The wine and whiskey were flowing freely; the musicians began a reel. Lady Vickers appeared, her cheeks flushed, her eyes bright with one too many glasses of “punch,” as the ladies liked to call it.

“Where have you been, naughty boy?” she asked, leaning into him, pressing her breasts against his arm. “Dance with me, Easton? I should very much like to dance.”

He’d always been powerless to say no to a pretty woman.

He danced with Lady Vickers and then with Mrs. Reston, who spoke endlessly about her recently widowed sister, who lived in Leeds. George supposed that Leeds was far enough removed from proper society that he might be considered a suitable match for her.

He had grown weary of the ball, weary of Longmeadow, of the ton. He made his excuses to Mrs. Bristol and had started upstairs to his room when he saw his heart’s true desire. How had he missed her? She was a vision of loveliness in the crème silk gown that made her eyes all but leap from her face. She was engrossed in conversation with Mr. Jett, but when she saw him and smiled, a flash of deep warmth filled his chest. She said something to Mr. Jett and started toward him, leaving Mr. Jett behind to stare sourly at George.

“Mr. Easton, you are in the ballroom,” she said gaily. “I supposed you would be in the gaming room, winning back your fortune, which everyone seems to be nattering on about tonight.”

“And I’d assumed you’d turned in for the night. You’ve been absent from the dancing.”

“I’ve stood up once or twice,” she said with a smile. “You?”

“Oh, well, I’ve been quite occupied with ladies needing dance partners.”

“A noble endeavor, sir. None too painful, I hope?”

He grinned. “Perhaps more for my partners than for me.”

The music was beginning again, and George recognized the cadence of the waltz Honor had taught him. How was it possible that the first waltz with her could seem so long ago to him now? It seemed another lifetime. “I think I might bear one more,” he said, nodding in the direction of the dancing.

She glanced at the couples. “It’s a waltz, which I may attest is not among your best dances,” she teased him.

“Then I am doubly fortunate to have you here to lead me once again.”

She laughed and placed her hand on his arm, then glanced up at him. When she smiled like that, she looked brilliant, a brilliant star among many dull planets, circling his heart, caught in his orbit.

George led her out onto the dance floor and put his hands where she’d once instructed him. The dancing began; he stepped woodenly into the rhythm.

“Oh!” she said, her eyes lighting with delight. “You’re much improved!” He promptly missed a step.

Honor laughed as she righted the ship for him. But then her smile faded somewhat. “Thank you for finding my mother,” she said as he moved them along in a straight line.

“It was nothing.”

“Don’t say that, George,” she admonished him. “It was everything. At least to me.”

Her gaze was intent and seemed to be searching his. God, how he wanted to touch her, to be touched by her. He abruptly twirled her, if only to move those eyes from his. She was peering too deeply, and he feared what she might see in the depths of his eyes. He feared his foolish heart was floating on the surface.

“I’ve seen our friend,” he said, and twirled her once more for good measure.

“Ah. And how did you find her this evening?” Honor said lightly. Too lightly. As if she didn’t particularly care.

“Animated,” he said. “She seemed in good spirits.” Honor gasped with surprise when he suddenly twirled her and fell quickly back into step.

“I suppose you charmed her with declarations of your esteem, and she swooned.” She smiled lopsidedly; a dimple appeared in one cheek. “Did you look directly in her eyes and say something quite sweet?”

He snorted. “Such as how no one compares, so on and so forth?”

“That would be too obvious, wouldn’t it? You probably said something quite poignant, didn’t you? And yet vague. Something like...”

Was it his imagination, or did the light in her eyes soften?

“Something like, ‘I have waited a lifetime for someone like you to walk into my life and possess my heart.’ With your own particular style, naturally.”

The way she was looking at him pulled even harder at George. He understood her, understood what she was saying. He drew a shallow breath, tried to find his footing on that wretched dance floor. “I couldn’t possibly say such a thing to her, Honor. Those are words I could say to only one person. And I could only say them if they were true.”

Honor’s gaze did not waver from his. Perhaps it was the music, or the crowded dance floor, but he could feel a current between them unlike anything he’d ever felt in his life, mysteriously warm, amazingly omnipotent. He could feel what she wanted, how her heart beat, how her blood flowed. He could feel her waiting for him to say those words to her.

But he couldn’t say them. How could he say them? How could he say something like that just to soothe her, and at the same time expose them both to untold grief?

When he did not speak, he could see the disappointment cloud her eyes. She shifted her gaze away. “No, you mustn’t say such things,” she said casually. “You mustn’t say anything at all.”

God damn him—he’d let this go too far, had allowed his desires to rule him, and he hated himself for it in that moment.

He suddenly twirled her one way and then the other. Honor’s smile slowly returned to her. Good girl. She understood as well as he that the thing between them could never come to life, must remain buried for all eternity.

“You are a wretched dancer, Easton. And you are holding me too close. No doubt all of Longmeadow has already noticed, for these might very well be the most attentive people in all of England.”

George pulled her closer, twirled her around. “I don’t care, Cabot.”

She smiled up at him. “Neither do I.”

They danced in silence a few moments.

“We are to London on the morrow,” she said.

“As am I.”

George could see the indelible sadness in her eyes, and although she tried to smile, it did not come to her easily. He wanted to kiss her, to kiss the sadness from her eyes, the forced smile from her lips. But he couldn’t, and to make the moment even more frustrating for him, the song had come to an end. George did not want to let her go. Ever.

When he did, a strange sensation of emptiness spiraled up in him.

“Well, then,” she said. “I suppose I should say good-night.”

She stood, waiting for him to respond, to tell her that he would see her in London, which of course he hoped for, madly hoped for....

But George couldn’t bring himself to speak. He felt as helpless as a baby, unable to find the words to say. He merely gave her a curt nod and clasped his hands tightly at his back. So tightly. To keep from putting them on Honor and drawing her back. “Good night, Miss Cabot.”

Her gaze flicked over him, and she lowered her head, stealing one last sidelong look at him before walking on.

George kept his hands clasped until he could no longer see her in the crowd.

And when he turned around, he saw Miss Hargrove standing before him, smiling like a fat cat. “You’ve become quite the partner in demand, Mr. Easton. Should I expect to see you at more balls in London?”

George suddenly understood that Miss Hargrove suspected his feelings for Honor. She thought she would have the best of him? Oh, no—George suddenly had a renewed interest in enticing her away from Sommerfield. “I’ve been told that I am much improved. Would you like to see for yourself?” he asked, holding out his arm.

Miss Hargrove laughed and put her hand on his. “I would be delighted,” she said.



CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

IT WAS HALF past midnight when the ball’s orchestra began to ring bells, signaling something was about to happen. It seemed a good time for George to make his escape.

George was grateful that Finnegan was not about, and shut his door, locking it. He shrugged out of his coat, then yanked at his neckcloth. He had removed his waistcoat and had pulled his shirt from his trousers when he heard a knock at the door. George groaned heavenward. “Not now, Finnegan!” he barked at the door.

A moment passed; the knock came again. “Bloody hell,” he muttered, and stalked to the door, unlocking it and throwing it open, prepared to give Finnegan a tongue-lashing.

But it was not Finnegan who darted past him, it was Honor. Stunned, George quickly shut the door and turned to gape at her. “What the devil are you doing here?” he demanded. “You shouldn’t be here, Honor—”

“It’s all right,” she said quickly. “Everyone is in the ballroom. Augustine and Monica are announcing their engagement.”

He blinked. No wonder Miss Hargrove had been so confident this evening. “Shouldn’t you be there, as well?”

“Of course,” she said, and smiled sheepishly. “But I had something more important to attend.”

He didn’t understand her. “What?” he asked, thinking of her mother, of her sisters.

She started toward him. “I couldn’t leave it like this.”

“Leave it,” he echoed uncertainly.

“Oh, George,” she said, smiling at him. “There is so much that I...that I want. That I need. I don’t know precisely how to put into words what it is that I need.” She moved closer, her steps hesitant, as if she were uncertain where she meant to go in this room.

But there was something about her expression, the hope in her eyes, that caused a bit of panic in George’s chest. What was she saying?

“I need you, George. I need you to...to help me,” she said earnestly.