Page 37 of Burning Secrets of a Lady's Pen
Imelda flinched as Corin smiled tightly, taking a step back from the fashionably dressed lady and circling her in order to take Imelda’s hand. She could feel the tension in his fingers as he gripped her, pulling her with him to the dance floor and not looking back even once.
He seemed…flustered. Something that Imelda didn’t think she had ever seen him be before.
“Lady Belle seems very…fond of you,” Imelda murmured as Corin spun her into his arms.
The moment felt cheapened somehow now, the warmth and heaviness between them that had existed just before they had been interrupted stifled.
“Lady Belle is an old acquaintance,” Corin said blandly. His words sounded real enough, honest enough, but something flashed behind his dark eyes as he glanced away from Imelda.
She didn’t know how to process what he was saying versus what she had seen. Old acquaintances didn’t call one another darling. Old acquaintances, when they looked like Lady Belle, were rarely anything so quaint.
“An old acquaintance?” Imelda repeated slowly, searching Corin’s gaze. “Or…an old friend?” Even that word felt false on her tongue. She hated the way that her voice caught when she said it, too.
Corin grimaced. “A mistake from my past,” Corin said shortly. He looked irritated as he spun her around, his hand gentle against her back as the song ended, and all of the couples moved to the edge of the dance floor before the next number began.
Imelda was half-tempted to ask him to dance this time, to try and recapture that moment that had been stolen.
“Corin, I wish—”
But her wish was cut short as laughter broke in from behind them.
“You might be the most accomplished dancer that I’ve ever had the pleasure of dancing with, Lady Charlotte.” Spencer chuckled as he and Charlotte rejoined them.
Charlotte didn’t look nearly as uncomfortable with the praise as she might have a week ago, her soft smile all-encompassing as she held Spencer’s arm a moment longer than was necessary.
“And you might be the most complimentary man I’ve ever met, Mr. Merrit.” Charlotte laughed. “Oh, Corin, you and Miss Merrit looked so lovely out there yourselves! You so rarely dance, too. I forget how accomplished you are!”
Imelda forced a smile, dropping her hand slowly from Corin’s arm and refusing to meet her brother’s gaze.
“I dance, Charlotte,” Corin said stiffly, his shoulders still too tense.
“Pish.” Charlotte brushed her cousin’s words away, but her eyes assessed the both of them before her smile grew once more. “Miss Merrit, you simply must accompany me. I need to find the powder room. I’m sure that my hair must be askew.”
“Your hair is perfect,” Imelda assured her, reaching for her arm regardless and allowing herself to be pulled away.
“You looked like you needed rescuing,” Charlotte confided softly as they walked across the room, the laughter and gaiety washing over them.
“No,” Imelda argued instinctively. “Co—Lord Salthouse was just tense due to running into someone that he didn’t want to see.”
Charlotte looked at her knowingly for a moment, pausing as they reached the powder room, away from all the music and noise, as if considering something. Whatever she had been about to say, she thought better of it, her smile soft as she nodded. “I’ll be just a moment,” she whispered, ducking inside.
Imelda waited until she knew she was alone in the hallway to sigh. Charlotte meant well, but Imelda felt…torn. She closed her eyes, leaning her head back against the wall and breathing in slowly through her nose.
Corin had been so vague in explaining—
“Oh, there you are!” Lady Belle called out as Imelda opened her eyes and straightened off of the wall. “I was hoping to run into you. Miss Merrit, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Imelda returned cautiously. “You were looking for me?”
Lady Belle smiled, her lips stretched in a way that didn’t quite meet her eyes. “I was. I know this is very untoward, but I wanted to ask you about Corin…I’m sure I’m annoying him right now. He’s always been so staunch. But he’s been spending so much time with you lately, and I thought…maybe…”
Imelda felt trapped, her eyes darting between Lady Belle and the empty hallway behind her. “I…We knew one another before,” she hedged, unsure how to answer the implied questions. “Lord Salthouse and I.”
Lady Belle nodded eagerly. “I thought as much. He’s been so sequestered these last two years.” She paused, her head tilting slightly. “Do you mind me asking…when you two were…acquainted?”
Imelda’s heart beat unevenly in her chest. There was something in Belle’s gaze, something…something that almost felt familiar, and that made it hard for Imelda to breathe.
“The summer of 1816,” Imelda murmured, the words forced from her lips.
