6. Chapter Five
Chapter Five
W inston tugged on his cravat as he entered the Hayward Ball the following evening after greeting the hosts, already questioning his decision to come. He didn’t attend many balls as they were filled with ladies determined to marry, something he had no intention of offering.
Yet here he was, hoping to see Millicent. Perhaps he’d only imagined his attraction for her, and this would all be for naught.
Even if he had felt a spark, he didn’t know why he’d bothered to attend a ball when a moment alone with her here would be next to impossible. His best hope was to convince her to meet him elsewhere in the coming days for that kiss. The sooner it was over, the better. Then he could move on.
But when and where?
The last thing he wanted was for either of them to be forced into marriage, so they had to take care. It didn’t matter how many times he told himself that no woman, let alone a wallflower, was worth such a risk.
She was ever in his thoughts, and the way she made him feel was unlike anything he’d ever experienced. He felt like a different person when he was with her and wasn’t prepared to walk away from that. Not yet. Though he had no doubt this feeling would soon fade, he intended to explore it. But nothing could change his mind about waiting as long as possible to marry, preferably five years or more. Certainly not a kiss from a wallflower.
The tension gripping him lessened when he reminded himself of that. He eased through the crowd in search of Millicent only to see an unexpected but familiar face.
“Linford.” Thomas Sinclair offered his hand with a grin. “Good to see you.”
“Sinclair. It’s been too long.” Pleasure spread through him at the greeting. They’d met at university and been friends since, though Sinclair’s path had taken him abroad, first with the Navy and then with his career.
“It has indeed.” Sinclair nodded as he glanced about the ballroom. “I never thought I would say I’d miss events like this, but I have.”
“If you remain in London long enough, I have no doubt you’ll change your mind,” Winston said dryly, gaining a laugh from the man. “How is New York City these days?”
“Growing faster than it should.” Sinclair shook his head. “But I am pleased to say it will be some time before I need to return.”
“I’m certain your new bride is happy about that.”
Sinclair grinned. “We both are.” He dipped his head to where his wife, Frances, visited with Lady Garland a short distance away. “Nothing like being away from home to make one appreciate it more.”
Sinclair was the second son of an earl and after serving in the Navy, he’d chosen a career in banking. He had spread his wings to New York City where his uncle worked for J.P. Morgan and had learned from some of the best in the business.
“You work in London now?” Winston asked.
“I do, and I am enjoying it.”
“Two of my favorite people.” Viscount Garland joined them with a nod. “How fortunate.”
Winston raised a brow, unable to believe the man’s words when he hadn’t done anything to warrant it. “Keeping low company these days?”
Garland frowned. “How do you mean?”
“Impossible to believe I am anyone’s favorite.” He shifted, realizing what he’d said and displeased by how much it revealed. Aware of the way the other two men looked at him in confusion, he dismissed his words with a wave and what he hoped was a careless smile. “I don’t compare favorably to either of you two upstanding citizens.”
“That’s not true.” Sinclair caught his gaze, his expression serious. “You donated to the fund to put the Schmidt family back on their feet without being asked.”
The family had immigrated from Germany and fallen on hard times soon after their arrival. Their young son had been sent to America by some unsavory people and when he fell ill, he was left on the streets of New York City to fend for himself. Luckily, Sinclair had come upon him and brought him back to London.
The story, which occurred just before Christmas a year ago, had tugged at Winston’s emotions, though he would never admit as much. But the holiday brought out the best in many people, including him.
“And you invested in the bank I started, as well.” Garland shook his head as he held Winston’s gaze. “You only want people to believe you are a rogue and nothing more when that couldn’t be further from the truth.”
Winston huffed a breath. “Those acts are nothing to brag of. Merely supporting my friends.”
“Exactly.” Garland nodded. “And we appreciate it.”
Winston hesitated, uncertain what to say, surprised by how touched he was by their words. He hadn’t thought of his actions as anything special, but he appreciated them mentioning it. Perhaps he wasn’t always the worthless individual he believed himself to be.
“Thank you,” he muttered as he looked away, uncomfortable with the compliments.
He caught his breath as Millicent joined Mrs. Sinclair and Lady Garland, the smile on her face tightening his chest. And she wasn’t even looking at him. How...odd to have such a reaction at just the sight of her.
Clearly he needed more time with her to release this strange urge. Just because he wanted to speak with her and perhaps share a kiss didn’t mean his vow to delay marriage was in danger. She was only a passing fancy, something he’d experienced before, and the sensation would soon pass.
Her yellow gown trimmed in green brought to mind a buttercup, bright and cheery, and made her smooth skin glow with good health.
He took a step forward only to catch himself. There was no need to rush over to greet her. Appearing overeager wouldn’t do and would only gain the attention of his friends, which he intended to avoid as it would make matters difficult.
With a quiet sigh, he turned away and listened to the discussion on banking, the moment a reminder of how much he enjoyed their company.
Why he had ever thought men like Maynard were his friends, he didn’t know. Better that he spent his time with men of honor and intelligence rather than bored rogues seeking diversions at someone else’s expense.
The sight of Viscount Dunthorpe entering the ballroom had Winston’s lips twisting as he remembered his promise to the man. He hoped the viscount decided he didn’t need Winston’s opinion on the three ladies he was considering. The viscount should make his own decisions. Why didn’t Dunthorpe simply speak with each one, dance with each one, then decide who best suited him? It seemed like a simple enough way to decide between them.
“Are Trentworth and your sister attending this evening?” Garland asked, distracting him from his thoughts.
“Can’t say that I know.” Winston looked about for the couple without success. He’d prefer not to have two more pairs of eyes watching him this evening, given his agenda.
“Forgive me, gentlemen,” Sinclair said, “but I do believe it is time for a dance with my wife.” The warm look in his expression as he watched her had Garland chuckling.
“Excellent idea. I will do the same.” With a nod, Garland followed Sinclair toward the ladies.
If both danced with their wives, that would leave Millicent alone, at least briefly. Perfect. This was his chance to have a few words with her.
He turned to face her fully, waiting for the men to walk away with their ladies before joining her. He was certain she would be grateful for his company. No lady enjoyed standing alone in a ballroom from what he knew.
Yet before he could take more than a step in her direction, Viscount Dunthorpe greeted Millicent. Her welcoming smile caused unease to fill him. The viscount spoke to her briefly, and then offered his hand, which Millicent took, and the pair moved toward the dance floor.
Blast it. Was Millicent one of the three Dunthorpe had his eye on? Surely not. But Winston couldn’t deny the likelihood of it, given what he had just witnessed.
A hint of worry took hold. He needed to find a way to share that kiss as quickly as possible before Dunthorpe decided to pursue her. Even better, he should find a way to convince Dunthorpe to stay away from Millicent.
Though the ballroom teemed with people, the dance floor wasn’t particularly crowded. Burgundy velvet drapes framed the nearby tall windows, and a few potted ferns were placed around the room. Mirrored panels reflected the light from the chandeliers, helping to brighten the space.
Millie curtsied then took the first steps of the waltz with Viscount Dunthorpe, watching him with concern. She was surprised he’d sought her out for a dance when he’d shown little interest in her before. Did that mean he knew of their fathers’ idea to arrange a match between them?
The thought was worrisome, yet she didn’t think he would have asked for a dance otherwise. However, he didn’t appear particularly attracted to her based on his current bored expression. He was his usual reserved—and uninteresting—self.
His looks were pleasant enough, she supposed, with brown eyes and dark hair brushed to one side. A weak chin marred the symmetry of his face as did narrow lips. When he wasn’t smiling, he appeared to be frowning. Did he tend to expect the worst much like his mother seemed to?
She gave herself a mental shake. No need to list his potential flaws when she was far from perfect herself. She should focus on his personality and intellect. Perhaps coming to know him better would help her decide whether a match between them was something she could consider.
It was just that she suddenly felt very rushed. Events were racing out of her control, and she wasn’t sure what to think or do.
Millie sighed. All she knew was that Dunthorpe was not Winston.
She spun with Dunthorpe’s guidance, trying to find joy in the movements. After all, she liked dancing. It wasn’t as if she had the opportunity to do so that often. A few dances each ball was as much as she could hope for.
Even her younger cousin, Catherine, whom she often chaperoned, danced more than she did. Her cousin’s popularity made watching over her a challenge. Luckily, Millie wasn’t doing so this evening. All the more reason to enjoy herself, especially when it came to dancing.
She forced a smile as she once again faced Dunthorpe. He took her hand, his other one on her waist. If only she felt something other than the urge to step away from him. Was it possible that would change with time? Who could she ask if there was a chance her feelings might grow?
Her gaze caught on Frances, who danced with her husband. The joyous smile on her friend’s face as she looked into his eyes was enough to make her sigh. No purpose would be served in asking Frances or the other league members when they were all in love. She supposed that meant she would have to ask one of her sisters. Though they’d never truly said, she felt certain they had not found the love her friends in the league had.
Maybe much like her sisters, she wasn’t meant for a love match. Respect and friendship might be enough.
Unfortunately, the heaviness surrounding her heart made that impossible to believe. Suddenly she found it difficult to breathe.
Dunthorpe cleared his throat. “Nice weather today, eh?”
“Yes. Quite nice.” She glanced at him. “It feels as if spring is definitely underway.”
“Indeed.” He nodded, continuing the dance. His gaze darted about as if he were trying to think of another topic to discuss.
The idea of conversations like this over the dinner table for years to come was daunting. How did her sisters manage it? She clearly needed to pay better attention.
Finally, the never-ending dance finished, much to her relief. “Thank you, my lord,” she said, certain her smile was brighter as escape was near at hand.
“Thank you, Miss Davies.” He escorted her off the dance floor. “Might I fetch you a glass of punch?”
“Oh.” Millie frantically weighed the options. Saying yes meant he would depart immediately only to return. Saying no meant the possibility of him remaining by her side to converse. Neither was palatable. “Yes, thank you. I am quite parched.”
“Excellent.” Dunthorpe glanced about and nodded in the direction of the refreshment table. “I will return directly.”
Then he left her standing alone.
Moments like this were unwelcome, at least for her. She detested being by herself at balls or any social event for that matter. If only Dunthorpe had escorted her to her mother’s side, but she wasn’t in sight. No doubt she was somewhere nearby speaking with friends.
After a moment or two of feeling awkward, Millie searched for her, preferring to leave Dunthorpe to look for her rather than remain by herself any longer.
“Good evening, Miss Davies.” Winston sauntered over to stand before her, a careless smile on his face.
“Lord Linford.” She resisted the urge to press a hand to her suddenly racing heart. “What a surprise. You rarely attend balls. At least unless there is a wager involved.”
Winston grimaced. “Not one of my better decisions.” He shrugged. “An unfortunate result of too much drink when spending time with the wrong people.”
Millie lifted a brow. “Are you admitting a wrongdoing?”
“I am.” His gaze met hers, the vulnerability in them catching her off guard. “I’m not above admitting to a mistake. And I apologize. You and your friends deserve better.”
She could only stare at him in surprise. Admitting he was wrong and apologizing? Who was the man standing before her? “Thank you. I appreciate that. And I’m pleased you see the error of your ways.”
“In that case anyway.” The droll way he spoke had her laughing in response. “Can’t reform too much in too short of a time. People might begin to expect more of me than I’m willing to give.”
“We wouldn’t want that.”
“Exactly. Glad you understand.”
Millie laughed again. “You are incorrigible.”
“I won’t deny it.” He gave a single nod then leaned close. “So tell me, how was your dance with Dunthorpe?”
“As well as can be expected.” She hoped her expression masked her true feelings. It wouldn’t do to give him too much information.
He frowned. “Which is?” he prompted.
“Here you are, Miss Davies.” Dunthorpe thrust the glass of punch at her, the pink liquid splashing alarmingly close to the rim.
“Thank you.” She quickly took it, hoping to prevent it from spilling.
“Linford.” Dunthorpe dipped his head. “Nice to see you again.”
“Sure.”
Was it her imagination or did Winston look less than pleased to see him, leaving her to wonder why?
“I don’t suppose you could find another glass of punch for me, could you?” Winston asked the younger man.
“Well...” Dunthorpe looked between Millie and Winston as if uncertain what to say. “I suppose I could.”
“Thank you,” Winston said. “I appreciate it.”
Dunthorpe’s lips twisted as he nodded reluctantly. “I will return shortly.”
“No rush,” Winston said as the viscount turned away.
Millie took a sip of her punch, trying to work out what had just happened and why. Winston was more of a puzzle than she could’ve guessed.
“Now then, before the viscount returns, let us determine where we might next meet.”
She nearly choked before she had the chance to swallow the sip she’d taken. “Meet?” she managed, her voice sounding as if she’d swallowed a frog.
“I haven’t forgotten that I am ‘forever in your debt’. Surely you haven’t either.”
“No, I haven’t.” This was her chance to be bold again. To say something clever and flirtatious. Unfortunately, her mind was blank.
“Good.” He frowned. “Now then, what should we arrange? Hyde Park? A museum?” He gave a little shudder at the idea, then glanced around the ballroom. “Or perhaps a nearby hidden alcove would provide the privacy we need.”
Her stomach dipped at his suggestion. How she wished she was the type to agree to such a meeting. But her thoughts circled as she pondered how impossible that would be and what would happen if they were caught.
“Here, Linford.” Dunthorpe thrust the punch at Winston, clearly unhappy with the errand.
“How kind.” Winston took the cup and raised it to Millie. “Cheers, Miss Davies.”
“And to you, my lord.” Her cheeks heated as their gazes met, and they sipped in unison. Leave it to Winston to manage to exclude Dunthorpe from the conversation, even though he was standing right next to them.
Frances and her husband, Mr. Sinclair, joined them, relieving the tension that gripped her. Of course, Frances sent her several questioning looks, as if to ask what was happening.
Thank goodness there wasn’t an opportunity to share any confidences as Millie didn’t have an answer. Never had she had two men conversing with her at once. It was confusing.
That Winston had raised the topic of meeting both shocked and thrilled her. She couldn’t begin to guess what would happen with their banter or his supposed debt. But she would be a fool to dismiss the chance even if it didn’t lead anywhere. Better that she enjoyed every possible moment with the handsome lord.
Panic crept over her as she realized she and Winston hadn’t finished their conversation. Her gaze sought his, wondering if they would have a chance to.
As if sensing her regard, he looked at her, and she lifted a brow, hoping he would understand her silent question. Surely that wasn’t too forward. But was it forward enough to keep his interest in this game of cat and mouse?