Chapter Seven
“We could always kill him,” Cooper said. “With all the rounds flying this week, we could make it look like an accident. His Grace as good as begged for it.”
Seth shot the man a speaking glance from the corner of his eye before returning his gaze to the clock on the other side of the ballroom.
Unsatisfied fury coursed through his veins, filling him with the need to tear himself out of this godforsaken suit he could barely breathe in, and run, or ride, or bloody-well shoot something.
“All I’m saying is that I have never cared for the man myself,” Cooper continued flippantly. “It would solve a problem for both of us, now that I think on it.”
“Murder?” Seth scoffed. “This from a man weeping about having blood on his hands last week.”
“I was not weeping!”
“You were weeping.”
“Tears of joy! Our chances raised from one in hundreds to one in three. A man is allowed to have emotions, Reeves.”
“If you say so.”
“My God you’re tense.” Cooper frowned. “We’re better than him. We’re going to win this competition and prove it. With prize money in hand, you can wipe the smug look off of Bishop’s face for good, and then ride off into the sunset victorious, raising His Majesty’s flag high.”
“Drop it, Cooper.” Seth glared at him. Appearing disrespectful be damned. A man had his limits.
“No flag, then?” Cooper reached for a flute of champagne from a wandering footman and tipped it back.
Seth wished for a moment he could drink, so he, too, could surrender himself to the delightful oblivion of a muddled mind.
But not here, even if he was confident that he could get away with it.
Lord Bolderwood was more than distracted at the refreshment table to the side of the room.
A crowd had formed around the Earl, a man in a naval officer’s dress blues, Mr. Edgars pompous and preening, and a trio of simpering young ladies with their matching mamas.
But Seth knew the Earl always had one eye trained on him.
He glanced at the half-full champagne flute in Cooper’s hand with longing and then stifled it.
It wasn’t worth it.
He felt like a boy beneath the high plastered ceilings of the ballroom.
This was his first invitation into the room, though he had broken in several times.
Once out of curiosity, and he was rewarded with three days of isolation.
Which really, was plenty of time to learn his lesson, and he wasn’t caught the next four times when he broke in out of spite.
It was his first time seeing the room lit, and hearing the music from the ten-man orchestra on the raised stage without the muffling of brick.
It was ungodly loud. The wailing of violins against the melodic strumming of the piano was pleasant enough, but the blaring of the trumpet was no different to Seth’s ears than a bugle at sunrise reveille, and it ruined the experience.
A rustling of silk dresses crossed by his vision as guests danced to a quadrille, kicking up overpowering clouds of perfume in their wake.
His head throbbed.
Fighting the urge to leave, he checked the clock right as the second hand moved.
Eleven forty-five.
He would stay for another fifteen minutes, and then he would leave.
His gaze traveled to Cassandra off to the side of the ballroom, and some of the tension eased from his shoulders.
He shouldn’t stare, but a man ought to be allowed some small pleasures.
Lady Dorchester stood off to the side, tutting at Lady Jasmine while she weaved an intricate joke, waving her hands in a show of emotion that was surely more than acceptable in polite society.
At the punchline, Cassandra threw her head back and laughed so loud Seth could hear her from across the crowded room.
Time stopped.
Radiant and unrestrained, head up, eyes twinkling.
She laughed until her body shook. Little breaths of giggles escaped her as she recovered.
She raised her hand, touching a gloved fingertip to a bead of moisture at the corner of her eye, careful not to smudge the faint dusting of powder there.
She smiled wider than he thought possible.
Her caramel eyes shifted in his direction, a hint of her teeth visible from her parted lips.
His spine melted, and he yearned, and he wanted, and he wondered what it would take to get her to laugh like that with him.
Because of him.
He maintained eye contact with her until a blush beset her features and she shifted her gaze shyly back to Lady Jasmine.
The clock’s second hand moved to eleven forty-six.
“Good,” Cooper said, following his gaze to Cassandra. “She’s finally enjoying herself. I knew that time with Lady Jasmine would be good for her. She’s been so withdrawn, but I think she’s starting to come around. It brings me joy to see it.”
Seth whole-heartedly agreed, but he kept his silence.
“If only someone were to ask her to dance,” Cooper said in a tone that Seth was now too familiar with.
“I will not be dancing.”
“You would have me believe that you cannot dance?”
“I did not say that I cannot dance.” Seth faced him. “I will not. More than that, I won’t be party to your sabotage.”
“Sabotage?!” Cooper’s jaw dropped. “That I would even be accused of such a thing! I love my sister, Reeves, and her happiness is my utmost concern at all times.” He mumbled beneath his breath, “Sabotage. Hmph. The disrespect—”
“It will do her no favors to have her first dance be with me,” Seth interrupted, fed up with his friend’s theatrics. “Or any dance, for that matter.”
“I disagree.” Cooper grinned. “Cassandra is a talented dancer, it would benefit her greatly for others to see that.”
“Cooper,” Seth warned him once again. It was a fight enough to stay away, even without the other man’s goading.
To hear her laugh was almost enough to tempt Seth into strolling over to where she stood, kiss her on the hand, get her to blush and smile because of him, to touch her, to tell her, to show her how she crippled him.
“The night is young, someone will ask her to dance,” Seth said.
“It appears you’re right.” Cooper’s voice took on a sour note and his face hardened as he directed his attention to the middle of the ballroom. “Colonel Bishop has his sights set on her. I promised I wouldn’t interfere. But someone should.”
Seth’s eyes scanned the ballroom floor with lightning speed.
Guests parted the way for Bishop as he sauntered toward Cassandra and the burning sensation that had cooled with her smile rose within him, boiling over.
It wasn’t his place to get involved. It was not his place.
But the blood ringing in his ears drowned out the orchestra and the crowd and silenced every thought in his mind except for one.
Anyone but him.
Before another thought could register, Seth found his feet carrying him in Cassandra’s direction, leaving Cooper gawking behind him.
Sounds of surprise escaped guests as they scattered from his path.
Seth reached Cassandra three paces before Bishop did and blurted out three words in a single breath.
“Dance with me.”
***
Cassandra’s eyes widened. One moment, Mr. Reeves was across the ballroom standing next to Matthew with a lethal expression, and the next he had charged his way to her and shouted the command.
Her breath was shallow as she looked about her.
Colonel Bishop had stopped in his approach and was regarding them with narrowed eyes.
Her gaze shifted between blue eyes and green, both waiting for her reaction.
Along with the rest of the occupants of the ballroom.
Everyone is staring.
“What?” She cringed at her lack of eloquence.
Mr. Reeves bowed to her, stiff-backed and perfectly executed, as if he had practiced it a thousand times over. He cleared his throat with one solid sound, and asked, slower, “Miss Cooper, would you favor me with this dance?”
Cassandra stood gaping at him. She looked to Aunt Valentine for direction and the older woman gave her a nod of approval.
“She will,” Aunt Valentine said, flicking her hands in a shooing motion. “Go on, before the music starts.”
But the music had already started. Her arm tucked into his, he led her to the middle of the ballroom, and as soon as the orchestra played the third note, she realized what she agreed to.
A waltz.
She had one lesson in waltzing—if one could call it that—with an aged dancing instructor that her parents could only afford for one afternoon.
Within a half hour, the poor man left the estate with a sprained ankle, holding his scuffed shoes in one hand as her father helped him into a carriage.
A bill from the man’s doctor came a week later.
She was going to fall flat on her face.
Swept into his hold, one gloved hand glided along the small of her back, the other hand clasped her hand gently.
With a whisper of a touch, he brought her to him until they were mere inches apart.
Close enough that she could feel his breath ghosting the fine hairs about her brow; the strands tickled her cheekbones.
She met his gaze to find that his eyes were only on her.
With a soft smile, Mr. Reeves eased her into the steps as the music began in earnest.
Trying to remember her limited instruction, she watched her feet and counted.
One-two-three, one-two-three, one-two three and she stepped on his toes!
One-two-three, one-two-three. She stumbled slightly over her skirts, tumbling into Mr. Reeves’ chest with an oof.
Heat burned at her cheeks and she wished the floor would open beneath her.
“Miss Cooper. Look at me, not your feet.” His tone was gentle as he eased her away from him again and corrected their posture. “Let me lead you.”
“I’ll keep stepping on your toes.” She looked down again.
“You won’t.” Mr. Reeves squeezed her hand and exerted more pressure onto her back. “Now. Chin up here.” She lifted her gaze to his. “Keep your eyes on me. Yes. Like that. Good.”