Chapter 12
Twelve
April let out a sigh of relief when the dance ended, but as Viscount Harrow retreated, another gentleman came to take his place.
“The Earl of Moore,” he said, smiling down at her as though he expected her to leap with joy at this introduction.
April curtsied politely. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lord Moore.”
“Oh, we’ve met before, Lady April. Your mother introduced us.”
April felt her cheeks warm with embarrassment, and she lowered her eyes and smiled. How many people have I forgotten since the start of this season? “Forgive me, My Lord.”
“Think nothing of it.” He held out his hand. “May I have this quadrille?”
Out of curiosity, she glanced around the ballroom, and when she saw Stone, he was leaning against a column with a crystal of champagne in his hand as he conversed with the Lord and Lady Worthing.
Like a bolt of lightning, his eyes found hers. The intensity rooted her in place, but what made her heart race faster was the displeasure she saw in his demeanor. Why do you look at me like that, as if every word spoken in this room is an insult to your claim?
April turned and agreed to dance with Moore, and she let herself be led back to the floor, but just as the music resumed and the dancers moved into formation, an energy stirred the crowd.
She turned her head to see Stone walking across the ballroom toward her. The Earl paused mid-step, nearly stumbling as the Duke reached them, eyes on April and no one else.
“This dance,” he said coolly, “is mine.”
The Earl glanced between them, his brows slightly raised, but stepped back with a murmured, “Of course, Your Grace.”
April, stunned, found her hand taken before she could protest. She was dancing again. With Stone.
“You bullied him,” she accused under her breath.
He didn’t blink. “Did I?”
She glared at him. “You walked across the ballroom like a storm cloud.”
“That’s opinion, not evidence.”
“You claimed the dance was yours, and he gave way.”
“Precisely. He yielded, like every respectable gentleman should.”
“Or a frightened rabbit.”
His gaze narrowed but not in displeasure. “I didn’t know rabbits ranked among your preferred suitors.”
Her lips parted, but she wasn’t sure if she wanted to laugh or scold him. Why does he always do this? Twist my words until they turn against me and leave me flustered. Like some wicked game of fencing, only I’m never handed a sword.
“Do you usually interrupt women’s dances just to debate wildlife metaphors, Your Grace?”
“Only when I feel the conversation might improve the evening.”
Their feet moved in perfect tandem, but April’s mind was whirling. The nerve of him! His sheer audacity! And yet, how maddeningly steady his hand feels on my waist. How easily my mind and body remember this rhythm.
And the worst part was, he wasn’t wrong. She hadn’t wanted to dance with either gentleman.
As the music concluded, Stone didn’t release her arm.
Instead, he kept her at his side as they stepped off the floor, his presence so solid it felt like armor.
From across the ballroom, April spotted her mother gesturing with her fan toward them while whispering to a clutch of women who were all clearly listening too eagerly.
My mother is boasting again. Of course, she is. She held back a sigh.
She looked at him and noticed the manner in which he was watching everyone in the room. “You look amused. What do you find so entertaining about all this?”
He tilted his head, as though considering whether to answer. “What is there not to be amused by? Everyone pretending to be what they are not, angling for position while smiling through their teeth.”
“You are an admirer of the spectacle, then?”
“An observer. Like you.”
She narrowed her eyes, suspecting something behind the agreement.
“I see what you are doing,” he added, steering her slowly toward the refreshment table.
His statement surprised and puzzled her, but she decided to play along. “Oh? How very clever of you.” April gave him her most dazzling smile. Well, I hope it was. “And what, pray, do you see me doing?”
“You want to ask me a thousand more questions,” he said as they reached the table, picking up a glass of lemonade and handing it to her.
“Just one,” she said, lifting the lemonade to her lips.
“Only one?”
“Why me? Of all the debutantes in London?”
He took a sip of his drink, his eyes never leaving hers. “Because none of others are Lady April Vestiere.”
She held her breath. It was as though his eyes were shrouding her in a protective warmth that she could neither comprehend nor grasp. Do calm down, April. She swallowed to regain her bearing and without meaning to, cleared her throat. “That sounds dangerously like a romantic statement, Your Grace.”
“I am not fond of repeating myself,” he said evenly.
You just did—by saying something romantic again, even though you deny it. She tried not to smile.
She was about to find a witty rejoinder when a new voice joined them.
“Stone, I thought that was you. I almost didn’t recognize you without a scowl.”
April turned as a tall, golden-haired gentleman approached with the grace of someone accustomed to admiration.
Stone inclined his head. “Calenham.” The man smiled broadly as the Duke turned to her. “Lady April, may I present the Marquess of Calenham.”
April felt Stone’s hand at the small of her back, warm and steady, as he spoke her name. She glanced up at him, and when she saw nothing in his expression, she turned to the Marquess and offered her hand.
The Marquess took it and placed a courtly kiss upon it. “Lady April, your eyes, if I may be so bold as to say, remind me of the sky over Naples. Cloudless, endless, and entirely arresting.”
April laughed. “And you, My Lord, are as polished as Venetian glass. I imagine many ladies find themselves compared to foreign skies in your company.”
“Not nearly enough,” he replied with a grin.
Stone said nothing, but his hand tightened almost imperceptibly at her back.
Calenham held out his hand to April. “Would you grant me the honor of the next dance?”
Stone spoke before she could answer. “You may do that later. At present, we have other engagements.”
April blinked then frowned. No, we do not! Stone reached past her to take the empty lemonade glass from her hand, set it firmly on the table, and without another word, he took her arm and led her away.
They took a turn about the ballroom. He said nothing. She glanced up at him, but his expression gave her no answer to his changed demeanor.
Why is silence from him so much louder than words from anyone else?
She took in a breath. “Your Gr—”
“Not here,” he said, steering her through the crowd and toward the tall glass doors that led to the terrace.
“You might at least endeavor to explain yourself.” April’s voice cut clean through the darkness as they descended the short steps into the gardens. They were alone, just beyond the terrace, shielded from the ballroom by a respectful distance and the privacy of night.
Theo halted though he did not turn. Not yet. He could not trust himself to meet her gaze without consequence. Not while every nerve in his body still remembered the weight of her hand on his arm.
“What precisely was that display inside?” she asked. “Calenham had barely spoken a dozen words, and you nearly tore my arm from its socket.”
“He touched you.”
“He kissed my gloved hand, which is what is done. You introduced us.”
He turned then, slowly. “He looked at you.”
April gave a short, incredulous laugh. “And for that, you meant to challenge him in the rose garden?”
His jaw tightened. “Perhaps I did.” Because I could not endure the sight of him imagining you were free to be taken.
She folded her arms. “This is nonsensical. You hauled me out here as though overtaken by fever, and now, you stand there—”
“I am not inclined to share, April,” he said, his tone clipped. “If the matter rested solely with me, we would be wed by now.”
The words rang in the quiet. He had not meant to speak them aloud, but once free, he made no attempt to recapture them. She needs to hear it.
She stood frozen. He stepped toward her, and she retreated. Another step, and her back met the tall hedge that bordered the terrace, her soft gasp the only sound between them.
He stopped mere inches from her, and the air between them thrummed. Her eyes searched his face, not fearful nor indignant but curious.
Theo braced one hand against the hedge beside her head. The other hovered near her waist but did not trespass. He leaned in, close enough to feel the warmth of her skin, to inhale the delicate scent of jasmine and… citrus, perhaps?
He did not kiss her though he yearned to. God help him.
“You act as though I belong to you already,” she said, her voice softer now but no less pointed. “Do you imagine I shall simply surrender because you’ve claimed me with a look?”
“No,” he replied. “I do not imagine anything where you are concerned. I know only what I want.”
Her brow arched slightly. “And what is that, exactly?”
“That I cannot abide watching another man imagine a future with you. That I cannot watch you ignore my proposal without legitimate reason.”
Her breath caught though she tried to mask it with a lift of her chin. “You think too much of what I pretend.”
“I think only of what you are unwilling to say.”
She said nothing. The silence trembled between them, charged and waiting. Then, in a rough whisper, he asked, “What is it that keeps you from accepting my offer?”
She blinked several times, her lashes fanning her cheek.
“It cannot be the gentlemen who lavish you with attention. You have no care for them. I watched you this evening—you smiled, yes, but not once did you appear engaged.”
Her lips parted, and she lowered her eyes. When she spoke, it was not with sharpness but with emotion. “Because I wish to be someone. Not merely a man’s wife. I want to be chosen—not endured. Seen, not managed, Theodore.”
She stared up at him then, and the force of her gaze rendered him nearly unsteady on his feet. You are already someone. You undo me without effort. Theodore also realized they were addressing each other by their Christian names, and he endeavored not to be affected by it.
“All my life,” she whispered, “I have been one of triplets. May is the darling, June the clever one, and I… I have never been certain what I am. But I know I shall not wed simply to vanish into the west wing of someone else’s life. I must remain April. Not just a wife or the lady of the manor.”
The honesty in her voice struck him harder than any rebuke. And in that moment, he wanted to offer her everything she had named. I would give it to you if I knew how. But he could not. Theo had nothing to give.
“What do you believe you are doing?” A sharp voice cleaved through the hush, and he clenched his teeth while April stiffened, her eyes growing wide.
He turned to see Lady June standing at the edge of the terrace, her expression stricken with fury and alarm. When April recognized her, she sagged back against the hedge and sighed.
“Do you comprehend what might occur were you to be seen like this, Sister?”
April said nothing while Theo remained where he was. He did not relinquish his stance, nor did he apologize. His voice, when it came, was low and unyielding. “Then half my difficulties would be resolved.”
June stared at him, aghast.
April moved then, her hand brushing his chest as she stepped aside—not far but far enough to cool the fragile heat that lingered between them. The moment between them fractured.
Theo looked at her once more. There was still no answer. No kiss. Only the ache of restraint.
He watched her return to the ballroom with her sister, the night swallowing words he was yet to say to her.
I shall make you my wife, April. And I will not apologize for it.