, née Harper.’
‘I’d say that just as many have come to see the reclusive Captain Amberton.’
‘To see if he’s mended his wicked ways, do you mean? No, I refuse to believe that I have quite the same appeal. They were all looking at you, not that I can blame them. You look quite exquisite, by the way.’
‘I thought I looked enchanting.’ She gave him a teasing look. ‘That’s what you said earlier.’
‘Exquisite and enchanting and anything else beginning with e. Effervescent?’
‘I think I’ll stick with enchanting.’
He grinned and she felt the corners of her mouth tug upwards. Over the past month she’d come to realise that there was a vast difference between spiteful mocking and affectionate teasing. Lance was an expert at the latter. He was irrepressible really. She’d laughed more in the past few weeks than she had in the whole of her life before, had lost count of the number of times she’d ended up doubled over at something he’d said, or simply just at the way he’d said it. It was almost impossible to believe that he was the same stern, brooding man that she’d married.
Even if he hadn’t kissed her again.
That fact was the only thing spoiling her contentment. As much as she tried to convince herself that she didn’t care, she couldn’t repress a vague feeling of disappointment. She’d come to the conclusion that she must have read more into that first real kiss than was actually there, although she’d caught him looking at her on a number of occasions as if he wanted to do it again. As if he wanted to do more, in fact, though he’d never laid as much as a finger on her.
On the other hand, he definitely liked her appearance that evening. As vain as it sounded, he’d looked almost thunderstruck, though she’d put the effect down to her dress. She’d had it specially made for the occasion, selecting a silvery-blue satin fabric with a pattern of tiny white butterflies embroidered over the skirts. It had felt decadent buying something so gorgeous for herself, but she’d wanted to make a good impression at her second ball.
She’d wanted to match up to her husband, too, though surely that was impossible. He was looking quite breathtakingly handsome in his black formal evening suit, his chestnut
hair swept back off his face, with his moustache neatly trimmed for once. She almost wished that he was dishevelled again so that he wouldn’t look quite so intimidating. She already felt a strong impulse to run her hands through his hair and ruffle him up.
‘I noticed quite a few disappointed bachelors among our guests, too.’ He gave her a faintly accusing look.
‘You did not!’