thought she never would made her feel funny inside. Her rapidly beating heart rose from her stomach to her throat. She couldn’t breathe anymore but at least she was no longer queasy.
When he’d come by the house, she’d begun to hope his apparent interest was genuine. Surely that would only continue now that her circumstances had changed.
Wouldn’t it?
Anthony wasn’t sure why he had arrived so ridiculously early to Lady Hofferham’s ball. Griffith’s vague note ensuring his attendance had intrigued him, but he doubted the mystery would provide enough distraction from his disappointment over Miranda’s early-morning note telling him Amelia wouldn’t be coming.
He murmured the appropriate pleasantries to his dance partner as he handed her to her mother. She was nice enough, but so were many of the other dozens of women he’s danced with of late.
Perhaps he should return to the country and try again next year. His obsession with the absent Amelia kept him from considering any other candidates. It was insupportable. He had been in her company a scant number of times. Surely it had not been enough to warrant this incessant comparison of every other woman to her.
Miranda and Trent accosted him as he walked away from the young woman whose name he had already forgotten. The beauty of Miranda’s wide smile took him by surprise. Wasn’t she supposed to be nearly as disappointed as he was?
Lady Helena Bell was working her way across the ballroom toward him. There was another problem he could do without. She’d been following him since his first public appearance in London. Miranda told him she was bribing people to tell her where he went each evening so that she could show up as well. Her intentions were embarrassingly obvious, but he wanted no part of them. Why wouldn’t the lady simply go away?
“Hullo!” Miranda called cheerfully, snagging his arm and pulling him back around to face her. Trent stood behind her rocking back and forth on his feet, grinning like an idiot.
“Good evening,” Anthony said cautiously. “Where is Griff? He said he was going to be here.”
“Oh, he is here.” Miranda giggled.
Anthony braced himself. Miranda never giggled.
Trent cleared his throat. “We convinced him to delay his entrance until we found you.”
Anthony began to worry.
Trent’s grin got even wider.
“He has a solution for your doldrums caused by the impossible infatuation you have with Amelia,” Miranda chirped.
“His Grace, the Duke of Riverton, Lord and Lady Barnstoke, and Miss Amelia Stalwood!” the bailiff cried from the doorway.
Anthony’s head snapped to the front of the ballroom. Had he heard correctly? Was Amelia actually here?
A vision in pale rose stood beside Griffith. It was her. Even from this distance, he could see the banked excitement on her face. He could almost feel her pulse race under his fingers, see the blush behind herears, threatening to spread charmingly to her cheeks if she became the center of attention.
He pushed past Lady Helena as he crossed to the entrance, ignoring her huff of indignation. Miranda and Trent could deal with his pursuer’s hurt feelings.
His mouth dried as he took in every detail. Her dress was elegant, a ball gown any woman in the room would be proud to wear, yet still quintessentially Amelia in its simplicity. Her brown hair had been piled on her head with a single large ringlet draped over her right shoulder. His fingers itched to bury themselves in that ringlet. It was wide enough to wrap around his wrist. How had she gotten it to do that?
She wasn’t looking at him, was enthralled with everything around her, swiveling her head from side to side in an effort to take everything in as she walked down the stairs. When she finally saw him, her eyes lit from within and pink tinged her cheeks. He had never seen anything lovelier in his life.
“Miss Stalwood.” He bowed over her hand and kissed the knuckles. He’d never despised a glove more in
When he’d come by the house, she’d begun to hope his apparent interest was genuine. Surely that would only continue now that her circumstances had changed.
Wouldn’t it?
Anthony wasn’t sure why he had arrived so ridiculously early to Lady Hofferham’s ball. Griffith’s vague note ensuring his attendance had intrigued him, but he doubted the mystery would provide enough distraction from his disappointment over Miranda’s early-morning note telling him Amelia wouldn’t be coming.
He murmured the appropriate pleasantries to his dance partner as he handed her to her mother. She was nice enough, but so were many of the other dozens of women he’s danced with of late.
Perhaps he should return to the country and try again next year. His obsession with the absent Amelia kept him from considering any other candidates. It was insupportable. He had been in her company a scant number of times. Surely it had not been enough to warrant this incessant comparison of every other woman to her.
Miranda and Trent accosted him as he walked away from the young woman whose name he had already forgotten. The beauty of Miranda’s wide smile took him by surprise. Wasn’t she supposed to be nearly as disappointed as he was?
Lady Helena Bell was working her way across the ballroom toward him. There was another problem he could do without. She’d been following him since his first public appearance in London. Miranda told him she was bribing people to tell her where he went each evening so that she could show up as well. Her intentions were embarrassingly obvious, but he wanted no part of them. Why wouldn’t the lady simply go away?
“Hullo!” Miranda called cheerfully, snagging his arm and pulling him back around to face her. Trent stood behind her rocking back and forth on his feet, grinning like an idiot.
“Good evening,” Anthony said cautiously. “Where is Griff? He said he was going to be here.”
“Oh, he is here.” Miranda giggled.
Anthony braced himself. Miranda never giggled.
Trent cleared his throat. “We convinced him to delay his entrance until we found you.”
Anthony began to worry.
Trent’s grin got even wider.
“He has a solution for your doldrums caused by the impossible infatuation you have with Amelia,” Miranda chirped.
“His Grace, the Duke of Riverton, Lord and Lady Barnstoke, and Miss Amelia Stalwood!” the bailiff cried from the doorway.
Anthony’s head snapped to the front of the ballroom. Had he heard correctly? Was Amelia actually here?
A vision in pale rose stood beside Griffith. It was her. Even from this distance, he could see the banked excitement on her face. He could almost feel her pulse race under his fingers, see the blush behind herears, threatening to spread charmingly to her cheeks if she became the center of attention.
He pushed past Lady Helena as he crossed to the entrance, ignoring her huff of indignation. Miranda and Trent could deal with his pursuer’s hurt feelings.
His mouth dried as he took in every detail. Her dress was elegant, a ball gown any woman in the room would be proud to wear, yet still quintessentially Amelia in its simplicity. Her brown hair had been piled on her head with a single large ringlet draped over her right shoulder. His fingers itched to bury themselves in that ringlet. It was wide enough to wrap around his wrist. How had she gotten it to do that?
She wasn’t looking at him, was enthralled with everything around her, swiveling her head from side to side in an effort to take everything in as she walked down the stairs. When she finally saw him, her eyes lit from within and pink tinged her cheeks. He had never seen anything lovelier in his life.
“Miss Stalwood.” He bowed over her hand and kissed the knuckles. He’d never despised a glove more in
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