Page 11 of Just a Little Daring

She gazed up at him, her great indigo eyes as inviting as a warm blue sea, and just as dangerous if he swam out too far.

“I’m spoiled, too. I always get my own way.”

“Or else?” he suggested.

She nodded, grinning at him. “Or else I shall stamp my foot and have a temper fit.”

“I should like to see that,” he said, before he could think better of it. What the devil was he saying? That was the last thing he wanted!

“I could arrange it,” she said, laughter in her voice, but then the music began, and they needed all their breath for the polka.

A few minutes in and she started laughing, a joyous, infectious sound that made his lips curve upwards. Soon, he joined her, unable to stop himself, absurd as it was, but there was something vital and life affirming about this ridiculous, frivolous dance with her and the way she made his blood sing in his veins. Around and around they went, dizzy with pleasure, with August drunk on her in a way too many glasses of champagne had not managed. She was glorious, filling his senses and making him want to shout with happiness… except such overblown sensations were only ever fleeting, and eventually one came down to earth. Finally, the music faded, the dance ended, and the crowd cheered and shouted as everyone realised it was almost midnight. Miss Anson stared up at him, her beautiful face flushed with happiness and exertion, her eyes sparkling with delight. August’s heart gave a lurch in his chest as he saw he had indeed swum out too far, out of his depth, away from safety and peace and a quiet life.

He let go of her and took a step back.

“Thank you for the dance,” he said over the roar of the crowd, and then hurried away as the chimes of midnight rang out through the ballroom.

Evie laughed as the ballroom erupted and the clock struck midnight.

“Bonne Année, ma petite,” whispered a voice in her ear. She grinned, not needing to turn around to know who spoke to her, his breath fluttering against the back of her neck.

“Happy New Year, Louis,” she replied softly, though she did turn then, to see him smiling at her, his expression warm and pleased.

“I have hardly seen you this evening,” he said, a touch of reproach in his voice. “You have been like quicksilver, always slipping away.”

Evie reached out to take his hand and give it a brief squeeze. Everyone was too busy celebrating to notice them now. “I am sorry, truly. I don’t know where the time has gone. It’s flown past far too quickly, and now it’s next year already!”

His lips curved into a rueful smile and Evie decided she must persuade him to sit for a portrait. Such a man ought to be recorded, supposing anyone could capture his presence, and not simply his beautiful face.

“So it is, and you are well on your way to achieving your New Year's resolution… and eighteen forty-one hardly begun. Though you promised I could help you on your quest to have fun, I might remind you. It is hardly kind of you to leave me out.”

“And you have helped me,” she protested as he moved to shield her from the overexcited jostling of some inebriated young men. Louis sent them a murderous glare and the men lurched away in the opposite direction.

“You only danced with me once,” he said with a heavy sigh, taking her hand and placing it on his arm.

“I did not intend it that way, only everyone was so insistent it was impossible to refuse them,” she said, regretting now that she had not saved him a second dance.

“You found a dance for Vane and Mr Lane-Fox,” he said lightly, though she could feel tension in the flexing muscle beneath her fingers.

Evie nodded. Her dance with Mr Lane-Fox had been a tad awkward, what with her gently rebuffing his attempts to flirt with her—not that he’d seemed dreadfully bothered—and then with her trying to tell him how wonderful Viv was without being obvious about her intentions. She would much rather have been dancing with Louis. However, there was that other matter….

“Well, I only had the two left, it’s not my fault. If you’d wanted another you should have asked me earlier. Though I must tell you Papa said I ought not dance with you so often,” she admitted. Not that she had the slightest intention of listening to that piece of advice, but she’d thought it might be prudent not to disregard his request so soon.

Louis’ gaze sharpened, his expression growing serious at once. “He said that?”

She nodded. “He says I ought not favour you so. I’ve told him repeatedly we are only friends, that you have no designs upon me, but he doesn’t pay the least bit of attention!”

He was quiet now, his tension unmistakable, and Evie wondered if she ought to have told him. She hoped she had not hurt his feelings. Louis was far more sensitive than most people realised. They saw the beautiful face and elegant figure, the wit and the charm, and assumed he was utterly confident. It wasn’t true, and he was easily hurt—not that he’d ever admit it—but especially so if the remarks came from those he esteemed, and he held her father in high regard.

“Papa is dreadfully overprotective, Louis. You know that. It’s not because he doesn’t like you.”

“Monsieur Le Comte,” he corrected, appearing distracted as he guided her through the over-excited crush of people… not that anyone could overhear them with the din being made by the revellers.

“I haven’t offended you, have I?”

“Non, non. Ne t'inquiète pas,” he soothed, though he did not turn to look at her.

“Where are we going, Monsieur Le Comte?” she asked, realising they were heading away from the ballroom.