Chapter 10
For possibly the hundredth time that evening, Luna pulled the cuff of her borrowed gown down a little farther on her wrist. It was becoming a nervous habit, one Ward would surely notice eventually. But her self-consciousness was so strong, she couldn’t seem to help herself.
Myrna had loaned her the dress. It was the only long-sleeved, semi-formal gown of Luna’s size to be found in all of Mrs. Boggs’s Boardinghouse for Young Women of Good Character.
Luna couldn’t risk wearing more fashionable pagoda or batwing sleeves, not with her ugly heptagram mark.
While she suspected Ward had clocked her tattoo a long time ago and was simply too polite to mention it, the urge to keep it hidden remained as strong as ever.
“How’s your lobster?” Ward asked, dragging Luna’s attention back across the candlelit table.
He sat opposite her, behind a barrier of glittering glass, gold cutlery, delicate porcelain, and an aromatic floral arrangement.
For such a large man, he managed, somehow, to look at ease in these elegant surroundings.
But that was John Ward for you; he was always at ease, wherever he happened to be, slum or salon, uptown or down.
One of the many qualities that made him an excellent wardsman, no doubt.
“Oh, yes, it’s very good.” Her cuff once more secured, Luna took up her tiny fork and picked at the meat in her lobster shell.
The effort involved in actually eating the lavish dish made her wish she’d gone for something simpler.
Ward, however, had been adamant that she order the special.
“I want every part of this evening to be special,” he’d said, and what was a girl supposed to say to that?
So, lobster was ordered, along with its teensy, weensy fork and those vicious claws and that faintly accusing face staring up at her from the gold-rimmed plate.
Popping a bite into her mouth, Luna looked away hastily.
There was plenty to distract her guilty gaze at least. She had entered a world of glamor such as she’d only ever dreamed about while studying the black-and-white images of old magazines, scattered across the floor of her cottage bedroom back home.
Only here the dripping chandeliers, the fluted pillars, the polished parquet flooring, and—most of all—the beautiful dinner guests, shimmering beneath crystal-fractured light, were all rendered in vivid color.
It was a lot to take in for a simple Crimble girl!
Everywhere she looked, there were jewels and silks and fine ladies of all ages, slouching in that modish manner of boredom that was very in this season.
The gentlemen were less flashy than the ladies.
They, to a man, dressed in black, with crisp white shirts, which contrasted the prismatic colors of their ladies.
Across the chamber, on a little upraised platform, a band played jazzy tunes in the most elegant fashion, never once letting the natural wildness of their rhythms overcome the atmosphere.
Couples glided around the dance floor in between courses, jewels glittering, silks and satins whispering against the parquet.
Despite her borrowed gown, her carefully curled hair, and the exquisitely applied makeup Edwina had painted on her face, Luna felt wildly out of place.
Which irked her. Why couldn’t she just be happy?
Wasn’t this what she’d once dreamed life in Ballycastle would be like?
The glitz and the glamor, which had seemed to exist only in the world of the silver screen, now come to life!
And across from her . . . what man could better embody the glory of a cinematic heartthrob than Officer John Ward?
He wore a suit, rather than his uniform—black with a white shirt, in keeping with the setting.
He didn’t blend in, however. Rather, he stood out from the crowd by dint of sheer size and radiant charisma.
Luna was not unaware of the many hooded gazes being cast her way by the ladyfolk at surrounding tables.
The atmosphere positively seethed with feminine jealousy.
But Ward’s eyes had scarcely left Luna since he met her on the sidewalk outside of Huck ‘n Clover’s.
“You look a picture!” he’d declared upon seeing her wrapped up in the fur coat she’d borrowed from Joan.
She had blushed as he helped her into the taxi cab and held her coat tight around her for the entirety of the drive.
But later, in the foyer of The King’s Crown Hotel, Ward had offered to assist her out of the coat, and she couldn’t say no.
Then he had caught that first look at Myrna’s shimmering, emerald gown, and his eyes had nearly popped from his skull.
“Wow!” he’d declared, running his gaze up and down her figure, which the green silk draped in sensuous folds, hugging curves Luna hadn’t realized she possessed.
His eyes returned to her face at last, and he’d blinked several times before repeating, “Wow!” Then his dimples had flashed. “Where’s that Crimble girl now?”
Luna still felt that admiring gaze fixed upon her even as she poked at her lobster.
The front of Myrna’s gown was very low-cut, not something Luna had realized when selecting it.
Her concern had been entirely with concealing her wrists, and she’d failed to consider that there might be other parts of her she’d equally wish to cover.
Too late now. She held herself very straight in her seat, making no attempt to mimic the fashionable slouch of the ladies around her, and forced herself to take another mouthful.
Ward swirled a flute of sparkling wine. The little bubbles danced in the chandelier light. “You know,” he said, “one of the things we officers of the SSSD pride ourselves on is our powers of observation.”
“Hmm?” Luna set her fork down and once more tugged her sleeve cuff into place.
“You.” Ward pointed and turned his head a little to one side, eyes narrowing. “You say it’s very good, but you’re not eating. Don’t you like lobster? Shall I have the waiter bring you something else?”
“Oh, no.” Luna sighed and looked down at her hands in her lap. “No, it isn’t that. I . . . It’s very delicious. Completely delicious. I’ve never had anything so delicious in my life.”
Ward set down his wine and leaned back. Even that slight movement was done with such masculinity, it drew admiring gazes from the surrounding tables. Luna wouldn’t put it past the ladies to offer a polite round of applause. But Ward’s gaze continued to focus entirely on her.
“Luna,” he said, “I want to be straight with you. You don’t seem as though you particularly want to be here with me tonight.”
“Oh, Ward—”
“No, no.” He studied her from under his brow.
“I may be a bit slow on the uptake, but I always get there eventually. Doggedness, you know? It’s what makes me a good wardsman.
” He winked at her then, but there was less sparkle in the wink than usual.
“You’re just not into me, are you? Go on.
I’ve been straight with you; you be straight with me. ”
Luna blinked across the table at him. In her head, her inner voice practically screamed: You are such a little fool, Luna Talbot!
Here you are, in the most stunningly beautiful place you’ve ever imagined, across from a man whose face, by rights, ought to be plastered on billboards across the country!
And you’re just sitting here like a sad little goose.
And making him miserable while you’re at it.
But she couldn’t help it. Despite the beauty, despite the glamor, despite the handsomeness of her date and the silk caressing her body and the sparkle of the wine .
. . all Luna wished was to be tucked back in the nook behind the shop counter, a cup of tea in hand.
With Mr. Grimm. Studying his face by the light of the squat little stove.
Enjoying the warmth of his chuckle as he listened to her recount one of her madcap tales of childhood.
Teasing one of those rare smiles from his oh-so serious mouth.
Watching his sad eyes light up in momentary flashes of mirth, of happiness . . .
She couldn’t imagine telling one of those silly stories to Ward.
Certainly not in a setting like this! Oh, he would listen very politely, of course.
But it simply wouldn’t be cool. And something about this man made her feel she needed to at least make an attempt at coolness.
Ward probably spent most of his social evenings wining and dining cool women.
Women like Bryony. Who knew what to do with their low-cut gowns.
Ward was very quiet across the table. Giving space for her to think, to come up with her answer.
An answer which needed to be genuine. No prevarication, no excuses or dismissals.
The truth. Luna looked into his eyes, prepared to give it to him, but, well, that was a mistake.
Because what she saw in his eyes made her heart go a little sideways: hope.
Hope that she would contradict him. Hope that she actually did want to be here, with him.
Hope that, despite everything, perhaps there was still a way forward for the two of them.
He didn’t care that she wasn’t cool or fun or clever or witty.
He just liked her. For some reason she couldn’t entirely fathom.
“Ward,” she began.
He drew a long breath and sat up a little straighter in his seat, bracing himself.
Luna bit her lip. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t disappoint him. Not when she hadn’t even given him a real shot.
“Ward, I’ll be honest with you,” she said. “I . . . I don’t feel very celebratory tonight. I just received word, you see, that my auntie passed away. Over Green Yule. And it hit me rather hard.”