She knew the rules, understood the expectations, and she had failed. On the one night to prove she was more than capable, she’d let her family down. The desire to flee overwhelmed her, but she remained frozen. Where would she go? Though the darkness was a familiar place, panic rose swamping her senses.
Where was her companion, Lady Olivia? Willow had promised her grandmother, the
Dowager Countess of Montrose, she would be circumspect in everything she did tonight.
You must not accept any offers to dance. Nor must you partake in any of the refreshments. You will stand close by me and give no indication of your situation.
The impervious voice of her grandmother still rang in Willow’s ear, and panic clawed at her throat. This was it. The independence she had been fighting for over the last year would take a severe blow. There would be no more outings, and the picnic at Hampstead Heath she had been hoping to attend with Olivia would be banned. Willow’s family’s over-protectiveness would stifle any joy she had left.
“Why is she just standing there?” a curious voice demanded.
The crush pressed in on Willow, and she felt suffocated. Her mind drew maps of the house, and she planned her path of escape. If memory served, she was standing near the third terrace window, and she only had to step three paces, turn left and walk about twenty paces forward to escape into the closest garden. From there she could make her way to the inner alcove.
She stepped forward and almost screamed when she bumped into someone.
“Blasted hell!” a man cursed. “There’s champagne all over my waistcoat.”
She pressed her hands to her stomach, hoping to stop the twisting nerves writhing inside. Willow tilted her head toward the voice. “Forgive me, I did not see you there.”
The muttered curse that slipped from him had a blush climbing her cheeks. Certainly, he thought she would not have heard over the dreadful noise of a packed ball.
Olivia, where are you? Willow screamed in her mind, trapped in a sick sense of uncertainty and fear. It had been years since she had allowed herself to be with so much of Society. Surely Olivia should be back from the retiring room? Willow’s friend and companion had only disappeared for a few minutes with a promise to return shortly.
Had her grandmother or her parents noticed her mishap?
The murmurings got louder, her skin became clammier, and Willow parted her lips to ask for assistance. A thing she was loathed to do, but it couldn’t be helped, the last thing she wanted to do was embarrass her parents, the hosts of tonight’s extravagant ball.
A fleeting touch at her elbow froze her. A scent of midnight moss and wild rain filled her nostrils. The smell was unique, subtle, compelling, and different from the mess of oranges, jasmines, and lavender that crowded her senses.
Familiar…
“Steady.” The voice was low, soothing, and confident. “I believe the next dance is promised to me.”
As if he had only been waiting for such a hint, the waltz was announced, and a ripple of excitement traveled through the crowded assembly. The dance was shockingly scandalous, and from all the gossip Olivia had shared with Willow, many wondered if the Duchess of Milton would order it to be played tonight. Willow’s pulse hammered as firm hands pulled her closer. She could not allow this, though a part of her rebelled in protest at her foolish hesitancy. Since Olivia had tried to teach Willow the beautiful and intricate steps, she had always secretly yearned to waltz, but with a partner who understood her circumstances.
“My lord, I…” Her throat closed, and she frowned. Was he a lord? But then who would display such boldness and be so inappropriate as to command her to the ballroom floor, without so
much as an introduction? She should only be grateful for his assistance, but his impropriety had a startling effect. More than gratefulness suffused her. Excitement slithered through her, quick and startling, and it was because of this unexpected intrusion in her very mundane, predictable, and lonely life. She tilted her head and offered a grateful smile. “I am Lady Willow, I thank you for your timely intervention. My slight mishap was generating much unwanted attentions.”
“Lord Westcliffe at your service, my lady,” he murmured somewhat caustically.
Westcliffe?
Willow’s heart pounded in her chest, and she lifted her eyes to where she hoped his were. “I thank you for your kind offer, but I do not wish to dance. If you escorted me to the drawing room, I would be grateful. I feel as if I am fit to swoon in this crush.” She lifted her hand, and he guided it to rest on his arm.
There was a beat of silence, and she fancied she could feel the curiosity that roiled from him. Oh no. She prayed it was not someone she should recognize, though she knew who the title belonged to, Alasdair’s eldest brother, Marcus. But he had died from the fever if her recollection was correct. Secluded so far away from town and the fashionable season, she could only rely on news from Olivia to keep abreast with the ins and outs of the ton. And there her knowledge was sorely lacking.
“Would you honor me with a turn in the gardens instead?”
“A turn in the gardens?”
“Yes. The moon is full, the stars are bright, and the terrace windows are open so we won’t miss any of the beautiful music.”
She was not chaperoned, but she did not care. Olivia was not needed to take a simple turn in the gardens. “I would appreciate a breath of fresh air, my lord.”
The thrill of even being asked for a stroll was overwhelming, and Willow did nothing to pause her steps as she weaved through the crush with him leading the way. From his movements, she could feel that he made his way to the far-left sash windows. There they would move to the outer terrace, and there were steps that could lead them to an alcove.
Cool night air washed over her skin. They were on the balcony. She knew how many steps to traverse the pathways to the gardens to lead into the alcove, and she followed him, not objecting to his highly inappropriate behavior. She matched the rhythm of his stroll, still silently counting as they navigated down the steps. She was inexcusably reckless following him, even if he had rescued her, even if she had wanted to be away from the crush of the ball. She inhaled to steady her anxiety and was once again buffeted by a hint of something disturbingly familiar. Breathing deeply of this elusive scent, she felt a jolting response…a familiar one that only he had been able to rouse in her.