Page 56 of Only By Grace
“A true testament to your dancing skills, then,” her partner replied with a twinkle in his eyes. Mr. Lynton was a pleasant man with a warm smile and an easy charm. “I must mind my steps, lest I tumble us across the floor and create a domino effect of the other couples.”
She smiled at his good humour, though it was faint. “Somehow, I doubt that,” she said lightly. “It is only because you are so accomplished that my mind strayed.”
“Would you care to tell me about him?”
Grace’s cheeks warmed, and she stumbled slightly. “I beg your pardon?”
Mr. Lynton chuckled, his gaze kind. “There is no shame in it, Miss Whitford. It is clear someone has your heart.”
Grace’s cheeks heated. Was she so obvious? Apparently so.
“It is nothing to be ashamed of.”
“Even when I make a fool of myself over it?” she asked, her tone wry.
“Even then. But you have not done so, I assure you. It is only because I recognize the same affliction in myself.”
Grace blinked, taken aback. “Oh,” she said softly. “Is there any hope for you?”
Mr. Lynton smiled sadly. “I am afraid not. My affliction married another.”
“I am sorry,” Grace said sincerely.
“And you?” he asked, his voice gentler. “Do you think there is hope for you?”
“He is not yet wed,” she admitted, her voice quiet, “but I was given a speech which left me in no doubt of his intent.”
He arched a brow. “Ah, the one where he becomes a martyr? That you deserve better, that you are too good, and he is unworthy?”
Grace gave a soft huff of surprise. “Just so. I had not considered it in that light.”
Mr. Lynton’s expression grew serious. “Anyone who does not take advantage of the heart you offer does not deserve you, Miss Whitford.”
Grace smiled faintly, though that organ still ached. “If only my mind and heart would think in unison.”
“When your heart heals,” Mr. Lynton said with a small smile, “perhaps we could deal well together. There are worse foundations for marriage than fondness and friendship.”
Grace tilted her head thoughtfully. “I fear, if that were the case, our poets would be sadly lacking for inspiration.”
“Indeed,” he replied, laughing softly.
The music slowed, signalling the end of the dance. Mr. Lynton bowed over her hand with courtly grace before escorting her back to her sisters. As Grace took her seat beside Maeve, her gaze flickered briefly to the sparkling chandeliers above. For amoment, she allowed herself the smallest flicker of hope—that one day her heart might mend.
Ronan stood justbeyond the grand archway, remaining in the shadows afforded by the towering marble columns. It took but a moment for his searching gaze to find Grace, and everything else faded to a blur in the periphery. She danced near the centre of the room, her pale green gown flowing like a quiet ripple of water among the more vivid hues of the other ladies. Her smile was captivating, her expression serene as she conversed with her dance partner—a gentleman who, though well-dressed and polished, seemed entirely unworthy of the privilege of her company. Ronan’s chest tightened at the sight, a mixture of longing and jealousy warring within him.
Grace laughed at some remark her partner made, and Ronan felt an ache so deep it nearly brought him to his knees. He wanted to bring that smile to her face. She was everything he had missed, everything he had tried to convince himself he could live without—the calming presence, the quiet strength that soothed his restless soul. The sight of her was worth riding day and night to reach her.
And yet here she was, seemingly flourishing without him, whilst he had been left feeling as though a piece of himself had been carved away. Had Maeve been mistaken?
Ronan’s hands clenched at his sides. It took every ounce of his considerable fortitude not to stride onto the ballroom floor and steal her from her partner. He longed to sweep her into his arms, to demand she listen to the torrent of emotions he had buried for weeks. But he did not have that right. He had let her go.
Instead, he stood rooted to the spot, waiting and watching until the dance concluded. His pulse quickened as the strains of a waltz began to play, and he held his breath, hoping against hope that her dance was not already spoken for.
When her eyes finally met his, the world seemed to still. Grace froze for the briefest moment, her serene expression giving way to one of shock. A mixture of pain and joy flickered across her face, her composure faltering as she glanced down, then back up, as though she could not quite believe what she was seeing. Ronan’s heart leaped and then sank. He had caused that pain, that hesitation, and now it was his burden to make amends.
He stepped forward, weaving through the crowd with resolute determination. He reached her just as her previous partner bowed politely and stepped away.
“May I have this dance?” he asked, his voice low, almost unsteady.
