of which now made the thought of marriage to a stranger—especially marriage for financial reasons—repugnant to her. Lily had always hoped she would be able to marry for love, that she would be a wife to a man who respected her need to enjoy the independence her brother had always given her. But what choice was there, now that they no longer had a home to live in?
Jo echoed her thoughts. ‘We must survive any way we have to, Miss Lily.’
‘You did not have to stay with me, yet you have,’ Lily corrected her.
‘Who would do your hair, else?’ Jo looked fondly at her mistress. ‘You’ll not find a husband to support you without a little help, my lady.’
Lily nodded. ‘I will make it up to you, once my situation improves.’
She was determined that her life would be under her control again as soon as possible. Which was why this dress was so important—along with the charming, carefree persona she adopted for such occasions. She had been that girl once—without a care in the world—and she could play her again, for the sake of survival.
It was time to face up to the fact that she could not live on thin air.
It was time to find a husband.
Chapter Two
After four dances with four equally dull gentlemen, Lily was cursing her vow.
She was doing her best to be what they seemed to like best, effervescent and charming, simpering prettily at them between turns and promenades on the floor—but it was exhausting. She did not know how the other girls around her seemed to achieve such an effect so effortlessly—from the old hands to the veriest débutante.
Nevertheless, it seemed one man was particularly interested in her performance.
Looking up by chance at the end of an energetic country dance, flushed and smiling, she happened to glance across the room—and found a pair of smoky grey-blue eyes watching her.
He did not look away as their eyes met.
Tall, hair so dark as to almost be black, he stood upright at one end of the dance floor—despite his civilian dress an unmistakably military stance. He was immaculately turned out—dark navy jacket and matching waistcoat exquisitely embroidered about the sleeves and hem, close-fitting fawn breeches disappearing into boots, rather than the more fashionable buckled shoes that other men wore this evening. His shoulder-length hair, that unusually dark colour, was tied securely at the nape of his neck, and did not look like it would dare to attempt escape.
All this she took in as, for a moment of pure surprise, she stood fixed in the beam of his gaze across an expanse of laughing people. And, just for a moment, a single strand of awareness stretched between them, unbroken by the laughter, music and innumerable conversations happening around and between them. He did not look at her as the other gentlemen did: admiring her pretty dress, the way her hair curled about her shoulders in tendrils, her smile, even her much-praised eyes.
He looked at her as if he saw her.
It was not a comfortable feeling—and yet, even as she recognised her discomfort, Lily was aware of something else curling into life within her: a warm feathery longing, an unfamiliar but nonetheless unmistakable attraction to this handsome stranger. For handsome he was, she had to admit, even in this instant, held in his stare.
She wanted to smile, yet she could not. She felt the slightest of flushes creep across her cheekbones, and saw—did she imagine?—a response in his dark blue gaze, far though he was from her.
Who was he? Why did he look at her so, as though he could take all of her and more, see through her act and know her completely—all without moving from that spot. What did he want?
Because she did not know what else to do, she dropped her eyes and turned away, watching the dancers take to the floor again, needing a moment to compose herself.
When she looked back—simply because she could not do otherwise—he was talking to the gentleman next to him. In profile he was equally striking, slim about the hips yet broad shouldered, his strong features offset by a generous mouth that set Lily wondering, in a moment quite unlike her usual sensible self, what he looked like when he smiled.
Frowning slightly, she averted her gaze again before he caught her staring—what was she thinking, sizing him up so? Turning slightly away, she scolded herself for such foolishness—was this all it took—a handsome man to make eye-contact with her—for her to behave like a manshy debutante?
She needed something to distract her and, luckily, something presented itself in the form of a young admirer, bowing prettily over her hand and asking most courteously for a dance. Gratefully, she accepted and allowed him to lead her to the floor.
And yet, even while dancing, she was aware of the other’s eyes upon her, watching her every move, giving her a new feeling of self-consciousness. Telling herself she was imagining it, she smiled at her partner and applied herself to the dance.
But when she did glance back, just for a moment, it was to find those grey-blue eyes on her face once more. Lily looked down at her feet as she almost missed a step, the first glimmer of irritation growing in her.
Did he not know it was impolite to stare so? Was he trying to disconcert her? If he wished to make her acquaintance, why did he not simply seek an introduction? Must he stand there appraising her as if she was a horse he was minded to buy?
Even as annoyance flickered into life, Lily knew it was senseless to mind such attention. Was that not, after all, why she was here—to parade herself, an offering for the highest bidder? Was she not reliant upon one of these men being taken enough with her to ignore her lack of land and fortune and propose?
The dance eventually ended, to her relief and, thanking her young partner—it seemed increasingly that the men at such events were becoming ever younger—Lily slipped across to a refreshment table, picked up a drink, and cast her eyes about for Kitty Stanton, the friend who had accompanied her to the ball. She wished to ask about the stranger who still, she saw, glancing hastily across the room, stood where he had been throughout the last two dances, though his conversation partner had changed.
He was nursing a drink in one long-fingered hand, she noticed suddenly, making no effort to sip from the glass as he conversed idly with the older man now at his side. Though he listened and responded politely enough, nothing the gentleman said seemed to move him—or perhaps he was simply immovable. Lily, thinking of his inscrutable gaze, bit her lip in thought.
Who was he? Why did he stand there so, expecting people to come to him?
As she watched, another gentleman and a lady joined his small party, a girl that Lily vaguely knew, and her brother. Introductions were completed, with the stranger still polite but impassive. It was not, Lily mused, that there was anything lacking in his manners—there was just no warmth in anything he did; he held himself at a distance from proceedings, almost.
The lady was gesturing to the dance floor now, casting her large eyes up at the stranger, imploring. Lily could almost hear the exchange—it was very charmingly done—and she hid a wry smile.
But the stranger was shaking his head, looking detachedly regretful. He gestured to the girl’s brother, then to the floor. The insinuation was obvious even to Lily, standing several metres away from them, out of earshot. He was refusing to dance,
