were often together in the years before his father’s demise.
He shunted the memories from his mind.
Adam moved his attention back to the lone figure in the alcove, watched how she straightened her back, stiffening her spine and jutting out her chin, as if daring anyone to pity her for being a wallflower. She appeared to be smiling.
But it must be hard, to sit there alone.
He slid on his gloves.
‘Adam,’ his mother hissed. ‘What are you doing?’
* * *
‘Miss Coombes?’
Violet jumped. In her mind she’d left the ballroom and begun to carry out her plan. She shifted on the gilt-legged chair and widened her knees so her thighs didn’t touch. She couldn’t risk anyone suspecting what she had wrapped like garters around her silk stockings. ‘Yes? Oh! It’s you!’
‘Indeed.’ A pair of midnight eyes found hers. ‘We meet again.’
Violet’s heart gave an unexpected thump. In her dream the night before, her rescuer appeared so impossibly handsome that she scolded herself in the morning. Surely her imagination had run wild. Now he stood in front of her in black-and-white evening attire he was even more attractive than in her dreams. In the dim streetlamp lighting she hadn’t fully taken in the firm set of his clean-shaven jaw, the line of his strong mouth.
On the street after her tumble she’d been surprised that he appeared younger than his commanding voice suggested. He must be about five years older than she, rather than the ten she’d originally thought, perhaps close to thirty years of age, she guessed. The two forked lines between his dark eyebrows made it difficult to gauge. His shoulders were broad in the well-cut tailed jacket, which showed some wear.
‘I wasn’t expecting to see you here.’ Violet shifted on her chair again. There was the faintest rustle of silk.
If he heard he made no sign. ‘Nor I you.’
Violet cleared her throat. ‘Actually, I’m glad to see you. I wanted to thank you properly. I ought to have been more grateful to you for...ah...catching me.’
It struck her later what a risk she’d taken. It could have ended very ill indeed if he hadn’t been there.
A phantom of a smile glimmered in his eyes. ‘To catch you was my pleasure.’ He glanced around the ballroom. ‘I didn’t know suffragettes liked dancing.’
‘I haven’t been doing much dancing,’ Violet blurted out, then bit her tongue.
‘Perhaps we might remedy that.’ He bowed low and held out his gloved hand. ‘May I have the honour?’
‘But I don’t know your name.’
‘My apologies.’ He smiled. His teeth were even and white. ‘We haven’t been formally introduced. I know you are Miss Coombes.’
‘Violet Coombes.’
‘Indeed?’ Some comprehension, almost amusement, flared in his expression. ‘I’m Adam Beaufort.’
‘Beaufort. I know your name. Then that means you are... There’s a house...’ Violet tried to simulate the society page in her mind. She’d read something about his family home, she was certain of it.
‘The Beauforts of Beauley Manor. Yes.’ He inclined his head. ‘I recently inherited the estate.’
‘Oh. I see.’ It came back to her now. Their historic estate was in Kent, and the Beauforts were an exceptionally old English family. The kind of society family she’d never expected to welcome the Coombes.
‘If you’re at all concerned about my pedigree,’ he said drily, ‘that’s my mother and my two sisters over there.’
He indicated a group in the alcove opposite. A grey-haired woman, straight-backed, dressed in black, was studying Violet through her lorgnette. Behind her stood a tall, haughty young woman, wearing a mustard-coloured gown. She looked down her nose at Violet. Seated next to the grey-haired woman was a big-boned girl with hair escaping from her bun. Violet had seen her laughing across the dance floor. She flashed a quick smile.
‘My parents are here, too.’ Just in time Violet remembered not to point. She nodded towards her mother and father. Her mother was tripping over her train, trying not to stare at the tall, dark-haired man in their alcove.
‘Now we’re introduced,’ he said smoothly. ‘Shall we dance?’
Violet stood up. Her head came just above his shoulder. ‘Yes. Thank you.’
She took his proffered hand. Instantly the sensation of being in his arms returned. Even through their gloves she could feel it. Safety. Danger. Mixed into one.
Through the crowd he led her to the centre of the ballroom. The previous dance had ended and another was about to begin. A path cleared before him. Some of the men nodded in his direction, and more than a few pairs of female lashes fluttered. She sensed all eyes upon them, though he paid no attention to it.
They stood face to face. He released her hand. Suddenly she didn’t know what to do with her arms. They hung awkwardly, by her sides.
‘I presume you waltz?’ he asked politely, as they waited for the orchestra to start up.
‘I’ve had lessons,’ she replied. Another thing she probably shouldn’t have said. Then she recalled stamping her foot at him. She sighed. It was too late to pretend to be other than whom she truly was and she wouldn’t have wanted to in any case.
Again she noted a flicker of amusement. ‘Excellent.’
The music struck up. It was ʻThe Blue Danube’, one of Violet’s favourite pieces of music. He leaned close and whispered in her ear, ‘I trust you dance as well as you climb.’
He swirled her into his arms.
Violet’s breath surged up through her body. In an instant he swept her away, across the polished floor. Her lessons were nothing like this. She had never danced with such a partner—why, she never really danced before. In his powerful arms her feet glided over the floor as if she floated above it. The waltz started slowly, then became faster. The violins soared and shimmered, the horns played the beguiling tune as the woodwinds kept time. Her slippers chased his black-leather shoes, speeding with the melody as it rose and fell. His grip never wavered as he lifted her off the ground with every turn.
She’d wondered what it would be like to dance in his arms. Now she knew.
Violet threw back her head and closed her eyes. The music swelled. Now she wasn’t following the rhythm, or his skilful feet. She stopped thinking about her steps, just allowed herself to blindly follow his lead as he looped her in circle after circle. The tune rippled inside her, sending her dizzy, as if she were spinning with her arms outstretched, the way she used to do in the garden as a child. Her lips widened. She wanted to cry out with the pleasure of it.
When she opened her eyes his were upon her. Hardened to impenetrable sapphire, they moved from her open lips to her bared neck, her head still thrown back.
He
