The gown fitted tightly to her torso, then cascaded into full skirts covered in shimmering white feathers that, when she moved, made her look the most gracious swan.
Fixing her mask, a creation of lacework and seed pearl, Cecilia took a passing look in the mirror. Her blonde hair was pinned away; the carefully plucked tendrils cascaded down her temples, while her dress was the ace of perfection.
As she circuited a path around the dance floor, she thought—not for the first time—that the night’s endeavor was rather pointless.
The night air was cool, and this far in the countryside carried the smell of forestry and the nearby river. So far from the clustered houses in Mayfair or Grosvenor Square, she was able to breathe freely, which calmed her inner restlessness.
A few minutes of respite before she opened the glass door once more and heard the roar of a ball ahead of her. Maybe she should try to talk with Gabriel once more and get him to understand her anxiety.
“If he does not give me a fitting answer, I’ll count this night as a loss and go home,” she squared her shoulders and stepped back into the ballroom.
Spying Gabriel, she headed there only to get intercepted by a passing Duke Tressingham, who stepped directly into her path.
Lifting his goblet to her, he asked, “What, my dear Lady Disdain! Are you yet living?”
Her heart beat a rapid staccato at Cassian’s voice, but she kept her eyes on Gabriel. By rule of habit, she turned and curtsied to him but kept her voice sharp.
“Disdain shall not die while there is much food to feed it, Signor Nuisance, oh pardon me, I mean,Your Grace.”
He slapped a hand over his heart; his hurt expression was comical. “Oh, such a dagger to my soul. Howevershall I recover?”
“Jump out of another paramour’s window,” she slid an eye to him. “Breaking a bone might divert the pain.”
His lips flickered. “I have no idea what you are referring to.”
“Of course you don’t,” she said dryly. “And the Sahara desert is full of flavored ices.”
He tapped a finger on his chin. “You know, that might be the destination for my next travel. Shall I send you some strawberries?”
“No, thank you. It is probably laced with belladonna,” she muttered. “Now, please excuse me, I need to speak with my husband-to-be.”
He looked over his shoulder, “It seems he is occupied—” Cassian returned to her, his brows lowered over his mesmerizing eyes. “In the interim, would you like to dance with me?”
She gaped at him, “Are youmad?”
He cocked his head, “Possibly. I do not think there is a word for my condition.”
“I have many,” Cecilia put in. “Reckless, wild, madcap,rakehell,wanton,licentious, self-absorbed, brazen, lush, aimless,vagrant—”
His left brow lifted. “Do you think of me that much, my dear?”
“I am not yourdear,” she spat.
Cassian looked to Gabriel once more as he bowed over Molly Attenborough’s hand. “From where I stand, it does not seem as if you arehiseither. Otherwise, you would be there and not here.”
Thatstung.
“Goodbye, Lord Jester,” she snapped.
“How long has it been?” His words stopped her. “Two years now since he proposed?”
“Sixteen months… and two and a half weeks,” she said stiffly while refraining from twisting the engagement ring on her finger. “Not that it is any of your business anyhow. And no, I will not dance with you. Not now, not ever.”
He turned his head to view the dancefloor, and Cecilia absently marked the cut of his jaw over the knot of his toga. “You do knowthatnightwas simply a jest.”
“You said I had stepped on your foot and pranced around with a limp all night.” The heat of that shame ran through her again. “Youevenwore crutches to the next ball!” she accused him.
He raked a hand through his hair. “I thought it was funny.”
