Chapter 152

"Ladies, if you would excuse me," he said. "I believe I am due a dance with my fiancée."

Margaret and Beatrix immediately flashed matching smiles.

"Of course, Your Grace."

"Certainly."

Draven offered Cassandra his hand, and she placed hers in it.

The warmth of his fingers around hers seemed strangely comforting as he led her toward the other dance partners.

The music carried them into the first steps of the quadrille.

She felt light, almost like she were walking on clouds.

The figures carried them apart and brought them together again, partners changing positions in graceful patterns. Cassandra followed the movements as best she could, allowing the music to guide her rather than concentrating too fiercely on every step. It was something of a wonder that she managed to remain coordinated at all.

She smiled when she turned and found Draven waiting for her. It was a smile so bright and infectious that he found himself smiling in response.

"You seem to be enjoying yourself," Draven murmured when she came close enough.

"Aren’t you observant," she replied cheekily.

He knew she meant nothing by it. It was harmless banter, the sort they had exchanged countless times before. Yet something about it felt different tonight. There was a dangerous quality to their exchange, as though they were both carefully circling something neither of them dared acknowledge.

"I am. Especially when it’s something that interests me."

"And do I interest you?" Her eyes bored into his.

Draven swallowed. He could not look away from her even if he tried.

"Yes. Very much," he said honestly. "I find you very fascinating."

She did not respond. He knew immediately that he had stunned her.

They danced that way for the rest of the quadrille, repeatedly crossing paths as the figures carried them apart before bringing them together again. Each time they met, their gazes lingered on each other.

Naturally, people noticed. It was hardly as though either of them had made any effort to conceal how much they were enjoying each other’s company.

A gentleman standing at the edge of the dance floor leaned toward another.

"I have never seen His Grace smile so much."

His companion followed his gaze.

"Lady Cassandra seems to have that effect upon him."

Neither Draven nor Cassandra heard them.

The final steps brought the dancers together, and the music came to an end.

Cassandra heaved a breath, laughing softly.

The dance left her warmer and more breathless. When she tried to step away, a sudden wave of dizziness washed over her.

She reached instinctively for Draven’s hand, but he caught her before she could lose her balance.

His arm came around her waist, steadying her without drawing attention to what had happened.

"Are you all right?" he whispered. His face came into view, and his eyes were filled with worry.

"I am fine," she replied him, offering a reassuring smile, but it did little to ease his worry.

Draven studied her face.

The flush in her cheeks could easily have come from the dance. The ballroom was warm, and the exertion left her breathing more quickly. Yet there was something else.

Her eyes were glassy and slightly unfocused.

"Have you been drinking?" he asked, still in a gentle whisper.

Her response was a single nod.

"How much have you had to drink?"

Cassandra considered the question seriously.

"Three glasses of wine."

His brows rose. "Three?"

She nodded again, blinking owlishly at him.

Draven glanced around them and then back at her.

"I never realized wine had such an effect on you."

"It doesn’t." The answer came with complete confidence. Then Cassandra reconsidered. "Usually. I drank them quickly, that’s all."

After scanning their surroundings for the second time, he gently started guiding her farther away from the dance floor.

"Are you accustomed to drinking?" he asked.

"Yes. I simply do not make a habit of it."

"Then why three glasses?"

Cassandra glanced past him toward Margaret, who was still engaged in conversation with Beatrix. "It made speaking with her somewhat more bearable."

Draven followed her gaze, and understanding dawned.

"In that case," he said, "I cannot entirely blame you."

Cassandra was initially unsteady on her feet, and Draven had no desire to jostle her through the crowded ballroom while she was like this. He kept a gentle hand on her arm, matching his pace to hers and keeping a watchful eye on her steps to make certain she did not stumble. Whenever she swayed even slightly, his hand tightened instinctively around her arm.

She leaned closer to him as they walked.

"In her words," she began, "a wife is not supposed to have any hobbies apart from her husband. I suppose once we are wed, I must say goodbye to everything I love. You can become the sole focus of my life. The very thing around which my entire existence orbits."

The idea was so ridiculous, it was not even worth mentioning a second time.

Draven pulled a face.

If Cassandra had to put his expression into words, she would have described it as a mixture of incredulity and disgust.

She brightened, pleased that he seemed to share her exasperation.

"Exactly," she said. "Apparently that is how it works."

They continued through the crowd, moving slowly enough that Cassandra could keep her balance without attracting too much attention.

"I hate that woman," Cassandra admitted. "I hate her. No wonder she gets along so well with my mother. They are perfectly suited to one another."

Just then, Cassandra seemed to remember something. "Oh. I invited her to the wedding." She shook her head at herself. "I practically invited all and sundry."

She was rambling now, but she did not care. Give her enough alcohol, and she would not stop talking.

They were passing a group of ladies, and Cassandra completely forgot that they were supposed to be speaking in low tones.

"I even invited that conniving she-devil, Hester Cavendish."

A sharp, offended squawk came from the group behind them. Hester Cavendish stood among several ladies, close enough to have overheard Cassandra.

"How dare you?" Hester had spotted her, and she looked livid. She glared at Cassandra with such fury that a vein throbbed visibly in her forehead.

Cassandra’s eyes widened as she recognized her error.

"Oh." She covered her mouth to stifle her giggles, but a peal of laughter escaped anyway.

Draven looked exasperated. He did not know what to do with her.

Time with her was all he asked for, and now that he finally had her attention, she was inebriated, insulting women within earshot and giggling when caught.

What an absurd situation he found himself in.

"Pardon us," Draven said, hoping to smooth over any ruffled feathers. "She did not mean any of that."

"Yes, I did," Cassandra chimed in unhelpfully, making his efforts at diplomacy entirely pointless. "Otherwise, I would not have said it. Lady Cavendish is quite possibly the most ill-natured, ill-bred woman I have ever had the misfortune of meeting. But despite everything, she is still invited to the wedding."

Draven bit his lip to keep from laughing and escalating the issue.

"Pardon us once again," he said before making a hasty exit with Cassandra.

They reached the far side of the ballroom, but Draven reconsidered his initial plans.

There was little point in taking her merely to another corner of the ballroom. The room was crowded, warm and stuffy, and it was doing little to improve Cassandra’s current state. What she needed was fresh air.

"Come." He changed direction, taking her along with him.

"Where are we going?"

"Outside."

The garden offered more air and considerably more peace. Hopefully, there would be far fewer people there for his wife to offend.

Draven led her through the large doors and paused to survey the grounds.

Several people had already escaped the ballroom. A handful of gentlemen stood in small groups, some smoking, others conversing quietly. A few couples wandered along the winding paths.

There were quieter portions of the garden farther from the house.

Draven guided Cassandra toward one of them. With every step, the noise of the ballroom faded behind them, replaced by the soft rustle of leaves and the distant sounds of the night.

A pond glowed beneath the moonlight, its dark surface broken by pale floating lilies. Flowers bordered the water, their fragrance faint in the cool night air. A stone bench stood a short distance from the pond, partly sheltered by the surrounding foliage.

Draven brought Cassandra toward it and helped her sit.

"Stay here for a while." Draven sat beside her.

He glanced at her flushed face and the smile she still seemed unable to suppress.