herself partnering with Faircliffe instead of Southerby.
Chloe and Faircliffe had never touched publicly. Her fingers trembled as she looped her arm through his. His heat was familiar now, his taste, his scent. All of it seemed bigger than before, including him. He was somehow taller, his shoulders wider, his arm firmer beneath her touch.
It was impossible to be this close without remembering their kiss. The knowledge of it surely showed on her face.
She felt naked before so many witnesses, as if they could see through the innocent dance steps to the carnal way her body reacted to his proximity, his touch, the flexing of his muscles. Even though she could not keep him, he felt as though he belonged to her. His tongue had been in her mouth, tasting her. She had done the same to him.
“I owe you an explanation about why you and I cannot…” he murmured. “But this ballroom is not the place.”
“Nowhere is.”
She did not want his explanation. It would burst the warm memory like a pin piercing a bubble. What had once glimmered like a rainbow would be gone without a trace.
Chloe did not want words he did not mean or promises he could not keep. She wanted his arms about her, his heart next to hers, his mouth claiming her one last time. But in seconds, the pattern of the country-dance would rip him away, sending him back to the woman he chose to give his life to.
There was nothing to do but dance and pretend the music gave her joy.
His gaze rose from her lips to her eyes. “If things were different…”
She shook her head.
Things were too different. He was the Duke of Faircliffe. She was a Wynchester. He was a member of Parliament. She was a recovering pickpocket who still visited her old orphanage bearing gifts for children who didn’t have a Bean of their own. Faircliffe’s good works took place in the House of Lords. He knew nothing of Chloe’s world, just as she did not belong in his.
“You don’t have to explain,” she said. “I understand.”
The music changed and she was back with Southerby. She hoped he did not notice her painful gazes over his shoulder.
Faircliffe and Philippa were an excellent match—if not by Chloe and Tommy’s preferences, then at least by the expectations of everyone else in this room.
Their union would mean more than titles and heirs. Faircliffe aligning himself with Philippa’s important MP father would help both men be better able to enact the exact laws Chloe had been praying to see unfold beneath the stuffy Westminster attic. If anything, she should be the Faircliffe-York union’s biggest champion.
In fact, she would be.
That was what an impartial observer who wanted the best outcome for the greatest number of individuals would do, wasn’t it?
What did feelings have to do with anything?
When the music ended, Faircliffe and Southerby walked away together, their heads bent in conversation.
Chloe rolled back her shoulders and turned to Philippa. “You should marry him.”
Philippa did not pretend to misunderstand; nor did she appear pleased with the unsolicited advice. “You know me well enough to know which specific person I should spend the rest of my life with?”
Chloe paused. Together as allies, Lawrence and Philippa’s father could make great strides in the reforms Chloe had been fighting for. Doing it for the orphans and workhouses seemed more than enough reason to her, but perhaps not to the beau monde.
Philippa sighed. “If it will take the bee out of your bonnet, you may be pleased to know that my parents have threatened to burn my bookcases if I don’t accept Faircliffe’s suit.”
“He offered?” The words came out as a whisper. The parquet seemed to tilt.
“Not yet.” Philippa twisted her lips. “He seems to be waiting for me to give him a sign of encouragement first.”
Chloe frowned. “Is that a bad trait?”
“It’s an admirable trait. He’s splendid, a dukedom would be splendid, the whole thing is splendid.”
Philippa did not make any of it sound splendid.
“But I’ll do it,” she said dully. “Mother wants a title for her only child, Father wants more hooks in the House of Lords, and Faircliffe wants my dowry. He admitted as much.”
Chloe winced. Although her spirits leapt at confirmation that the union was practical, rather than a love match, she would not wish anyone into a life of misery.
“What do you want?” she asked.
“To escape.” Philippa’s steady gaze met hers. “I suppose Faircliffe is my chance.”
Chloe swallowed. She well remembered the panicked desperation to escape