Page 40 of The Wallflower Manifesto
Almost on cue, a hiss emerged from beneath the skirt of the chair. It was a warning, bright and clear.
Millie, whose entire body temperature had flown into her cheeks in the previous moment, released a delicate cough, throwing a look of reproach to the chair in question. “That cat is meddlesome, isn’t she?”
“She is,” Abe agreed with a sigh, tearing his eyes from their scandalous location and returning his gaze respectfully to Millie’s face. “That cat hates me, specifically.”
“That seems a little dramatic,” Millie said, the levity releasing a ball of anxiety she hadn’t even noticed was forming in her chest.
“We’ve a history,” he assured her, taking a respectful step back from where she stood, his hands raised in the air as though to guarantee he wouldn’t send them roving over her body once again.
It was clear that the moment had been shattered, and the party on the other side of the door beckoned. Millie looked at that door and back at the man in front of her and gave a defeated grimace.
“You go first,” he offered. “I’ll follow in a few moments.”
She hesitated, wishing she knew what to say to preserve the magic of what had transpired here. But there was nothing to do but follow his lead, she realized, and she was on the other side of the door before she knew she’d even taken a step toward it.
On the other side, the party thrived as though they’d never left. The music hit her in a wave of impossible volume, and the chatter of voices rose in a swell, like she was surfacing from underwater.
She realized she was still holding her letter, but she couldn’t go back into the study now. She set it as neatly as she could on a side table near a bouquet of roses, and, squaring her shoulders, re-entered the fray.
CHAPTER 16
One of the scales from Millie’s dress had come loose on the floor of the little study. Abe had retrieved it and put it in his pocket, initially intending to return it to the fair lady at the first opportunity.
But his fingers kept finding their way into that pocket, and it wasn’t long before he’d become attached to the thing as a memento of a truly remarkable evening.Mother-of-pearl, he’d thought as he exited the office. That was what it was called.
The little chip of stone contained as many hues and shapes as Millie herself. He thought it a good setting for his little wildflower, offsetting the brilliance of her own colors.
He descended the stairs as though nothing at all were amiss, finding that the throng of partygoers had ballooned out into a perfect circle to observe a single dancing couple, engaged in what could only be described as a scandalous cousin to the waltz.
As he drew nearer, he realized with a sinking feeling in his stomach that the woman in the coupling was none other than Lady Bentley. She was pink with exertion, circling her partnerlike a lioness on the hunt, and the gentleman she was dancing with carried the same intensity.
They were of an age, Abe reckoned, though the man’s salt-and-pepper hair and swarthy complexion were a stark contrast to Lady Bentley’s milk-and-honey visage. She whipped the fabric of her skirt to the side, drawing a gasp from the onlookers.
“What in the devil?” he muttered to himself, drawing as close as he could through the all-too-attentive crowd.
“Portuguese,” an older gentleman on the right was whispering to his wife as he gestured to the pair, “Dom something or another. Cain’s client.”
“Mama,” came the voice of a pale little debutante to his left, “mayIlearn the Fandango?”
“You most certainly maynot,” her mama replied, though mama’s eyes were locked on the couple with undeniable admiration. “Goodness, Gretchen.”
Well, Abe thought, blowing a gust of breath out of the side of his mouth,Freddy is not going to like this.
The music was speeding up, and the dance steps seemed to reflect that. If Abe weren’t already feeling a bit hot under the collar, watching this display might have just gotten his blood up.
Lady Bentley’s little feet landed with sharp precision, her skirt flaring around her legs as she spun and circled her partner. Wisps of her pale blonde hair had come out of her chignon and clung to her face, which was dewy with exertion, and she wasn’t hiding her enjoyment. She smiled widely, her teeth flashing in the candlelight.
“A countess indeed,” said the elderly man’s wife with her nose in the air, though the speed of her fan was increasing to match the tempo of the music.
“She wasn’t when they courted,” her husband reminded her, his theatrical whisper perfectly audible. “Don’t you remember?”
Abe used every fiber of his constraint to not openly sigh.
It had been a fine thing, so far, taking Freddy’s money while his mother harmlessly flitted about London. But now, he supposed, he’d have to report something of substance.
The couple began to spin and leap, the music feverishly spiking. They maintained eye contact, Lady Bentley’s face a bright pink beacon of joy and the Portuguese fellow’s a look of strained intensity.
The debutante attempted to draw nearer to the action only to be tugged back into place by her frowning mama.
