Three Nights with a Scoundrel (Stud Club #3)(56)

Julian, on the other hand, could not credit her with any particular inspiration. In fact, he blamed Lily for his difficulty with respiration.

She took his breath away. Oh, she eventually let him have it back, because she was hardly a thief. But she made him work for it, Lily did. To have her within his line of view was to feel the simple act of drawing air had suddenly become a privilege, rather than an instinctive act.

Speaking of bad poetry.

For this dance, she was paired with Mr. George “Denny” Denton, a stalwart and jovial sort of fellow, if lacking in subtlety, and heir to a sizable fortune and estate. He was also an appallingly bad dancer. He made so many mistakes that Lily’s own missteps either went unnoticed or could be blamed on his clumsy lead. Despite the muddle they made of the pattern, they laughed their way through the dance and appeared to be having a high time indeed.

She would do well with a husband like Denny. He would support her, give her children, and be unlikely to ever forget his ridiculous good fortune in securing such a lady’s hand. Denny was an affable, uncomplicated man, well liked by his peers.

Julian, of course, had never despised a man so much in his life.

He forced down the red swell of envy, through no insignificant force of will. Jealousy was a distraction he couldn’t afford this evening. This was Lily’s night to shine, and his night to find answers, at long last.

He drifted into a connecting room, where he found no answers—but he did locate and down a cup of weak punch. He would have liked something stronger, but he needed to keep his wits about him. With Lily’s intoxicating presence already proving a dangerous distraction, he couldn’t afford to blunt his mind further with spirits. He had to be ready for anything. Fists, pistols, knives.

When he returned to the ballroom, a waltz was just getting underway. Dancers thronged to the floor.

Lily wasn’t among them.

“Isn’t this dance Morland’s? Where the hell has he gone?”

Lily tamped down her defensive reaction and gave him a polite smile. “And good evening to you too, Mr. Bellamy. You look dashing, as usual.” That wasn’t quite true. Despite his angry fuming, Julian looked more dashing than ever. But she didn’t suppose he would heed the compliment right now.

“Where is the duke, blast him?”

“He and Amelia already went home.” Lest his anger spike, she added quickly, “I urged them to go. They don’t like to be away from Claudia so late at night, and who can blame them?”

In truth, once she’d seen that list of partners Julian sent her, she’d written immediately to Amelia. Together, they’d worked out matters in advance, ensuring she and the duke would leave before this set. And if Amelia hadn’t agreed to help her, Lily would have resorted to pouring sleeping powder in the duke’s punch. That’s how determined she was to seize this time with Julian.

“I can’t believe they would desert you like that and leave you here alone.”

“I’m not alone. I’m with you. And if you’ll claim it, this dance is yours.” She offered her hand.

He took it. “How can I refuse?”

As they moved to the dance floor, Lily should have known a surge of triumph. Except she didn’t feel triumphant, she felt exhausted. Even before her illness, she’d found events like these wearying. The dancing, the conversation, the constant effort it required to be aware of her every movement, word, smile, and breath and meld them into a flawless portrait of genteel breeding. Even when she enjoyed herself, it left her feeling drained. And tonight, the ordeal was multiplied tenfold. Atop all those challenges were the strain of following conversation and keeping in step with the dance. Sometimes both at once.

By the time Julian took her in his arms, she wanted nothing but to collapse in his embrace and beg him to take her home. But then, years from now, she didn’t want to look back on this evening and remember dancing with every gentleman in the room except Julian. She wanted to remember this night as theirs.

So they waltzed.

“You’re looking at me very queerly,” she said. At least, his stare was making her feel very queer inside.

“Am I?”

She nodded. “So serious and intent. It is a party, you know.”

“I know it’s a party, Lily. If I do look serious, it’s not displeasure. It’s awe. You are radiant, and this moment is … too much to be believed. It’s like I’ve stumbled upon a bit of reality that exceeds all my wildest imaginings, and I don’t know where I’ll go from here.” His gaze deepened, pulling on hers with the promise of raw truth. “I’m so damned proud to be the man dancing with you.”

She had to look away. It was that, or dissolve into tears. He could have no idea how deeply those words affected her. Coming from anyone else, they would be pleasant flattery. Coming from Julian, they were manna in the desert.

Still, she tried to keep the conversation light. “I’ll admit to being rather proud of myself. Let’s hope no one tells my mother’s Aunt Beatrice.”

“Aunt Beatrice can have her moral, miserable corner of heaven, and welcome to it. I’ll take tonight.” He cast a glance about the ballroom. “Truly, this is my perfect exit from the ton. It would be impossible to ever top this triumph. Everyone’s staring at us. Staring at you. I wish you could see the envy on their faces.”