Her lips curved into a kind, warm smile. Her eyes, on the other hand, kept searching his face for something more. Something that suggested deeper emotion was a possibility. He felt much the same way. But after the briefest of pauses, he inwardly sighed. And Eloisa took a small step backward.
He wished this was easier. He would love nothing better than to find his perfect match and be done with it. Then he could go about his life. But so far, the only woman who had stirred anything resembling longing or desire was a maid in the Sloane household. He imagined much of her attraction had less to do with her blue eyes and mahogany hair and more to do with the mystery surrounding her.
Perhaps.
“Miss Carstairs, would you do me the honor of saving a dance for me this evening?”
“Of course, Mr. Armstrong. I always enjoy dancing with friends.” She smiled at his grin, both of them signaling that they understood where the other stood. Then her eyes widened as she glanced just beyond his shoulder. Her chin lifted and her whole posture became more contained.
“Veronica.”
“Hello, Eloisa.” Veronica inclined her head regally, as if she was the one with the higher social status, when in fact most in the room would consider them equals. “I couldn’t help but admire your gown. Dear.”
“You are too kind.” Eloisa’s smile turned brittle as she fingered the pale gold gown. It was extremely flattering, and even Reid’s untrained eye knew it had to have cost a small fortune. She turned to him. “Mr. Armstrong, please excuse me. I just remembered that I had told my mother I would check in with her at this time.”
“Of course. May I escort you?”
“Thank you, but no. I will be perfectly fine.” Eloisa turned away without a backward glance.
“Now we may breathe easier.” Veronica chuckled as she closed the gap between them. As she watched Eloisa melt into the glittering crowd, she murmured, “I do hope you appreciated my timing.”
“Timing?”
“Well, I looked over here and saw the two of you standing still and straight. Like wooden soldiers.” She pressed a smooth palm on his black evening coat. “I had no choice but to try to rescue you from what had to be an uncomfortable conversation.”
“I had no idea that you harbored such concerns over my happiness.”
Her eyelids lowered. “You would be surprised, I think.”
Reid looked at her a little more closely. As always, she was exquisitely attired. Though some would, perhaps, cast doubts about her beauty or her habit of looking a bit too cynical, no one would ever make the mistake to presume that she wasn’t always dressed in the first tiers of fashion.
“You look as lovely as ever, Veronica. I do like that color blue on you. What is it? Indigo?”
“Sapphire.” She shrugged. “I never was one to choose to fade into the woodwork.”
“It isn’t merely the blue of your gown that makes you stand out, Veronica.”
Her lips parted before slowly smiling.
Beyond them, couples were dancing in the ballroom. The eight-piece orchestra’s beautiful strains of a waltz by Strauss created an otherworldly effect. As Reid looked at the crowd, scanning the participants for familiar faces, he noticed Veronica’s eyes flicker with a trace of longing. That look gave him pause, and for the first time, raised his impression of her. “Would you do me the honor of this dance?”
Pleasure, quickly masked with brittle hauteur, filled her expression. “I didn’t know you danced, Reid.”
“I have learned all the necessary steps. And I do promise I’ll do my best not to step on any toes.”
She held out one hand. “I could never refuse an offer like that.”
He guided her through the throng of gentlemen and ladies, standing stoically as Veronica stopped often to say hello to acquaintances. Then he carefully wrapped one hand along her small waist, held her hand with his left, and guided her into the masses.
When he looked down on her face, he realized that he’d never been so close to her—not like this. And that she smelled like jasmine and fresh gardenias, a tantalizing combination.
Her gray eyes, for once, didn’t have the cold, calculating edge that usually rested in their depths. Her full lips held a small smile.
She looked, for lack of a better word, sweet.
“Mr. Armstrong, you dance divinely. You’d best look out, you know.”
“And why is that?”
“Because the other ladies present are sure to notice what they’ve been missing and will be batting their eyes shamelessly at you now.”
“I’ll try to prepare myself to be mobbed.”
She laughed. The sound was gay and sweet—again, so different from her usual brittle demeanor. He curved his hand a little more securely around her waist. She allowed him to ease her a few inches closer.