Page 29 of A Vow for the Viscount
There would be no formal withdrawal tonight. Lady Trowbridge, one of three matrons of the event, had insisted that keeping the guests mingling would encourage more spontaneous generosity. “Dancing raises donations,” she’d quipped, and the matrons had adopted the approach with enthusiasm.
To his surprise, and perhaps to someone’s design, Mary-Ann was seated directly across from him. She met his gaze. And held it.
A thousand words passed between them in silence. Her eyes flicked down, then back to his. A question. A challenge. A memory.
He could feel her gaze like the warmth of a fire, present, flickering, impossible to ignore. It was both comfort and torment. Until now, he’d made himself stay away, out of respect, or duty, or the knowledge that she belonged to another. But tonight, he didn’t want distance. He wanted to remember what no memory could fully hold.
He inclined his head slightly. She returned the gesture.
Rodney took the seat beside her and began to speak, but Quinton couldn’t hear the words. He didn’t need to.
Rodney leaned in, just a touch too familiar. He gestured broadly with his hand, an affectation Quinton had forgotten, but now found it irritating. Mary-Ann’s expression remained composed, but a flicker of emotion crossed her eyes, a momentary glance downward before she smiled. He knew that look. She was shielding something. Or someone.
The first course was served. Something with poached fish and saffron. Quinton barely touched it. The sounds of silverware and polite laughter filled the hall, but his focus narrowed to the woman across the table from him.
Mary-Ann smiled when addressed. She nodded at the appropriate comments. But once or twice, she looked his way again.
And when she did, it wasn’t just a polite acknowledgment. It was recognition, the kind that stirred a low heat in his chest. His hand tightened around his wineglass. He should look away. But he couldn’t, nor did he want to, because whatever passed between them wasn’t indifference.
After the final course was cleared and a toast made to the Lifeboat Trust’s renewed mission, the guests began rising from the tables. Conversations trailed like ribbons behind them as they made their way back to the ballroom.
A string ensemble resumed in the adjoining hall, striking the first notes of a country dance as the castle staff moved deftly to guide the transition. The Lifeboat Trust matrons lingered at the doors, ushering everyone along with satisfied expressions. Dancing, after all, meant prolonged generosity.
Quinton leaned back slightly, watching as the first dancers took to the floor. Once, in another lifetime, he might have claimed her hand without hesitation. The swell of violins struck a chord in his chest. He used to imagine this, her hand in his, the sweep of her dress, the thrill of leading her into something light. But that dream had been too tender to hold in the dark. So he’d buried it. During his captivity, in the endless days and nights, he’d stare at the stars through slits in the stone wall where the mortar had worn away. He imagined it, dancing with her, hand in hand. And now, here she was. Real. Yet out of reach.
Barrington leaned over. “Will you dance with her?”
Quinton shook his head slowly. “Not yet.”
Barrington snorted. “You’re going to make her do it, aren’t you?”
Quinton smiled faintly. “Make her? No. She never needed prompting before.”
Mary-Ann stepped aside to speak with Mrs. Bainbridge. Even across the room, he noticed something guarded in her posture, as if she felt his gaze. She turned once, not toward him, but toward the crowd, her glance sweeping past where he stood. Was she looking for him? He couldn’t be sure. But she didn’t look fully at ease. Her smile was pleasant but carefully composed. Her hands were still. Then she turned again and saw him.
Before she could gather herself, he was approaching her. His steps were sure, unhurried as he approached her from the side. She turned before he spoke.
“Quinton.” Her voice was even, but her eyes searched his face.
“Mary-Ann.” He nodded, his eyes twinkling.
They stood in silence for a breath.
“You look well,” she said.
He accepted the compliment with a quiet nod. “So do you.”
She didn’t respond to that. Not directly.
“I was hoping you’d be here,” she said softly, surprising them both.
She glanced away for a moment, then added more lightly, “Everyone’s glad you’re home.”
He tilted his head. “And you?”
Her eyes met his again, steady this time. “Yes. Me too.”
He hadn’t expected calm acceptance nor the warmth beneath it. The quiet, undeniable truth that he still matters to her.
