"Nothing else?"
"No. Why?" he said crassly, not taking the hint.
She contrasted his stark response with Mr. Joyce's warm words of regard. How very odd. Fitzsimmons had professed to be her lover, but it had been the other man's conversation which had been so romantic.
Yet Will had spoken of Parks as if it were evident they were made for each other. Had it been Parks in the cave, and he had told….
She came to an abrupt halt. Fitzsimmons tripped and cursed profoundly.
"I'm so sorry."
"No, my fault," he gritted out. "I am sorry. My language. I forgot myself."
"Are you in much pain?"
"It is nothing. A twinge in my ankle, no more," he said, leading her from the dance floor and into the room set aside for refreshments.
He kept hold of her arm, and sent the servant out for more ice. Elizabeth opened her mouth to protest at being alone with him, when she found herself being kissed.
It was a firm kiss, possessive. She forced herself to stand still, waiting for the thunderclap of sensation which she hoped would come.
She remained passive for a few moments until he released her. Two cloaked men came in shortly thereafter, leading two women whom she guessed to be Fitzsimmons' sisters. She noted one man had a pinned sleeve and long black hair, and the other was of moderate height with sandy hair.
She was glad to see Mitchell and Monroe, and told Fitzsimmons to stay and talk, so he could note down their names next to their numbers.
Elizabeth hurried away, eager to be alone with her swirling thoughts. She had been so longing to be kissed again, yet now that it had happened, why did she feel as though she had been doused with ice water?
Chapter Sixteen
Elizabeth made her escape from Fitzsimmons, but there was little chance to be alone at a ball. She was swept up in turn by Clifford, Stewart and finally Parks before the musician's rest interval.
By the time he claimed his dance, she felt more calm and self-assured. "Enjoying yourself?" she asked.
"Very much. You?"
"I have to thank you for all your help in arranging such a wonderful evening. You have been most kind."
He smiled. "I was only too glad to help. You too have been most kind to a lonely old soldier. But I fear that my orders shall take me away from Ardmore soon. I have cooled my heels here long enough with nothing substantial to show for it."
"What could you show for it?" she asked in surprise. "The war is over, after all."
"Nothing, of course," Parks said quickly. "I simply meant that I have been appallingly lazy, and ought to at least force myself to read more improving books, go home to my parents' and help with their estate, that sort of thing. But it's been a pleasure to know you. I hope we shall always be friends, even once you're married."
She frowned. This sounded suspiciously like a goodbye to her. Married? "I don't understand. Why would you say I was getting married?"
He laughed. "A lovely woman like you, intelligent, beautiful. Who wouldn't want to marry you?"
She waited, but he said nothing else. "I notice you didn't include rich and titled in your list," she said pertly.
He tisked and shook his head. "You are your own treasure, my dear. All else is dross. I am sure someone more famous and witty than me first said that. We shall have to ask Will which poet."
He bowed to her, and keeping hold of her hand, went in search of his friend.
Fitzsimmons saw red as Parks tried to conduct her from the dance floor. He decided the kid gloves had to come off before one of the other young bucks pipped him at the post. "My dance, I believe."
She started to protest, "Oh, but I'm—"
Parks bowed curtly. "But of course. Later, my dear." He bowed over her hand and departed.
They danced silently for several moments in the quadrille as they executed the Le Pantalon figure, the Chaîne Anglaise, Balance, Un Tour de Deux Mains and La Chaîne des Dames.
By the time they got to La Demi-Queue du Chat, he murmured to her, "I can't remain silent any longer. I cannot stop thinking of all we have shared ever since we met. I would love to get you alone again and-"
"Please sir, not here! Someone might hear you!" she gasped, moving to the right in the set.
He did not pass through, but kept hold of her hand and said quickly, "It matters not. I have tried to keep my feelings in check, but to no avail."
She stepped out of the set, pretending to have a loose slipper lace, and made a show of hobbling to the French windows and out onto the terrace.
Then she turned back in the door at the far end of the house, the small room being used by the men as a cloakroom and place to take their ease.