“A man has more to lose if he loses his lady’s affection.”
“I disagree. If a woman loses a gentleman's affection to another lady, she loses her protection.”
“I suppose so. But then… a man loses his entire world.”
No man should be allowed to say words like that while looking at a woman as Clearford looked at her—stormy eyes entirely sincere, mouth soft and cheeks flushed. If the moment had lasted longer than a moment, she might have done something odd, something wrong. Like cup his cheek or thread their hands together or hug him tight and hope he hugged her back. But what had been a moment for her, when the spinning world stopped entirely, was nothing but a breath to him, a ticking second, a dance step like any other.
He pointed his chin at Bransley and Felicity. “He has the look of a man about to lose an entire world.”
“He broke her heart,” Emma hissed.
“Is that permission to call him out?” Samuel grinned.
She grinned too, couldn't help it because laughing at him was better than thinking about him losing a world. Who was his world? Who held the power to bring it crashing down?
“What do you think, Lady Emma?” he asked. “Shall I call him out and put a knife through his heart?” His voice was low, almost conspiratorial, and it weaved something like a secret around them, bound them together like a stitch. On the very edges of that secret, a tease. It lifted her spirits. Had they needed lifting? They had, and she’d not known it until he’d lifted them.
“Let the fellow live, Clearford. We need him for the observation’s sake, to see which of the other suitors become emboldened by Bransley’s pursuit.”
“He may never come around again. If he likes living, he won’t.”
“And then it is not a problem, and no one need find a knife in their heart. But if he does come around again, then perhaps your sister was using her new suitors to catch an old one.”
“But if she catches the old one, how will he treat her? With the loyalty and adoration she deserves? Or will he cast her off again?”
“That remains to be seen, Your Grace.”
The music ended, but Clearford still seemed to wish to dance, sweeping her toward the outer doors that led to the balcony. But when she gently pulled from his arms, he let her.
“Thank you, my friend,” she said, “for the dance.” She clasped her hands behind her back. The ghost of his warmth still lingered in her skin and bones, gloves doing nothing to guard her against sensations she could not control.
“Thank you for watching over my sister and for providing sound advice.”
“My pleasure.”
He seemed about to say something else, but then he stepped backward, and she did, too. When he turned, she did as well, and she succeeded in not looking back at him as she joined Felicity on the far side of the room where she’d been before, only then turning to face the couples lining up beside one another for the next set.
Not even trying, she found him. Clearford still stood on the edge of the dance floor, alone, watching her.
A drink. She needed a drink and now. She took two glasses of the champagne from the nearest waiter and took a long drag from the first flute.
“Thank you,” Lady Felicity said, taking the other flute from Emma’s hands. “I am in need of this. I find myself quite parched.”
“Me as well.” She’d meant that second glass for herself.
“I saw you dancing with my brother. You dance well together. I would like to see it again when my attention is not otherwise engaged.”
Emma took another sip to drown that compliment entirely. “Yes, youwereotherwise engaged. Dancing with the man who shamed you.”
“Do not sound so disapproving, Emma.”
“I cannot help but be disapproving. And are we being informal now?”
Felicity looped their arms together. “We are. We must. We shall be like sisters.”
“Do you always disarm people with charm and cozy friendship?”
Felicity grinned, and a dimple appeared. The girl was as dangerous as her brother.
