Chasing Cassandra
Across the room, the young golden-haired man was fiddling with his left cuff. It appeared to have come loose beneath his jacket sleeve, and he couldn’t fasten it. The cuff link was either broken or missing. She watched him discreetly, her attention diverted by his small dilemma.
On impulse, she decided to do something about it. “Ma’am,” she whispered to Lady Berwick, “I have to visit the necessary.”
“I will accompany you—” the older woman began, but paused at the approach of a pair of longtime friends. “Oh, here are Mrs. Hayes and Lady Falmouth.”
“I’ll be quick,” Cassandra assured her, and slipped away before Lady Berwick could reply.
She left through one of the open arches and went along a side hallway, before stealing back into the ballroom behind the screen of potted palms. Reaching into the concealed pocket of her dress, she took out a tiny wooden needle case. She’d carried it ever since a dance last year, when a nearsighted old gentleman had stepped on the hem of her skirts and torn a ruffle.
After extracting a safety pin, she screwed on the top of the needle case and returned it to her pocket. Drawing close behind the golden-haired bachelor, she said quietly, “Don’t turn around. Put your left hand behind your back.”
The man went very still.
Cassandra waited with great interest to see what he would do. A smile crossed her face as he obeyed slowly. Brushing aside a few palm fronds, she grasped the edges of the loose cuff and lined up the empty cuff link holes.
The man turned his head to the side to murmur, “What are you doing?”
“I’m pinning your cuff so it doesn’t flap around your wrist. Not that you deserve my help. Hold still.” Deftly she opened the safety pin and speared it through a pinch of fabric.
“Why do you say I don’t deserve help?” she heard him ask.
Cassandra replied in a dry tone. “It may have something to do with the way you and the other bachelors stand about preening. Why attend a ball if you’re not going to dance with anyone?”
“I was waiting to find someone worth asking.”
Annoyed, she informed him, “Every girl in this room is worth asking. You and the other young men weren’t invited to please yourselves, you’re here to serve as dance partners.”
“Will you?”
“Will I what?”
“Dance with me.”
Cassandra let out a nonplussed laugh. “With a man who thinks so highly of himself? No, thank you.” She closed the safety pin and tugged his coat sleeve down to conceal it.
“Who are you?” he asked. When she didn’t reply, he begged, “Please dance with me.”
She took a moment to consider it. “First, dance with some of those girls in the corner. Then you may ask me.”
“But they’re wallflowers.”
“It’s not nice to call them that.”
“But that’s what they are.”
“Very well,” Cassandra said briskly. “Good-bye.”
“No, wait.” A long pause. “How many of them must I dance with?”
“I’ll let you know when it’s been enough. Also, don’t be condescending when you ask them. Be charming, if at all possible.”
“I am charming,” he protested. “You have the wrong impression of me.”
“We’ll see.” Cassandra began to draw back, but he turned to catch her by the wrist.
He nudged a palm leaf to the side, his breath catching as they came face-to-face.
At this close distance, she saw that he was no older than she was. He had hazel eyes and a complexion as smooth as biscuit porcelain, except for a few speckles of recently healed acne on his forehead. The handsome face beneath the perfectly trimmed waves of blond hair was that of someone who had yet to experience hardship or loss. Someone with the assurance that all his mistakes would be smoothed over before he ever had to face the consequences.
“God,” he breathed. “You’re beautiful.”
Cassandra gave him a reproving glance. “Unhand me, please,” she said mildly.
He let go of her immediately. “I saw you across the room earlier—I was planning to introduce myself.”
“Thank goodness,” she said. “I was on tenterhooks, wondering if you would.”
As he heard the delicate note of sarcasm in her voice, a dumbfounded expression crossed his face. “Don’t you know who I am?”
It took all Cassandra’s force of will to hold back a laugh. “I’m afraid not. But everyone else here thinks you’re a man who talks to potted plants.” She turned and strode away.
As soon as she reached Lady Berwick’s side, she was promptly approached by Mr. Huntingdon, who had secured the next place on her dance card. Fixing a cheerful smile on her face, Cassandra accompanied him to the main floor. They danced to a Chopin waltz, and then she was claimed by the next gentleman on her dance card, and the next. She went from one pair of arms to another, laughing and flirting.
It was nothing short of grueling.
She was aware of Tom’s presence the entire time. And all the while, she was painfully aware that none of this was remotely comparable to that evening in the Clare winter garden, when Tom had waltzed her through shadows and moonlight as if on midnight wings. She’d never experienced that kind of ease, almost a rapture of movement, before or since. Her body still remembered the touch of his hands, so capable and gentle, guiding her without push or pull. So effortless.
She was trying so hard to feel something, anything, for any of these nice, eligible men. But she couldn’t.
It was all his fault.
When she finally reached a blank space on her dance card, Cassandra turned down further invitations, pleading temporary fatigue. She returned to Lady Berwick’s side for a moment’s respite. As she fanned her hot face and neck, she saw that her chaperone’s attention was focused on someone in the midst of the crowd.
“Who are you looking at, ma’am?” she asked.
“I’ve been observing Lord Lambert,” Lady Berwick replied. “One of the bachelors I complained about earlier.”
“Which one is he?”
“The fair-haired gentleman who just finished a waltz with shy little Miss Conran. I wonder what inspired him to ask her.”
“I can’t imagine.”
The older woman sent her a sardonic glance. “Could it be something you said to him while standing behind the palms?”
Cassandra’s eyes widened, and a guilty blush swept over her face.
Lady Berwick looked slightly smug. “I may be old, child, but I’m not blind. You went in the opposite direction of the privy.”
“I only offered to pin the loose cuff on his sleeve,” Cassandra explained hastily. “His cuff link was missing.”
“Far too bold,” her chaperone pronounced. One steel-colored brow arched. “What did you say to him?”
Cassandra related the conversation, and to her relief, Lady Berwick seemed amused rather than disapproving.
“He’s coming this way now,” the older woman said. “I will overlook your little fishing expedition, as it seems to have done the trick.”
Cassandra ducked her head to hide a grin. “It wasn’t a fishing expedition. I was merely curious about him,” she admitted.