Page 134 of How to Lose a Lord in Ten Days

‘Two dances, consecutively?’

Ashford had never, to her knowledge, ever danced with a lady twice in one evening. He tried to raise his eyebrows in his usual sardonic manner – but the breathless grin on his face rather undercut the effect.

‘It is a masquerade,’ she reminded him. ‘Your usual rules need not apply, surely?’

‘I suppose not,’ he said, and they stood still as the couples changed all around them, catching their breath after the exertions of the dance, though when the music began again, Lydia’s heart began immediately to quicken anew. For it was the waltz …

Ashford moved slowly towards her, encircling her waist with one arm, taking her hand with his other. The last time they had danced so, Lydia had made a game out of how many times she could stamp upon his toes. She could not believe that had only been a few days earlier. Everything was so different, now.

‘Are my feet to be safe tonight?’ Ashford murmured in her ear, thoughts clearly following the same direction.

‘I think so,’ she said, after a pause – for the sensation of his breath tickling her neck had distracted her for a moment – ‘though I would not like to promise anything.’

‘Ominous.’

They began turning with their fellow couples. Lady Morton had joined the set, embraced by a distinguished older gentleman, and so too had Lady Phoebe, impossibly cheerful as she twirled about in the arms of Mr Brandon. Not for the first time that evening, Lydia was stunned by her resilience.

‘She would have done it, wouldn’t she?’ Lydia marvelled. ‘Left everything she has ever known to be free.’

She did not see Ashford nod, but she felt the movement of it, against her curls. ‘It makes one feel rather cowardly in comparison.’

She leant back a little, to better look at him. His expression was reflective. ‘Does it?’

‘For so long I have thought of dutifulness as strength, but tonight … If I were in Phoebe’s shoes, I could not have done it. I am too bound by rules, by custom.’

‘You need not be, if you do not wish it,’ she said fiercely. ‘It is not too late.’

‘Is it not?’ he said. ‘I do not know what I would be, without it. What would be left?’

‘Oh, balderdash!’

‘Forgive me,’ Ashford said. ‘I was trying to convey my feelings, but I should have known that you—’

‘There is so much more to you than some antiquarian title,’ she interrupted, indignant on his behalf. ‘It could be the least interesting thing about you, if you would only step out of your own way.’

‘You think so, do you?’

‘You have a sharp tongue,’ she said, ‘and a temper which you hide. But you are kinder than you let on, too. You exercise so much caution, to be thought well of by Society, but when the moment came you did the right thing. Even though, strictly, it was “wrong”.’

He drew them to a stop, as the music wound to a close.

‘You think so?’ he said, again, in a very different voice.

‘I know so,’ she said. ‘I know you,’ she added, more softly, as the violins played their final aching note.

Suddenly, in that moment it seemed the most natural thing in the world to take another step forward and turn her face towards him, and he appeared to agree for he was stepping forward too, his hands coming up to touch her face and—

The sound of applause had him leaping back from her, as if burnt. Lydia jumped too.

‘My God,’ he said. ‘My apologies. Forgot where we were – good God, we almost …’

‘D-do not apologize,’ she stammered. ‘We were not thinking. I-it happens.’

Ashford gave a minute shake of his head. ‘Not to me.’

He looked unnerved by the lapse in control.

‘Well, it is as I told you: not thinking suits you. You ought to try it more.’