The feminine voice calling his name tore Drake’s attention away from where Honoria and Simon had exited to the terrace.
He turned toward Anne. “Forgive me, Miss Weatherby. What were you saying?”
Uncharacteristic solemnity replaced Anne’s usual exuberance, her clear blue eyes devoid of the playful sparkle he had typically witnessed in her presence. She held up her dance card. “We have the next set.”Sotto voce, she added, “Finally.”
He forced the smile to his lips. “Of course.” Another quadrille. He groaned inwardly. Why couldn’t it have been a country line dance where conversing with Anne would be relegated to short snippets as they passed briefly back and forth or promenaded down the center line? At least it wasn’t the waltz where he would have to hold her in his arms. Unbidden, his thoughts raced back to Honoria. Had he squandered his precious time with her by discussing their impossible situation?
Nevertheless, Anne shouldn’t pay the price; she deserved his full attention. At least he could give her that much. “Shall we?” He held out his hand, and she slid her gloved fingers over his.
Nothing.
No spark of attraction. No sizzling of energy running through his veins like wildfire and burning him from the inside out with passion.
They took their positions in a group with Ashton and his duchess, Lord and Lady Montgomery, and Dr. and Mrs. Marbry.
How had that happened?
Drake’s skin crawled as he took in the happy, loving couples, knowing that he would never gaze at Anne the way each of the men looked at their wives.
A grin spread across Ashton’s face. “Don’t tell Burwood, but we broke the rules.”
“It was Priscilla’s idea.” The duchess cast the petite blonde a conspiratorial smile. “And I whole-heartedly concurred.”
“Well, we couldn’t allow you to dance with Lord Middlebury, Maggie,” Lady Montgomery chimed in, giving a little shudder.
“Cheers to my brilliant wife,” Dr. Marbry said.
Mrs. Marbry blushed. “Well, it is the next-to-last dance of the evening, and I really wanted to dance with my dashing husband at least once.”
“Ah, a group conspiracy,” Drake said. “Your secret is safe with me. But I have the utmost confidence that Burwood would heartily approve—at least this once.” He genuinely liked these people, and his opinion of the rigidtonsoftened—a little.
There was still Stratford. And although he was loath to admit it, he wanted to win over the man—for Honoria’s sake.
The music started, and he waited patiently for his and Anne’s turn in the formation.
Patiently, that is, until Anne addressed him. “Mr. Merrick. I’m curious as to your previous acquaintance with Honoria. Was it an . . . amiable acquaintance?”
His gaze snapped to hers.
Her face remained guileless. What was she implying?
Amiable?It was so much more than that, yet he chose his words cautiously. “As my mother said, I served as groom for Lady Honoria’sfamily”—he refused to sour his mouth by speaking Stratford’s name—“and I accompanied her on her frequent rides around the estate. I grew quite fond of her.”
“And she of you?”
Time had arrived for him and Anne to perform their steps, saving him from answering immediately. When they stopped their movements, he crafted his careful response. “I believed so, yes.”
Anne spun toward him, but not to perform the dance steps. “Why are you evading my questions, sir? Did you—do you have a tendre for Lady Honoria and she for you?”
He kept his voice low, although they had already attracted the attention of those around them. “Miss Weatherby . . . Anne. Let us postpone this conversation until later.” Honoria would never have made such a scene. Anne’s bubbly effervescence and impetuousness suddenly seemed volatile and embarrassing.
“Once we’ve finished the dance, will you answer my questions?”
“To the best of my ability. You have my word.” Oily shame twisted around his lungs, compressing them and restricting his breathing. Awareness of the pain he would inflict upon Anne when he admitted the truth bore down on him. Yet a small voice whispered the hope that the end to the farce might be near.
Mercifully, they finished the dance in silence. Yet, Anne’s reserve and changed demeanor drew curious glances from Ashton and Dr. Marbry.
“Miss Weatherby,” Ashton said. “Are you unwell? I’m worried you’ve not fully recovered from your fall.”
