Page 111 of Once More, My Darling Rogue
“He’s not going to pursue her.”
When Drake looked at him, Lovingdon added, “Avendale. I don’t know why he was trying to get a rise out of you, but he has no interest in marriage.”
“Neither did you.”
Lovingdon chuckled. “That’s true.” He sobered. “Do you love her?”
“It doesn’t matter what I feel for her. I hurt her badly.”
“Yet she came tonight. Your moment of triumph and she’s here. That has to count for something. Think about it. Meanwhile, I’ve been too long without my wife, so excuse me while I return to her.” Lovingdon left.
Drake walked back to the balcony and gazed out. He spotted Phee immediately, as though she were the brightest star in the night sky. Suddenly he desperately wanted to hear her voice, inhale her scent. He wanted to look into her green eyes and see for himself that she was all right. That her uncle’s death was behind her. That there were no more shadows, no more ghosts.
But getting to her required walking through hordes of people who delayed his passing with congratulations, and questions, and praise. He greeted them all as quickly and politely as he could, all the while striving to keep her within his sights.
She was standing in a circle of young ladies. He knew them. They had been the ladies who had been tittering around him at Grace’s wedding. Ladies who found him a curiosity, nothing more. Ladies who would never consider him as a serious suitor. He was not nobility. He was a club owner, and while that club would now extend memberships to women, it didn’t negate the fact that he worked. Long hours. Tedious hours.
Like half the gentlemen in this room.
Suddenly Phee stepped back and accidentally knocked into a footman carrying a tray filled with flutes of champagne. The tray upended, the flutes crashed to the floor. He heard Phee’s cry of dismay right before she knelt on the floor beside the footman and began to assist him in placing shards of glass on the tray, while everyone stood around and gaped.
In two long strides, he was crouched beside her in time to hear her say, “I’m so sorry. That was extremely clumsy of me.”
“It was my fault,” the footman said. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”
Drake waited until she set the glass on the tray. Then he grabbed her hands before she could retrieve any more. She lifted her eyes to his, and within hers, he saw the worry and concern over broken glasses and spilled champagne.
“You are a lady of the nobility,” he said. “You do not clean up messes.”
“I was clumsy, not looking where I was going. It was my fault. The least I can do is help clean it up.”
“You needn’t worry about it. I’ll see to it.”
She studied him, her gaze roaming over his face. She squeezed his hands. “You’re the owner of this establishment, Drake Darling. You don’t clean up messes either.”
He grinned. “No, but I pay good money to people to do it for me.”
Standing, he brought her to her feet, then turned to the crowd. “This will all be taken care of shortly. Please return to the merriment.”
He gave his attention back to her. There were a thousand things he wanted to say to her, a thousand things he wanted to do with her. But he had no right to impose on her, not after his deception. He almost told her he missed her—desperately. Instead he said, “I’m so glad you came, Lady Ophelia, but I don’t want to ruin your evening. I’ll leave you to enjoy it.”
Her mouth curled up ever so slightly. “Dance with me.”
Not a question, but a command. It was her way. As it was his. One didn’t ask when one thought the answer might be no, although why in the world she thought he wouldn’t dance with her was beyond him.
“It would be my pleasure,” he said, offering her his arm and leading her into the dance area.
She hadn’t planned to come. She had stroked her fingers over the gilded invitation he sent and convinced herself it would do neither of them any favors if she attended.
But she’d been unable to stay away.
For long moments they simply waltzed, gazing into each other’s eyes. She felt as though everything was being communicated, even though no words were being spoken.
“What a fool I was,” she finally said, “to have rebuffed your previous invitations to dance. You’re quite good at it, while I was quite insufferable.”
“I won’t argue with you there.”
She laughed lightly. “Now you decide to be honest with me?”
