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The four went toward the punch bowl and served themselves while talking. It was obvious to Miles that his mother pretended all was well, keeping up the charade of chatting and enjoying the evening. Corrine’s mother was not as adept at acting as his mother. Instead of pretending pleasantries, the woman stared daggers at her daughter.

Siobhan remained with them, as if ensuring the girls remained out of trouble. It was an interesting and startling idea, considering that he’d been warned of her unsuitability and wild, unladylike behavior.

The music stopped. He came out of his revelry and turned his focus back to Amelia. He bowed. “Thank you for this dance.”

“You are most welcome, my lord.” She curtseyed gracefully, but as usual, didn’t spark any attraction in his heart.

Instead, he hurriedly returned Amelia to where her mother was, then turned and left before the women could engage him in additional conversation. Instead, he quickly went to where his mother—and Siobhan—were.

“Thank you for your help, earlier,” Miles said, meeting her gaze.

“There is no need to thank me. I found myself in similar situations many a time.” Her eyes twinkled when she met his eyes with her own.

Miles could not keep from smiling. “That does not surprise me.” He held out his arm. “A dance, Miss Blair?”

For a moment he thought she’d decline, but to his surprise, she slipped her hand onto the crook of his elbow. While guiding her to the dance floor, looks of surprise and curiosity followed them, especially from his mother.

But the regard of others didn’t matter. He kept his focus on Siobhan and on her serene expression. It was as if she’d donned a mask. One for polite society, held perfectly in place while being noticed by others. The breathlessly laughing miss who’d knocked him to the floor was gone, as was the spirited young woman who’d vanished over the railing into the garden earlier that evening, or the competent rescuer of innocents he’d encountered later. He wasn’t sure he liked this subdued, society appropriate version of her. Instead, he preferred the spirited and fascinating Siobhan. The one his parents found “unsuitable”.

The music began. It was a waltz, and he placed his hand on the small of her back, leading her in the fast-paced dance, their feet barely touching the floor as they moved in a large circle with the other couples. She was an excellent dancer, with no signs of the clumsy woman who’d stomped on her partner earlier in the evening. Although they kept a respectable distance, the feel of her hand in his felt intimate.

He flexed his fingers just enough for her to feel his other hand upon the slight curve of her back. Her eyes met his, and she lifted her right brow in response to his flexing fingers. It was not in question, but more of an “I am aware of what you are doing,” look.

Around and around they moved, almost as if floating on air, so in tune were they to one another. Miles leaned to speak into her ear. “Why did everyone look so shocked to see you dancing?”

“I pretend not to be able to dance and rarely am asked more than once by the same gentleman.”

He laughed, earning him curious looks from those nearest. “And yet, it is obvious to me that you are an accomplished dancer. But our encounter in the garden at the start of the evening—after you trod on that man’s foot, may I add—proves you are, in fact, a woman of many talents, Miss Blair. At least talents of evasion and, perhaps, even mystery.”

“If you only knew, my lord,” she quipped, her voice dryly amused.

The song slowed and then, the piece came to an end. It had not lasted nearly long enough in Miles’ opinion. He wanted more time with her. As the musicians lowered their instruments and the crowd began to chatter, their gazes locked and it was as if for the first time in his life, Miles understood what it was like to come face to face with the one person who understood you at only a glance. The startling acknowledgment shook Miles.

Siobhan placed her hand in the crook of his arm, and he covered her hand with his as he led her from the dance floor. He surprised himself as he blurted, “May I call on you, Miss Blair?” He’d never expected to call on any woman. After all, he was devoted to his bachelorhood. But still—he craved to know the intricacies of this enigmatic woman even more than he wanted to avoid entanglement of any kind.

Her brow crinkled. “It is best you do not. I cannot imagine the fits my sister will have if you call on me instead of her, as she has set her mind to having you as a suitor.”

Miles gave a slight nod. Perhaps it was for the good, since he didn’t want to encourage rumors or worse, encourage his mother to press harder upon finding him a wife of her own liking. He shrugged, hoping he didn’t sound too blase. “Very well. I’d hoped to hear more about your plans for the summer, but I understand your reasoning.”

For a long moment, she studied him, and he hated how much her perusal affected him. What did she see as she gazed at him? And why did he care? He needed to get away from this woman, as much as he wanted to spend as much time as he could with her.

He let go of her hand and stepped back, so their contact was broken. But just as he was about to turn away, she opened her mouth to speak and he paused, unable to leave her until he knew what she was going to say. “I will be at the market square tomorrow, in front of Saint Sebastian’s, late morning.” With that, she turned and hurried away from him.

As he walked back toward his mother and sister, he peered over his shoulder in the direction Siobhan had gone. She’d disappeared from the ballroom, but he had a feeling she wouldn’t move as easily from his thoughts.

Chapter Two

It was early the next day when Siobhan entered the dining room. Her father sat at one end of the table, with a simple breakfast of toasted bread and an egg. He was reading the newspaper, but glanced up at her as she arrived in the room.

“As I expected, it is only us this morning, Lamb.” His warm gaze met hers. “Your mother came to bed quite late. I imagine Amelia did as well.”

Siobhan neared and kissed his cheek. “Good morning, Father. I went to bed very early.”

“You should make more of an effort to be social,” he chided gently.

“I am more like you than Mother. I prefer quiet gatherings of only a few people to large balls and so much activity. It makes my head swim.”

Although her father nodded in understanding, he continued to speak against her lack of social involvement. “Your mother and I wish for you and Amelia to find suitable husbands. You managed to miss last year’s social scene. This year, we expect more of an effort.”