“Miss Hewitt,” a voice said near her shoulder. She turned and flinched when she saw the familiar dark eyes and dark hair, and the breadth of his shoulders. It wasn’t Marcus, although he looked enough like him that they must certainly be brothers. He bowed in front of her, and she dropped into a quick curtsy. “Please excuse me for the impropriety of this, since we haven’t been properly introduced, but I’m in need of a dance partner.” He picked up the dance card that dangled from her arm and saw all the empty spaces. “May I take my pick?” he asked with a grin.
She opened her mouth to speak, but a hand to her shoulder took her attention. “Sorry, Allen, but the lady is already spoken for,” Marcus said. Marcus took her hand and laid it upon his arm.
“Hello, Marcus,” she croaked out as she pulled her hand back from his arm.
He looked down at her hand, as though confused. “Hello, Miss Hewitt,” he replied. “I hope you have been well.”
Miss Hewitt? She should have called him Mr. Thorne. They weren’t in her world anymore. “Mr. Thorne,” she corrected. Her tongue was unwieldy and suddenly felt two sizes too big for her mouth.
“I see you’ve met my brother,” he said.
So this was Allen, the brother that Marcus had displaced. “We just met, yes.” She forced herself to smile at Marcus’s brother. Perhaps a bit too brightly. But she didn’t care. “We were just about to dance,” she said, reaching for Allen’s arm, arching her brows at him.
“I thought you were spoken for,” Allen whispered to her as he let her tug him onto the dance floor.
“Not by him,” she replied.
He chuckled. “I believe you’re the first person to choose me over him in months,” he said, his face dulled by… pain? Perhaps. She couldn’t be sure. He tilted his head and looked at her, his gaze searching her face. “You’re one of them, aren’t you?” he asked quietly as he led her into a waltz.
“One of what?” she replied.
He sighed heavily. “Where are you from, Miss Hewitt?”
“I’m certain you’ve never heard of it.”
His eyes narrowed and he heaved a sigh. “Just as I thought. You are one of them.”
A grin tugged at her lips. “Is it that obvious?” she asked.
“No, not at all. Only if you know what to look for.”
“And you know what to look for?”
“I was just looking for a pretty lady to dance with.” He jostled her in his arms. “I found one.” He looked down at her as they circled the floor. “And thank you for letting me draw you away from Marcus. Something tells me he’s ready to knock my head off my shoulders for it.” He nodded toward the edge of the dance floor where Marcus stood with his arms folded over his chest.
“Mr. Thorne,” she began.
He interrupted. “Call me Allen, please.” When she didn’t reply, he said, “Pretty please?”
“Allen,” she corrected, clearing her throat a little. “It’s lovely to meet you.”
“Not as lovely as it is to meet you,” he said, his grin making her feel warm all over. “If I may be so bold as to ask, what’s your relationship with my brother?”
“We don’t have one,” she said, blinking back the tears that pricked at the backs of her lashes.
“That bad, is it?” He pulled his chin closer to his chest and looked down at her. “You’re the one he left behind, aren’t you?” His voice was quiet. And yet it raked across her heart like broken glass.
She didn’t reply. Did she need to?
“When will you return home?” he asked.
“The next moonful.”
He quirked a brow. “That long? That gives us almost a month to remind him of how much he loves you.”
Cecelia tripped over her own foot. Allen caught her and drew her closer to him. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Never you mind, Miss Hewitt. Just that little fumble has him ready to leap to your aid.”