she informed herself sternly. Her pulse raced at the mere thought of being with him again. She was being selfish, of course, and less than honorable in ignoring her mother’s wish, but her holiday from honor would last only the night. Tomorrow she would remember her promise to her mother, but tonight she would follow her heart.
* * *
“Look, Evleen,” whispered Amanda, “everybody’s staring at you.”
They had just entered Lord and Lady Trent’s ballroom. Evleen wondered what Amanda meant, but soon she knew. The eyes of nearly every man in the room were fixed upon her as she stood, gracefully fluttering her fan, surveying the crowd with a queen-like bearing.
A waltz began. Young Lord Edgemont, whom she’d met the other night, appeared before her. “You look beautiful tonight, Miss O’Fallon, would you care to dance?”
“She doesn’t waltz,” said Lydia.
“Oh, but I shall try,” said Evleen.
All doubt concerning her ability to waltz faded quickly as Lord Edgemont led her through a series of dips and twirls. Totally at ease, she followed gracefully, as sure-footed as if she’d been waltzing all her life. Once or twice, as they whirled past Lydia, Evleen caught a glimpse of the incredulity on the older woman’s face.
When the dance was over, Montague appeared and claimed the next one. For once, his sardonic expression was gone, replaced by one of admiration. “I see my brother taught you well,” he commented.
“But where is your brother?” she asked, doing her best to make her question seem off-hand.
“Left, finally, for his estate.” He gave her a mocking smile. “I cannot imagine what kept him so long in town.”
“Oh.” Suddenly all pleasure left her. She felt hurt, and deeply disappointed. Why hadn’t he let her know?
“You seem downcast, Miss O’Fallon,” said Montague. “I do hope the news about my brother hasn’t ruined your evening.”
Never would she let her feelings show. “Downcast, Lord Eddington?” She tilted her head back and awarded him a dazzling smile. “Never. I intend to have a wonderful time tonight and dance until dawn.”
A quadrille followed. She would have danced it with Montague, but someone cut in. As the evening wore on, men were begging for her dances, showering her with compliments.
“Your eyes are like stars, Miss O’Fallon.”
“I am struck by your throaty Irish laughter, Miss O’Fallon.”
“You dance divinely, Miss O’Fallon. A fine country, Ireland, if it produces a girl as beautiful as you.”
Montague kept returning, claiming as many dances as he could. “It seems you have captured the heart of nearly every man present tonight,” he said as they waltzed and he held her as tightly as he dared.
Although she returned a dazzling smile and said thank you, Evleen found that what these strangers thought counted not one whit. All she cared about was that Thomas wasn’t here.
She had another concern, too. From the sidelines, Lydia Trevlyn had been staring at her. As the evening wore on, her expression darkened, until now, as the last dance ended, and Montague led her off the floor, it resembled a thundercloud.
Penelope caught her as she left the ballroom. “Sorry about Thomas,” she said.
“Quite all right,” Evleen answered with a forced smile, “although he did say he would be here tonight.”
“He left rather abruptly.” In deep thought, Penelope bit her lip. “I know him. I know something was bothering him, but I cannot think what.”
* * *
Ah, how delightful the smell of oats and new-mown hay!
In the stables at Tanglewood Hall, Thomas took a whiff of the sweet air as he brushed the flanks of his favorite Thoroughbred.
Why had he stayed so long in London? This was where his life would be, from now on. He would waste no more time making a fool of himself over a woman he couldn’t have. No longer could he endure the shame of losing control of himself again, as had happened, however briefly, the other day.
No excuse. After the incident in the carriage, he had warned himself to stay away. But then she needed his help, and he had offered gladly, unthinkingly. But he hadn’t thought ahead. He had not foreseen that with every dancing lesson, his longing for her would increase while his strict self-control decreased. Too many days of holding that soft, sweetly curved body in his arms had fanned his desire until yesterday, like some clumsy oaf, he’d grabbed and kissed her, with all the finesse of... he couldn’t think what, but a clown at Haymarket came to mind. He had come to his senses quickly, of course, and made some