‘Were we? I do not usually…’ her husband began, but as his wife’s gloved hand gripped his arm he stopped. ‘But I suppose if you wish to…’
When they were gone a silence settled, neither comforting nor easy.
‘Emerald suits you,’ Hawkhurst said unexpectedly after a good amount of time, alluding to the colour of her gown. The edged gold in his eyes was brittle sharp.
‘My other dress needed some repair.’ She should not have uttered such a thing, of course, but the night in question simmered between them with every step and breath and she could no longer pretend that it had not happened. Besides, two weeks of thinking about what she might or might not say the next time they met had left her strained and tense.
‘I will send another gown to replace the one I ruined.’
‘No, you will not,’ she whispered tightly, glad for the covering of a mask. ‘I realise, of course, that things were left unsettled between us, my lord, last time we met. And that the letter I promised has not been sent—’
He stopped her with a movement of his hand.
‘Don’t write it. There is danger in anything on paper.’
Protection. For her. It was in his eyes as he looked about them. Always checking. The very knowledge made her move towards him, a shelter amidst turmoil, a refuge from everything that was strange. Here in the very heart of society was a lord who would guard her despite a self-given confession that named her guilty of covering up a crime. She felt the warmth of him against her sleeve in the small place where their arms touched and was glad of it. Just them against the world. What would it feel like if it were a forever thing?
‘Delsarte is here tonight.’
‘I know. He has not approached me, though.’
‘He is dangerous, Aurelia. Dangerous and cunning. You were seen in St Bartholomew’s Hospital in his company and that of a French doctor. Touillon, I think is the name.’
‘And the British Service knows this?’
‘Not yet. I thought to tell you first in the hope that you might offer an explanation.’
‘My father is sick, my lord. Doctor Touillon is an expert in the field of elderly mental health.’
‘So you visit him without taking the patient?’
For a moment Aurelia longed to tell him everything, to simply open up and tell him all of it here in a crowded room; tell him of her mother’s downfall and of Delsarte’s threats, tell him of the letters and her dread in delivering them under the cold hard ache of an impossible duty.
Sylvienne. Mama. There was nothing to do but protect her even if it meant sacrificing herself.
‘Papa finds travelling anywhere difficult.’ The lie was bare on her tongue, the taste of betrayal bitter. The anger in his eyes turned the gold a darker amber.
‘I can only protect you to a certain extent, Aurelia. If you cross too many lines, others will be involved…powerful others, too powerful even for me to stop the consequences that will follow.’
When she turned to him, any answer melted away as the promise of masculine sensuality scorched through her. Her whole body throbbed, the twist of delight leaving her momentarily breathless.
He was trying to protect her despite all the odds.
Laying her hand across his arm, she would have said more, but the music about them wound down into silence allowing a passage of people to push their way from the floor.
‘I told you that I don’t like to dance.’ Nathaniel Lindsay’s voice held irritation and when Aurelia turned she saw his wife rubbing gingerly at her left foot.
‘He won’t take lessons. That is the trouble. I have tried and tried to hire a teacher, but he refuses to even consider it.’
Hawkhurst was silent, standing back as Leonora and Rodney completed the group, her sister telling Rodney how she had enjoyed the waltz.
‘I was dancing on air, Lia, gliding on a cloud.’ Her gaze rested firmly on Northrup, the young man blushing in reply.
Endearing, Aurelia thought, the ardour inside him so honestly expressed. She could not in a million years imagine Hawkhurst showing that sort of embarrassment.
‘You went to dance lessons at Eton, Nat. Why did you not progress with them?’ Cassandra Lindsay’s blue eyes held a wicked twinkle as she addressed her husband, but he did not seem unduly worried by the criticism.
‘It wasn’t that difficult to feign ill health, and as Mrs Greene, one of the teacher’s wives who helped with the dancing, had a soft spot for Hawk and Luc and me she often allowed us to sit it out.’
So Hawkhurst had been schooled at Eton, too? Alongside Nathaniel Lindsay and Lucas Clairmont. She had seen the three of them standing at his ball and talking, the same air of menace and power pervading each of them.
‘Hawk was the one who made the most progress even with such little practice. You stood up with him, Mrs St Harlow. Did you float on air?’
Drawing apart instantly, Aurelia saw a look that went between the two men. A look she found hard to interpret because whilst she was certain that Nathaniel Lindsay was teasing her she was also as certain that Stephen Hawkhurst wished that he would not. She was glad Leonora, Rodney and Cassandra were speaking amongst themselves to one side, thus leaving the comment unnoticed.
‘Charles told me once that you enjoyed riding?’
‘It was a passing phase, my lord.’
‘He said that you had a knack that few others possessed. It seems a shame to place little time into such a skill. Now Hawk here has a whole stable full of beauties that I am certain he would be more than willing to share.’
Aurelia knew that the man was setting something up. She could see it in the careful observance that he made of her and in the shifting stance of Lord Hawkhurst, who looked as if he wanted to be anywhere but here.
‘My father was a fine horseman before he took to books with such fervour. Now, I tend to help him in the quieter pursuits. Do you read much, my lord?’
The change of subject was deliberate and she was glad when Lindsay took her up on the diversion.
‘Never. Hawk does, though. I had heard you met him in Hookham’s? Lady Allum brought it to my attention and she intimated your exchange was heated.’
Heated? Aurelia remembered the feel of his tongue on the back of her hand and was about to answer when Lord Hawkhurst suddenly took charge.
‘Could you leave us for a moment, Nat? I see George Staples languishing against a pillar beside the band. Go and talk to him?’
The smile on Lord Lindsay’s face was broad even with such rudeness, giving Aurelia the impression he had hoped for this outcome all along. ‘Be gentle with him, Mrs St Harlow. My friend does not realise yet that a man who plays with fire is liable to be burnt, and badly.’ She watched as he bowed and departed.
‘Take no notice of St Auburn. Nat is an inveterate snoop and will not rest until he knows the full story behind everything.’ He ushered her a little further down the room, to a place where the trees lay behind them and the crush was less noticeable.
‘And what is our full story, my lord?’ Alone, Aurelia felt braver, their history built up in layers one upon the other and all beginning with the kiss at Taylor’s Gap.
‘Our story?’ He turned the words so that each one of them was carefully pronounced, his eyes grave. ‘Our story is unfinished and ill concluded, any hint of what might have been between us buried beneath duty and lies.’
She stood