“Where are you going?” Violet asked.
“To find a drink.” This reply was made with considerable enthusiasm—indeed, Violet thought, the most enthusiasm Lord Willingham had yet displayed in her company.
And then he was gone, leaving Lord James staring openmouthed after him, his impassive facade shattered at last, seemingly rendered speechless with indignation.
“That bloody bastard,” he muttered, apparently forgetting that he was standing in the presence of a young lady whose innocence he had so lately been proclaiming. Violet, naturally, was delighted by his coarse language; it seemed like the type a villain in a scandalous novel might use and, furthermore, she’d been harboring hopes of hearing a man swear before her for years. She filed away this particular epithet for future consideration and use—out of earshot of her mother, of course.
For his part, Lord James seemed to belatedly recollect her presence. Despite his agitation, and the fact that he was clearly still somewhat distracted by Lord Willingham’s abrupt departure, his attention worked its curious magic upon her once more. She grasped for the words to describe the sensation and found herself lacking—the closest she could come was some vague sense that, when he looked at her, he saw her more clearly and fully than anyone ever had before.
It was unsettling. And irritating.
“I apologize,” he said stiffly, and Violet blinked, momentarily failing to realize that the apology was for his language, not the uncomfortable awareness she had experienced under his scrutiny. “That was quite rude of me.”
“Oh, please don’t,” Violet said carelessly. “Or, rather, don’t apologize for swearing. If you should like to apologize for implying that you find my company less than desirous, or for the fact that you spoke about me as if I wasn’t there, as though I were a recalcitrant child, then I should be quite eager to hear that.”
His eyes narrowed. “You’re quite bold, considering we’ve never even been properly introduced.”
“Nonsense. What do you call what Lord Willingham just did?”
“Wiggle his way out of a tight spot,” Lord James said darkly. He gave her an assessing look. “So you’re Lady Violet Grey, then. Penvale’s spoken of you.”
Violet gave him her most charming smile. “All good things, I expect?”
“He said he once caught you and his sister swimming in the lake in your chemises,” Lord James said shortly. His mouth quirked up, lessening the effect of his severely furrowed brow, and he added, “So I suppose it’s a matter of opinion. For example, I doubt your mother would consider that to be a good thing; to an eighteen-year-old lad, however, I must confess it was rather intriguing.”
“My lord, I do think it rather early in our acquaintance for you to be discussing my undergarments,” Violet said, grinning at him. A startled laugh escaped him before he seemed to realize it was happening, and it made her like him more.
“At what point would that be considered appropriate, then? I’m not entirely knowledgeable about the intricacies of etiquette.”
Was he . . . flirting with her?
“Certainly not until we’ve danced at least twice,” Violet said firmly. And was she flirting in return?
“I see,” he said, mock somberly.
“After all, I have very delicate sensibilities that you are at risk of offending,” she added, and was rewarded with a quick flash of a smile in the darkness. It quite transformed his face, for all that it was so fleeting. She felt, absurdly, in that moment that she would have done a great deal to receive another one of his smiles.
“I rather think you’re more at risk of offending mine, all things considered,” he replied dryly. At this mention of the circumstances under which Violet had been discovered, she felt herself blush. It was maddening.
“My lord,” she said stiffly, “I would ask you to please not mention—”
“You need not even ask,” he interrupted. “I wouldn’t.” He didn’t elaborate further, but she believed him instantly.
“I can’t imagine what you must think of me,” Violet said, giving a laugh that she hoped would pass for casual and worldly, as though she were frequently found embracing gentlemen on balconies at balls. Her heart pounded heavily in her chest, though, and she realized in a moment of clarity that she did, in fact, care what Lord James Audley thought of her, despite having made his acquaintance a mere five minutes earlier. It was rather vexing, considering that she prided herself—much to her mother’s dismay—on not giving a farthing for anyone’s opinion but her own.
She realized that somehow, without her noticing, he had moved closer. She found herself being forced to crane her neck upward at a sharper angle than she had moments before, and Lord James’s broad shoulders blocked out some of the light emanating from the ballroom behind them. They were standing entirely in the shadows now, and even had someone chanced to wander onto the balcony at that moment, the interloper would have been hard-pressed to see them in their current position. The thought made her feel curiously breathless.
“I think that you’re the most interesting young lady I’ve met so far this Season,” he responded, without a trace of mockery on his face or in his voice. Why was it that interesting seemed like the nicest thing that any gentleman had ever said to her? Why was interesting on his lips so vastly preferable to beautiful or charming or amusing, all compliments that had already been paid her this Season?
His eyes caught hers and held them, and her heart began to race even more quickly, until she felt certain that he must be able to hear it, too, so loudly did it pound in her ears. Was this normal? Should she summon a physician? In everything she’d ever read about courting, there had been no mention of a moonlit scene on a balcony concluding with a swoon due to some sort of malady of the heart.
“I’m certain my mother would be appalled if she heard you say that,” Violet managed, forcing a laugh, still not breaking their gaze. “She’s always worried that I’m too interesting for my own good.”
He smiled again, just a flash before it vanished, and Violet once more had the curious sensation that everything around them dimmed in comparison to the brightness of that smile. Even after it was gone, its presence somehow lingered, making the sharp-angled intensity of his face less severe, more welcoming. It was as though once she’d seen that smile on his face, she could never forget the impression it had left.
“Well, I think you’re just interesting enough for my own good.” He took a step forward and extended his hand.
“Lady Violet,” he said, “would you do me the honor of this dance?”
“Here?” Violet asked with a laugh. “On a balcony? Alone?” There was, after all, a perfectly good ballroom a few feet away—one to which he was supposed to be escorting her, in fact.
“I actually thought we would go back indoors,” he said, his mouth quirking up the slightest bit at the side. “But . . .” He hesitated, and Violet knew that he felt it, too, this pull between them. She didn’t want to return to a noisy, crowded ballroom and discuss the weather with him.
“You can still hear the music,” she said before she could convince herself not to, and it was true—she could catch strains of music filtering out through the French doors, spreading through the cool night air around them.