A Lily Among Thorns(62)

“You really ought to look cheerier when news of your talent is about to become a nine days’ wonder.” She snagged a patty from his plate and popped it into her mouth. “Your matchmaking plans for your uncle and Mrs. Cook are proceeding apace.”

He summoned a smile for her. “Thank you.”

“I assure you, when we break into Elbourn’s library you will repay me in full.”

He looked at her hopefully. “Can we go and do that now?”

She laughed. “That eager to leave? Don’t you want to ask anyone to dance? You strike me as the dancing sort.”

He looked at the dance floor for a moment, wistfully. “Maybe. But I’m not about to place any girl in the embarrassing position of having to refuse me.” He put down the plate and looked at his hands. Then, with a motion so angry it startled her, he yanked off his gloves and dropped them on the floor. “I don’t know why I bother wearing these when everyone can see right through them.”

“No, or when you have such nice hands,” Serena said. He blinked at her, and she turned her face away. They’d been notflirting all evening, but that had been a bit much. It was wrong of her to flirt, anyway, when she didn’t know what was between them or what she wanted.

It was wrong and it was stupid, because in the end he might be hurt, but even so he could never have meant anything serious. He was the most respectable person she’d ever met. He was too kind to ask her to be his mistress, and anything else was impossible. She was the one who’d end up feeling ruined all over again, and she knew it. But she couldn’t seem to help herself.

“Go on, ask someone,” she said, wishing she sounded less sullen. “How about that bored-looking girl with glasses? She’s very pretty.” And sweet and innocent, too, I’m sure. Perfect for you.

Solomon didn’t even glance at the girl. Instead, he rolled his eyes at Serena. “Do you honestly think there’s one woman in this room who would be anything but aghast at an invitation to dance from an employee of Hathaway’s Fine Tailoring?”

Serena could have told him that Jenny Pursleigh thought him terribly handsome. She could have told him that the way his black cutaway and dove-gray breeches fit him was a tailor’s dream come true. She could have pointed out the interested looks he was getting from half the young ladies in the room.

“There’s me,” she said instead, and then hated how she must sound, like some blushing, hopeful debutante angling for an invitation. She had never used to hate every word that came out of her mouth. Before Solomon, she’d been comfortable with herself.

Well, that was a lie. She’d disliked herself for as long as she could remember. She’d just been used to it, before.

He gaped at her, then looked at the ground. “I’m not a very good dancer.”

She bit her tongue, hard. “I see.”

He looked up hurriedly. “It’s not that! It’s just—I’m not a very good dancer.”

“You, Solomon?” she said with savage incredulity. “Surely you and your wholesome family thrived at country assemblies.”

“Elijah danced. I usually played the piano.” He shrugged. “You’re the one who must have danced the night away.”

“I was a wallflower,” she said flatly.

He stared at her in shock.

Take that, Jenny Warrington, she thought, but at the same time she was startled that he hadn’t guessed at the stubborn, awkward, silent girl she’d been. Sometimes it felt a lifetime away, but other times she didn’t feel as if she’d changed that much.

“Well, all right, then,” he said. “Let’s dance.” He took her hand and maneuvered them into a set that was forming.

At first, Serena was absorbed in watching Solomon’s enthusiasm and enjoying the glittering swish of her skirts when she turned. He was right, he really wasn’t a very good dancer. She smiled.

She was jerked unpleasantly from her thoughts when James Corbin, who had his arm round her waist and was turning her round, allowed his hand to slip too low. A glance told her that nearly every man in the set was leering unpleasantly at her. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t noticed. What was wrong with her?

Her next neighbor caressed her palm with his thumb, the next whispered filthy recollections of their dalliance in her ear, and so on down the line. She clenched her teeth together, fixed an icy smile on her face, and waited for the dance to be over. She didn’t even turn her head to see what oaf was causing the steady progression of oofs and ouches that followed her down the set.