CHAPTER 27
Supper was a blur. If Honoria had been asked what had been served, she would be hard pressed to answer. Sitting next to Drake and exchanging idle words—that couched much deeper meaning—had addled her brain.
The man could still send firefly sparks throughout her body from a simple look or word. His honeyed voice poured over her and soothed her soul. Oh, to experience the sensations every day. She turned her attention toward Anne, the creature within her growling with jealousy and searing her veins.
But the tight-lipped smile Anne returned sent Honoria’s mind reeling. Anne jerked her gaze away and turned a bright smile on Burwood, her laugh sounding forced and perhaps a little too loud.
Oh, dear. Had she overstepped with Drake and offended her friend? She leaned in toward him, lowering her voice to a whisper. “I may owe Anne an apology.”
Drake’s brows bunched. “Whatever for?”
Was he really unaware of how their interaction may have looked to Anne? “She may have misinterpreted our exchange to be more than it is.”
Keeping his own voice low, he leaned in. “Ah, but did she, or doesshe finally see clearly what everyone else does? You know it’s true. I can no better hide my feelings for you than you can for me.”
Oh.Her heart skittered. Hope rose from its slumber. A warm tingling spread throughout her body, exciting all her senses. Candles seemed brighter, the food aromas more mouthwatering, the tinkling of crystal and china more musical, the wine sweeter.
She yearned to ask if he planned to end things with Anne, but Anne wasn’t the only one whose eyes were upon them. From Lord Harcourt’s expression moments earlier, he no doubt had suspicions. And her father watched them with unbridled interest. Instead she resolved to ask him later, allowing herself to enjoy the moment.
Her body hummed electric, sending little sparks of excitement through her veins each time his knee accidentally brushed against her skirts under the table.
Although when his lips twitched with a ghost of a smile, she wondered how accidental it truly was. Especially when he said, “The fireworks display will be stupendous. Burwood has spared no expense.”
Honoria rather thought she had a preview of said display, the butterflies in her stomach rioting, when Drake turned his brilliant smile on her and—leaning down—whispered, “When you were but sixteen, you told me you longed to go to Vauxhall to view them.”
How would she survive the waltz when his mere breath against her cheek scattered her wits as quickly as a flash of lightning? She turned a quizzical gaze toward him. “Were the fireworks Burwood’s idea or yours?”
“Both,” he said, not meeting her eyes, but his lips quirked in their adorably lopsided way.
Thankfully, she got through the rest of supper without making a complete ninny of herself each time he smiled at her.
When the time arrived for the waltz, Honoria scanned the ballroom for Drake.
There. Across the room, standing next to Burwood.
In slow motion, he turned, his gaze locking with hers.
As she moved toward him, her heart snapped against her ribcage in time with her steps. The mere sight of him waiting for her caused herknees to weaken, raising concern she would be the one to step upon toes during their dance.
Then he moved forward, not waiting for her to fully approach him. Around him, the crowds melted away, parting as if he commanded to have a clear path to her. And unlike hers, his steps seemed sure and confident.
He appeared . . . regal.
A welcoming grin stretched across his face and crinkled the corners of his eyes as he held out his hand. “Are you ready for our dance, my lady?”
She squeaked out a timid, “Yes,” and slid her hand into his. A frisson of electric crackled between them, raising gooseflesh on her arms.
His gaze slid to hers. “Did you feel that?”
His pupils had expanded so widely, his amber eyes looked almost black.
“Y-y-yes.” Her shaky voice mimicked her insides as they tumbled about like riotous children.
As they took a position on the dance floor, Honoria gazed around the room. Other couples joined them, Burwood led Charlotte, neither of whom appeared pleased. With Lord Middlebury still missing, Anne partnered with Victor Pratt, her attention more focused on Honoria and Drake than on her partner. On the side of the room, Honoria’s father stared at them, the expected scowl more like a mask of curiosity.
She tucked her hand into Drake’s. When he wrapped his arm around her and pressed his fingers into her back, her knees buckled, but he steadied her, a tiny version of his lopsided grin inching across his face.
Her heart pounded a furious rhythm against her ribcage, in direct contrast to the smooth, easy rhythm of the waltz.
