She caught her breath, squirming beneath the intensity of his gaze. She ought to end this, ought to make an excuse to get away. The fluttering sensation in her stomach was showing no sign of abating. If anything, it was only getting stronger. This was exactly what she’d been afraid of and yet, now that she was here, she didn’t want the dance to end. The new, sensible Ianthe didn’t approve of dancing, but she didn’t want to listen to the new Ianthe any more. The dress, the surroundings, the music, the man she ought to resist—all of them seemed to be conspiring against her. She wanted to be her old self again, to forget all her anxieties about Percy and Sir Charles for a few moments and just dance.
What could possibly be the harm in that?
She tipped her head back, surrendering to the rhythm of the waltz, trusting herself to his hands as he guided her expertly around the dance floor. She felt a rush of excitement, as if her body had been asleep and she were waking up from a dream, reacting to every sound and sensation anew. She felt light-headed, relishing the warmth of his body through his coat, the solid strength of his shoulder beneath her kid glove. And yet she wanted to feel more, to lean closer, to put her head on his shoulder and feel the press of his body against hers. If they could only keep on dancing like this for ever...
The music stopped and she opened her eyes with a jolt. He was still holding on to her, looking down into her face with surprise and something else, some emotion she couldn’t quite put her finger on, but something that made her sway instinctively towards him. Something that reminded her of Albert.
She jerked back abruptly, the new Ianthe reasserting herself. This was the moment when she ought to tell him that she couldn’t marry him, no matter how grateful she was for his help or how alive he made her feel... She ought to tell him right now. If she could only find the words...
‘You look different, Miss Holt.’ His voice sounded even deeper than before. ‘You seem to be a different woman every time I see you.’
‘Different?’ She echoed the word, vaguely crestfallen. ‘Don’t you like the gown?’
His brow creased slightly. ‘Gown? Yes, it’s very fetching.’
‘Oh.’ She pursed her lips. Wasn’t it respectable enough for him, then? Not that he’d any right to criticise when he was the one who’d brought it!
‘I meant it as a compliment, Miss Holt.’
‘Thank you,’ she answered stiffly. ‘You’ll have to thank your friend for lending it to me.’
‘You can thank her yourself. Here she is.’
The words had barely left his mouth before a woman in cobalt-blue satin accosted them, enveloping her in a hug almost before she had a chance to turn round.
‘Dear Miss Holt, how wonderful to see you again. I know you won’t mind my being so forward, but you look just the same as I remember. You remember me, don’t you? I’m Kitty Loveday, formerly Tremain. This is my husband, Giles.’
‘Of course.’ Ianthe returned the embrace cautiously, struggling to keep up with the flow of words. ‘I’m delighted to make your acquaintance again.’
‘Robert has told us so much about you.’ The tall peacock feather in Kitty’s hair bobbed up and down enthusiastically. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever heard him talk for so long about anything that wasn’t a ship or a train. I can tell he’s quite smitten with you.’
‘Smitten?’ She stole a swift glance sideways, though judging by the scowl on his face the feeling had been quite transitory.
‘And that gown looks simply breathtaking on you. I so wished I could have worn it myself, but Robert insisted.’
‘Kitty...’ His voice held a note of warning.
‘But why didn’t you?’ She glanced down guiltily. ‘I’d never have borrowed it if I’d known.’
‘Why, isn’t it obvious?’ Kitty giggled. ‘He can be very cunning, you know...’
Ianthe shook her head in confusion. It wasn’t obvious at all. Nothing about this evening was obvious—why she’d come, why Percy was behaving so differently, why her own body seemed to be wilfully betraying her better judgement? As for why Mr Felstone would have insisted on Kitty lending her a dress that she wanted to wear, she had no idea. None of it made any sense, though whatever Kitty was getting at, she had a feeling she might not want to know. Neither of her male companions were looking particularly pleased with her.
‘How do you like Pickering, Miss Holt?’ The husband, Giles, came to her rescue.
‘I haven’t seen much of it so far.’ She smiled gratefully. ‘It’s been a long time since I visited.’
‘You’re from London, I believe?’
‘Yes. Wimbledon.’
‘Me, too. I came north for work and never left.’
‘Thanks to me.’ Kitty linked her arm through his.
‘Thanks to you.’ He smiled and Ianthe felt an unexpected pang of jealousy. Despite Kitty’s indiscreet manner, the way they looked at each other was genuinely affectionate. It was the way she’d thought, hoped, she might have been with Albert. Before she knew better.
‘So if you’re both from London and I’m from Pickering, then it’s only Robert who won’t tell us where he’s from.’ Kitty gave a sly smile. ‘Though perhaps he will if you ask him, Ianthe?’