Page 46

He ought to keep his distance. More importantly, he ought to keep her at a distance.

It would be safer for both of them.

A ripple of conversation near the staircase interrupted his thoughts.

George turned, following the direction of several admiring glances, and promptly forgot what he had been thinking.

Helena stood at the top of the stairs.

Her gown was a delicate shade of blue, its silk shimmering silver where the candlelight caught the folds. Fine lace edged the neckline and short sleeves, while a modest arrangement of pearls gleamed against her throat. Her hair had been swept into an elegant arrangement of curls, with a few dark tendrils framing her face.

She paused for a moment, searching the crowd below.

Then she saw him.

Her expression brightened. Even now, she still smiled to see him. George felt something tighten painfully beneath his ribs.

He had known she was beautiful. He had told himself often enough that her beauty was merely another inconvenience to be endured, a distraction for the orderly estate he strove to maintain. But that instant of unguarded pleasure on her face cracked the walls he had only just begun to rebuild.

"Good heavens," Caspian murmured beside him. "You look as though you've been struck by lightning."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"Then perhaps you might remember to breathe."

George ignored him.

By the time Helena reached the foot of the stairs, he had crossed the room to meet her.

"Your Grace." She offered him a graceful curtsy, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

"Helena." He took her gloved hand and raised it to his lips. "You look… exceedingly well. You are a credit to our name."

"I am pleased to meet your expectations." Her voice cooled. He had said something wrong.

She dipped her head toward him with poise and grace, then turned to accept a dance from the next gentleman who approached. It was what they were here for, to take their place as upstanding members of Society. Married couples might dance together, but it was unfashionable, and George needed them both to appear above reproach. He was obliged to stand aside.

He had never before noticed how long a dance could last. The musicians appeared determined to prolong every phrase, while the gentleman attending Helena seemed incapable of keeping a respectable distance from her.

His fingers tightened around his glass.

"At this rate," Caspian observed, appearing beside him once more, "you will shatter that thing before the second figure."

George glanced down and discovered that he was gripping the stem with unnecessary force.

He set the glass upon a passing servant's tray.

"I have no notion what you mean."

"Good Lord, George. Your jealousy is becoming a greater spectacle than anything your wife might accomplish on the dance floor."

"I am not jealous."

"Then you have developed a remarkably personal dislike of that particular gentleman. What has he done to you, I wonder? Did he sneeze at an inopportune moment? Pick up a glass of brandy to which you'd laid particular claim? Perhaps," Caspian continued, "you might consider dancing with your own wife. It would be considerably less conspicuous than standing here contemplating murder."

"I am not contemplating murder. Still less am I contemplating dancing with my wife. Not here, where we must maintain the pinnacle of proper behavior in the eyes of the ton."

"Oh yes. Watching your wife as if you were starving for a feast is not at all improper."