“I did mean to talk to Horace about it, but I didn’t see him today. Tomorrow, I’ll make a point of it.”
“And I will try and see this Goddard.”
She blinked. “In prison?”
“Since that is where he is. Come and dance with me, Griz.”
The music had slowed again, and the couples, including the Lazars, were taking to the dance floor, too.
“I don’t know the steps,” Griz warned.
“You’ll learn quickly.” He took her hand, tugging her with him. He smiled. “And it is fun.”
He was right. This was no formal ball, and no one stood on their dignity. The British joined in, clumsy and late at first but quickly improving. Griz stumbled, laughing when she danced forward instead of back, and curiously breathless when he caught her and spun her, his body touching hers like a tantalizing caress. And when the dance sped up once more, her guilty embarrassment at their outside encounter melted away. She gloried in her secret new pleasure, euphoric in the knowledge that she was doing nothing wrong, nothing different from every other woman on the dance floor. And she, the plain, overlooked youngest sister, was dancing with the handsomest man in the room. Even that amused her, for even without that sudden flare of passion, they were friends with an unlikely but undeniable bond. She did not care what he looked like.
Well, not much. It was the man beneath who truly intrigued her. Especially now.
Breathless and laughing, she was happy to take his arm when the dance finally ended and to move into the supper room which opened off the main hall.
They sat informally with the Lazars and a few other of his Hungarian friends. Although he named and explained all the dishes to her, none of the talk around the table was of Hungary or revolution. Occasionally, they compared aspects of their lives in London, but mostly they bantered in excellent English and covered a wild array of subjects, jumping like quicksilver from philosophy to history, theology to literature. They were all delightfully well-read and Griz, who rarely found a fellow spirit for such discussions, thoroughly enjoyed herself.
If she was conscious of Dragan’s gaze on her, well, she rather liked that, too.
Once, she caught Annabelle’s eye in the distance. And once, she noticed Anne Cordell watching her with resentment and dislike. Which she understood, although she thought Dragan himself was blissfully unaware of the stir he caused in young girls’ hearts.
And not just young girls either…
“You are quite the bluestocking, are you not?” Dragan murmured as they rose from the table.
“You have guessed my guilty secret. No wonder I am not married.”
His eyebrows flew up. “Do Englishmen prefer ignorant wives?”
“I believe it’s a truth universally acknowledged that a man wants a wife who doesn’t make him feel ignorant.”
“I don’t acknowledge it,” he exclaimed. “Sounds like a dull marriage.”
“Talking of such matters,” Griz said delicately, “are you aware that Anne Cordell is in love with you?”
“Don’t be silly,” he replied. “She’s a child.”
“No, she isn’t.”
He glanced at her, frowning. “She does not think of me in that way. I have given her no cause to.”
“Dragan, do you never look in the mirror?”
He blinked, and then a warm smile began to grow in his eyes. “You mean, you think I am handsome? In that case, I shall ask you to dance again.”
In fact, the violinist had begun to play a waltz, and Griz had no objection to dancing it with Dragan. At least this time, she knew the dance.
That is, she thought she did. Dragan and his countrymen were accustomed to the wilder Viennese waltz. As soon as he took her in his arms, she was spun around and around until she was dizzy. Her startled feet took a few moments to catch up before the exhilaration took over, and she simply enjoyed it.
As they danced, she was only vaguely aware of him guiding them skillfully between other whirling couples. For the most part, the rest of the world receded, and there was only Dragan, joyous and untroubled, as she had longed to see him, set only on the fun of the dance and their quick, bantering conversation.
She barely knew what she said or what he did. Her other senses seemed to have taken over. She inhaled his distinctive scent of fresh male and faint herbs, relishing the strength of his arms and the clasp of his long fingers. The touch of his body, the way he moved, the smile in his eyes,