She leaned towards him and a mischievous sparkle lit her eyes. ‘Then it would be our secret?’
He liked the idea of sharing something only with her. It felt...intimate. ‘Yes. It would be our secret.’
This was an ideal solution to his problem. It would be easier for him to proceed with marrying Lady Mary if thoughts of Miss Vandenberg weren’t floating through his head all the time. He’d wager that familiarity would lead to boredom. The more time he spent with her, the more quickly he would realise she was not that remarkable. It made perfect sense.
There was just one more thing that would make this arrangement perfect. ‘And when we are alone together you can call me Julian.’
She eyed him sideways and he thought she was going to refuse, until another mischievous smile crossed her lips. ‘Very well, Julian. Then you must call me Katrina.’
He knew in his bones that from this moment on she would always be Katrina to him.
Her body appeared to dance with excitement as she shifted in her seat. ‘Do you promise not to tell a soul?’ she asked.
They grinned at each other like two children conspiring to steal all the Christmas treats.
‘I promise. And you? You must also promise not to share this with anyone.’
‘My lips are sealed,’ she said through a smile. ‘Fortunately for you I have a strong desire to know how this story ends.’
Three nights later, Katrina noticed two things about the Whitfields’ impressive entrance hall. The first was that her drawing room could easily fit inside it. The second was that the large black and white marble floor resembled one large chessboard, which was appropriate since the happenings of the ton always appeared to be a strategic game.
She had not seen Julian since he had called on her and proposed their secret pact. It felt like weeks, although she knew it had only been days. He’d said he would call again when he was not busy with his affairs at Westminster. She did not want to interfere with his duties, but if this continued it would take them over a month to finish reading the book.
Sarah tapped her wrist. ‘Do not look to your left,’ she whispered into Katrina’s ear. ‘Lyonsdale is standing by the staircase and has eyed you very intently from your slippers to your hair. You cannot tell me that man does not have an interest in you.’
Katrina’s heartbeat quickened and she had an urge to adjust her hair. Reliving his kiss, she refused look at him, certain she would blush. Surely Sarah would be able to tell they were now more than passing acquaintances.
‘Sarah, you have to stop. Someone might overhear you.’
‘But do you not want to know that his eyes are still on you?’ Sarah looked at Katrina with a wrinkled brow. ‘Why will you not even acknowledge him?’
At this moment she couldn’t acknowledge him. If she did, everyone around her would know they shared a secret. It would be impossible to hide it in her expression.
Katrina was saved from responding by the appearance of Madame de Lieven, who glided up to them on the arm of Mr Armstrong. It was the first time she could recall being happy to see the woman.
‘Miss Vandenberg, Miss Forrester—how lovely to see both of you again. You remember Mr Armstrong?’
Katrina recalled the hawk-like features of the youngest son of Lord Greely. ‘Of course. How do you do, Mr Armstrong?’
‘Quite well. I had the opportunity to speak with Wellington at length earlier.’ His chest was puffed out a bit more than usual. ‘I am acquainted with him, don’t you know?’
Katrina watched him raise his quizzing glass and observe the room. When his quizzer rested on her, Katrina raised her chin until he lowered the glass.
‘Pray tell, Miss Vandenberg, have you found the time to explore Town yet? I am certain it’s like no place you have imagined,’ he said.
‘I find London most diverting,’ she replied politely.
His lips rose in a superior smile. ‘I notice you were extended vouchers to attend Almack’s. You dance very well for an American.’
How exactly should one respond to a comment like that? She was never certain. Glancing to her right, she noticed Sarah’s attention was on her slippers, her pursed lips giving away her amusement.
‘I understand you know how to waltz?’ Mr Armstrong continued.
Oh, no. No. No. No. Why couldn’t she have talked with him later in the evening, when her waltzes might have all been claimed?
‘I do,’ Katrina replied slowly, glancing at Madame de Lieven. She caught the knowing glint in the woman’s eye.
‘I believe that’s the beginning of one now. If this dance isn’t claimed, would you do me the honour of dancing with me, Miss Vandenberg?’ He held his arm out to her.
She wanted to flee. If she waltzed with him she would have to spend time with him for longer than any human being should be required to be in his company. However, if she declined his invitation she would be forced to sit out every dance. That would lead to a very dull evening.
She had no choice but to take his arm. If only he were Julian.
* * *
Julian stood near the threshold of the ballroom and watched Lord Greely’s whelp escort Katrina onto the dance floor. Even in the low light coming from the chandeliers above he had no difficulty tracing her graceful form as she moved through the waltz. She was a vision in white organza and blue silk. He could watch her all night...
‘I would not wait too long to pursue her. She will be taken if you do,’ Hart commented casually.
Julian took a sip of what he was certain was watered-down Madeira and wished he had borrowed his grandmother’s flask. ‘I don’t need your advice.’
‘Apparently Armstrong has no objection to the lady’s nationality. Maybe he likes leprechauns...or would the children be wee beasties? I cannot recall.’
‘What do you suppose he is up to?’ Julian wondered out loud as he narrowed his gaze.
‘Isn’t it obvious? The man appreciates a pretty face and a lithe form. He might even enjoy dancing.’
‘I’ve never trusted him,’ Julian said, eyeing the couple over the rim of his glass.
‘Really? You don’t trust him with all things or with your Miss V?’
‘She isn’t mine, and I have never trusted him about anything. He is a sycophant and always has been.’
‘You are aware there is a bet placed in White’s about the two of you.’
‘Me and Armstrong?’
‘No, you dolt. You and Miss V.’
Julian’s heart began to pound. He had only called on her that one time, and he had taken pains to walk to her house in the pouring rain with a rather large umbrella. How could someone know of their secret arrangement?
‘How was I not aware of this?’
Hart shrugged. ‘Do you really care? There are plenty of bets placed about me. I pay them no heed.’
A tic formed in Julian’s jaw. ‘What does it say?’
‘The bet is on how long it will take for you to enter into a liaison with her.’
Julian had a sudden need to crush something—or someone. He consciously relaxed his hold on his glass. At least