Page 135 of Stolen By the Heartless Duke

Jane gave her an amused look. “Is that your evening’s mission?”

“It is yours.”

Jane groaned. “Lavinia…”

Together they joined a small circle of ladies and gentlemen discussing the latest exhibition at Somerset House.

A viscount Jane vaguely recognized greeted her politely. Another gentleman complimented the music. A third asked whether Lady Wynten intended to remain in London through the Season.

The conversations were pleasant. Nothing remarkable. Yet Jane noticed something she had not expected. The gentlemen listened. They asked questions. One even laughed openly at one of her remarks.

Nearly half an hour passed before Lavinia leaned closer. “I believe you’re making progress.”

Jane followed her gaze. Several gentlemen stood watching their conversation from across the room. Jane smiled despite herself. Then someone else caught her attention across the ballroom, standing near one of the towering marble columns.

Hector.

He stood among a circle of gentlemen, impeccably dressed in black evening clothes that only emphasized his height. Even from this distance, his presence dominated the room.

As though sensing her gaze, he looked up. Their eyes met. Jane forgot every conversation around her. The ballroom seemed to fade.

She had not seen him since they returned from the countryside. Yet one look reminded her far too easily of stolen kisses beside a cottage fire.

Heat climbed slowly into her cheeks. He inclined his head politely. Nothing more. Still, her pulse betrayed her.

Lavinia followed her gaze. “Oh.”

Jane looked away too quickly. “What?”

“The duke.”

Jane forced herself to pick up a glass of lemonade from a passing servant. “What of him?”

“He appears to have noticed you.”

“He notices everyone.”

When Jane refused to elaborate, Lavinia wisely changed the subject, drawing the surrounding gentlemen into a lively debate about music and Italian opera. Jane answered where appropriate. She even laughed once or twice.

Yet, every so often, she became aware of Hector across the room, as though some invisible thread connected them no matter how many people stood between them.

The musicians finished one dance. Applause filled the ballroom. Without pause, they began another. Gentlemen stepped toward waiting ladies. Partners formed across the polished floor.

Jane had barely set down her empty glass when movement in front of her drew her attention. She looked up. Hector stood only a few feet away.

He bowed with perfect courtesy. “Lady Jane.”

Jane met the duke’s gaze. “Your Grace.”

His expression remained composed. “I wonder if you would honor me with this dance.”

For the briefest moment, the ballroom disappeared once again. Only the two of them remained. Hector’s gloved hand settled lightly around Jane’s waist as they took their places on the dance floor.

The orchestra swelled into another waltz, and around them the ballroom dissolved into graceful movement. Silk skirts swept across polished floors while chandeliers cast warm pools of light over the dancers.

Jane should have been concentrating on the steps. Instead, she was painfully aware of the warmth of Hector’s hand resting against hers.

It had been days since she had seen him. She had imagined this meeting many times. None of those imaginings had prepared her for how calmly he looked at her now. He guided her effortlessly through the first turn.