had lived a single life up to the age of thirty, and a life moreover which had sent him around the continent with only himself to worry about.
‘Shall I take your glass?’ Joanna realised with surprise that the second champagne glass was empty. Goodness, what a fuss people made about it! She had only ever had a sip or two before and Mama was always warning about the dangers of it, but now she had drunk two entire glasses, and was really feeling much better. She gave Giles the glass, aware that he was studying her face.
‘You seem a little restored, Miss Fulgrave. Would you care to dance? There is a waltz next if I am not mistaken.’
Joanna took a shaky breath. Mama did not like her to waltz at large balls and permitted it only reluctantly at Almack’s or smaller dancing parties. But the temptation of being in Giles’s arms, perhaps for the first and only time, was too much.
‘Yes, please, Colonel Gregory. I would very much like to waltz.’
Joanna let Giles take her hand and lead her out on to the dance floor, trying not to remember what had just happened, forcing herself not to think about how she would feel when this dance was over and he was gone. Time must stand still: this was all there was.
She let her hand rest lightly on his shoulder and shut her eyes briefly as his fingers touched her waist. This was another memory to be added to the precious store of recollections of Giles, the most vivid being the fleeting kiss which she had snatched in the flurry of farewells when Hebe and her new husband had driven off after the wedding. Everyone had been kissing the bride and groom: what more natural in the confusion than that she should accidentally kiss the groomsman? Giles had laughed at her blushes and returned the kiss with a swift pressure of his lips on hers: Joanna could still close her eyes and conjure up the exact sensation, the scent of Russian leather cologne…
‘Miss Fulgrave?’
‘Oh, I am sorry! I was daydreaming, thinking about my steps,’ she improvised hurriedly to cover up her complete abstraction. She must not waste a moment in his arms by thinking of the past: only this moment mattered.
The music struck up and they were dancing, dancing, Joanna realised, as if they had been practising together for years. Giles Gregory was a tall man, but her height made them well-matched partners and his strength and co-ordination meant that their bodies moved together with an easy elegance which took her breath away.
‘You dance very well, Miss Fulgrave,’ he remarked, looking down and meeting browny-green, sparkling eyes. He had thought her much improved on the bouncing schoolroom miss he remembered; in fact, he had hardly recognised her at first sight, but now with the colour back in her face and animation enhancing those unusual eyes, he realised that he had a very lovely young woman in his arms. Who or what had so overset her? he wondered, conscious of a chivalrous urge to land whoever it was a facer for his pains.
‘Thank you, Colonel, but I think I must owe that to you. Do you have the opportunity to attend many dances whilst you are with the army?’ Joanna realised she must take every opportunity to converse, as while they were talking she could be expected to look into his face. She tried to garner every impression, commit each detail to memory: the darkness of his lashes, the small mole just in front of his left ear, the way his mouth quirked when he was amused, that scent of Russian Leather again…
He swept her round a tight corner, catching her in close to avoid another couple who were making erratic progress down the floor. Joanna was very aware of the heat of his body as she was suddenly pressed against him, then they were dancing once more with the conventional distance between them.
‘Dances?’ He had been considering her question. ‘Surprisingly, yes. We take whatever opportunities present themselves, and as not a few officers have their wives with them whenever circumstances allow—and certainly when we were wintering in Portugal—there is often an impromptu ball.’
‘And the Duke encourages such activities, I believe?’ Joanna asked. As they whirled through another ambitious turn she caught a glimpse of her mama’s face, a look of surprise upon it. She felt wonderfully light-headed. This was reality, the music would never stop. Giles would never leave her.
‘Yes. Wellington enjoys a party and he thinks it does us good,’ Giles smiled reminiscently.
‘His family, he calls his officers, does he not?’
‘You know a lot about old Nosey, Miss Fulgrave. Are you another of his ardent admirers? I have never known such a man—unless it were that fellow Byron—for attracting the adulation of the ladies. None of the rest of us ever stood a chance of the lightest flirtation while Wellington was around.’
‘Why, no, not in that way, for I have never seen him.’ Better not to think of Giles wanting to flirt. ‘But he is a fine tactician, is he not?’
She saw she had taken Giles aback, for he gave her a quizzical look. ‘Indeed, yes, but that is a question I would have expected from Master William, not from a young lady.’
‘I take an interest, that is all,’ she said lightly, wishing she dared ask about his life with his regiment, but knowing she could never keep the conversation impersonal.
And then, with a flourish of strings, the music came to an end, Giles released her and they were clapping politely and walking off the floor. Joanna felt as though the places where his hands had touched her must be branded on her skin, it felt so sensitive. Her hands began to tremble again.
‘Miss Fulgrave, might I hope that the next dance is free on your card?’ It was Freddie Sutton looking hopeful. ‘And now that I know you have changed your mind about waltzing tonight, may I also hope for one a little later?’
‘Miss Fulgrave.’ Giles Gregory was bowing to her, nodding to Freddie. ‘Sutton.’ He smiled at her, and she read a look of reassurance in his eyes and guessed that she must be looking better. ‘Thank you for the dance.’
Then he was gone, swallowed up in the crowd. She looked after him, catching a glimpse of the back of his head and slowly realising that with the ending of that dance the entire purpose for which she had been living for the past three years, and her every hope for the future, had crumbled into dust.
‘Thank you, Lord Sutton.’ She turned back to him, her smile glittering. ‘I would love to dance the next waltz with you, but just now what I would really like is a glass of champagne.’
To the chagrin and rising dismay of her mama, to the censure of the flock of chaperons and to the horrified and jealous admiration of her friends, Joanna proceeded to stand up for every waltz and most of the other dances as well. She did refuse some, but only to drink three more glasses of champagne, to be escorted into supper by Lord Maxton, a hardened rake and fortune hunter, and to crown the evening by being discovered by the Dowager Countess of Wigham alone with Mr Paul Hadrell on the terrace.
‘I felt I must tell you at once,’ that formidable matron informed an appalled Mrs Fulgrave, who had been looking anxiously for her daughter for the past fifteen minutes. ‘I could not believe my eyes at first,’ she continued, barely managing to conceal her enjoyment at having found the paragon of deportment engaged in such an activity with one of the worst male flirts in town. ‘I am sure I do not have to tell you, Mrs Fulgrave, that Mr Hadrell is the last man I would want a daughter of mine to be alone with!’
This final observation was addressed to Mrs Fulgrave’s
