She took a tiny sip of her champagne and soaked in the atmosphere. Across the room, she saw Ella in a heated conversation with Will and Vivi’s father, the Marquess of Langford. She smiled at the clear admiration on the men’s faces, realizing that the trio must be talking politics…and Ella was clearly holding her own.
A rumbling from her stomach interrupted her thoughts. Attempting to be subtle, Alex looked toward the ancient clock at the end of the room and wondered when dinner might begin.
“Hungry?”
A blush rose on her cheeks as she turned to meet Blackmoor’s amused gaze. “You caught me. I’m famished—but you mustn’t tell my mother. Ladies aren’t supposed to have physical needs. Or, at least, they’re not supposed to express them.”
“I see. Well, then, I shall endeavor to keep your mind off the one at hand.”
She gazed at him, taking notice of his handsome frame. He was wearing a stunning coat, a deep midnight blue so dark it was almost black. The crisp white of his shirt and cravat brought out the bronze of his skin and the blue-grey of his eyes—so serious and adult. But deep in his eyes, beneath his hardened exterior, she saw a hint of the same boy who’d been her savior her whole life. She let out a tiny sigh. Frankly, it was exhausting to argue with him—she rather missed him. The challenge of the season, combined with the demons she was sure he was fighting, had gotten the better of them both.
She was about to say something alluding to that when he spoke, his tone clear and earnest. “We seem to have started off this season on the wrong foot.”
She was flooded with relief that he shared her sentiments. “Exactly my thoughts, my lord.” Their gazes locked, clear green and rich grey, and Alex felt warmth rising in her cheeks at the honesty of the moment. Theirs was a friendship which—until recently—had never been strained, had never been complicated; it had always been filled with fun and humor and silliness. She still hadn’t a thorough grasp on how or why it seemed to be undergoing such an oddly emotional change. Did he understand?
“I am thrilled we are in accord. Shall we swear a truce?”
Clearly he was less concerned about their changing relationship than she was, and now certainly wasn’t the time to discuss it anyway. Falling back on the comfort of humor, Alex cocked her head, pretending to consider the proposition seriously. He laughed, attracting attention from the other guests, and whispered, “Minx.”
Alex rewarded him with a grin and all was forgiven—her rudeness to Penelope, his arrogance, their mutual distractions over the past several weeks. They shared a moment filled with silent pleasure, a moment lasting just long enough to once again raise the color on Alex’s cheeks.
The dinner chimes rang, interrupting their private moment, and Alex, despite years of training in the proper method of being escorted to dinner was suddenly lost…a stranger in her own home. She watched as those around them paired off—highest-ranking men with their highest-ranked female counterparts—and she felt panic begin to rise in her chest as she realized she had no idea where her place was in this moment. Who was to escort her into dinner?
Her father was escorting the Dowager Duchess of Lockwood into the dining hall; he was followed by her mother, escorted by the Duke of Sunderland. She watched as Vivi and Ella both took the arms of their escorts—no help there, as the gentlemen in question were Will and Nick. She couldn’t be accompanied to dinner by Kit—he was her brother. It was like watching an elaborate dance to which she had forgotten the steps—she knew she should have given more attention to her governess’s droning.
Her mother was going to have her hide. Perhaps she could beg off and cry headache—that would solve the whole problem.
Lost in her own mental hysterics, Alex had forgotten Blackmoor, standing at her side. Turning, she saw his calm smile—he was clearly amused by her panic. He waited for her to realize what he’d known all along…that he, as an unrelated earl, was a perfectly proper escort for the daughter of a duke.
With a sigh of relief, she took the arm he offered, whispering, “That was cruel. I thought you declared a truce?”
As they made their way to dinner, he replied, “On the contrary. I offered a truce. You did not accept.”
“Mere words, sir.”
“That may be. But this is London in season—words are paramount.”
She chuckled. “Either way, I must thank you—you seem to be ever saving me from getting myself into trouble.”
With an exaggerated sigh, he replied, “It’s a task I resigned myself to long ago, Alex.”
She couldn’t help but think of the first time he’d saved her. “Lucky for you, you don’t have to catch me jumping from trees anymore. I daresay your more recent missions have been rather more easy.”
“I wouldn’t be so certain,” he spoke enigmatically.
She didn’t have a chance to ask him what he meant, because they had arrived in the dining hall and were immediately swept up in the energy of the conversation and the extraordinary food.
Alex found herself seated at the far end of the table, to the left of the Marquess of Langford, sure to be a fascinating dinner companion. It didn’t hurt that he was the father of one of her closest friends, which served to put her at ease. She sent a silent offering of thanks to her mother for the seating arrangement. On her left was Mr. Sinew, whom she almost immediately decided she liked—the newspaper publisher was clearly intelligent and unpretentious, a welcome change to most members of the ton.
A rumbling from her stomach interrupted her thoughts. Attempting to be subtle, Alex looked toward the ancient clock at the end of the room and wondered when dinner might begin.
“Hungry?”
A blush rose on her cheeks as she turned to meet Blackmoor’s amused gaze. “You caught me. I’m famished—but you mustn’t tell my mother. Ladies aren’t supposed to have physical needs. Or, at least, they’re not supposed to express them.”
“I see. Well, then, I shall endeavor to keep your mind off the one at hand.”
She gazed at him, taking notice of his handsome frame. He was wearing a stunning coat, a deep midnight blue so dark it was almost black. The crisp white of his shirt and cravat brought out the bronze of his skin and the blue-grey of his eyes—so serious and adult. But deep in his eyes, beneath his hardened exterior, she saw a hint of the same boy who’d been her savior her whole life. She let out a tiny sigh. Frankly, it was exhausting to argue with him—she rather missed him. The challenge of the season, combined with the demons she was sure he was fighting, had gotten the better of them both.
She was about to say something alluding to that when he spoke, his tone clear and earnest. “We seem to have started off this season on the wrong foot.”
She was flooded with relief that he shared her sentiments. “Exactly my thoughts, my lord.” Their gazes locked, clear green and rich grey, and Alex felt warmth rising in her cheeks at the honesty of the moment. Theirs was a friendship which—until recently—had never been strained, had never been complicated; it had always been filled with fun and humor and silliness. She still hadn’t a thorough grasp on how or why it seemed to be undergoing such an oddly emotional change. Did he understand?
“I am thrilled we are in accord. Shall we swear a truce?”
Clearly he was less concerned about their changing relationship than she was, and now certainly wasn’t the time to discuss it anyway. Falling back on the comfort of humor, Alex cocked her head, pretending to consider the proposition seriously. He laughed, attracting attention from the other guests, and whispered, “Minx.”
Alex rewarded him with a grin and all was forgiven—her rudeness to Penelope, his arrogance, their mutual distractions over the past several weeks. They shared a moment filled with silent pleasure, a moment lasting just long enough to once again raise the color on Alex’s cheeks.
The dinner chimes rang, interrupting their private moment, and Alex, despite years of training in the proper method of being escorted to dinner was suddenly lost…a stranger in her own home. She watched as those around them paired off—highest-ranking men with their highest-ranked female counterparts—and she felt panic begin to rise in her chest as she realized she had no idea where her place was in this moment. Who was to escort her into dinner?
Her father was escorting the Dowager Duchess of Lockwood into the dining hall; he was followed by her mother, escorted by the Duke of Sunderland. She watched as Vivi and Ella both took the arms of their escorts—no help there, as the gentlemen in question were Will and Nick. She couldn’t be accompanied to dinner by Kit—he was her brother. It was like watching an elaborate dance to which she had forgotten the steps—she knew she should have given more attention to her governess’s droning.
Her mother was going to have her hide. Perhaps she could beg off and cry headache—that would solve the whole problem.
Lost in her own mental hysterics, Alex had forgotten Blackmoor, standing at her side. Turning, she saw his calm smile—he was clearly amused by her panic. He waited for her to realize what he’d known all along…that he, as an unrelated earl, was a perfectly proper escort for the daughter of a duke.
With a sigh of relief, she took the arm he offered, whispering, “That was cruel. I thought you declared a truce?”
As they made their way to dinner, he replied, “On the contrary. I offered a truce. You did not accept.”
“Mere words, sir.”
“That may be. But this is London in season—words are paramount.”
She chuckled. “Either way, I must thank you—you seem to be ever saving me from getting myself into trouble.”
With an exaggerated sigh, he replied, “It’s a task I resigned myself to long ago, Alex.”
She couldn’t help but think of the first time he’d saved her. “Lucky for you, you don’t have to catch me jumping from trees anymore. I daresay your more recent missions have been rather more easy.”
“I wouldn’t be so certain,” he spoke enigmatically.
She didn’t have a chance to ask him what he meant, because they had arrived in the dining hall and were immediately swept up in the energy of the conversation and the extraordinary food.
Alex found herself seated at the far end of the table, to the left of the Marquess of Langford, sure to be a fascinating dinner companion. It didn’t hurt that he was the father of one of her closest friends, which served to put her at ease. She sent a silent offering of thanks to her mother for the seating arrangement. On her left was Mr. Sinew, whom she almost immediately decided she liked—the newspaper publisher was clearly intelligent and unpretentious, a welcome change to most members of the ton.
