Page 12 of One Night for Seduction
Thaddeus frowned. “Doesn’t a theory mean you’renotcertain?”
“A hypothesis means you’re not certain, but hoping to find out,” she corrected. “Theories, however, are substantiated by evidence. And a theorem—” Diana broke off her recitation and shooed her cousin toward the orchestra. “Go and dance. If you truly wish to know the intricacies of theorems, I’ll provide an exhaustive explanation the next time I decimate you at the chess board. For now, Everett twins. Off with you. Shoo.”
With a final concerned look, Thaddeus bowed his acquiescence and loped off toward the dance floor.
Diana sagged against the wall in relief.
Although she had never taken him up on his kind offers, Thad never tired of inviting her to join him for a country dance or a minuet. The problem was not Thad, or even minuets. Diana enjoyed the freedom of dancing, and missed it very much.
Just like she missed rakish bonnets with bold peacock feathers and altering her frocks to ape the latest French fashions.
The problem was that she could not have such things and move beneath society’s notice at the same time.
As much as she longed to be free to love the things she loved, and openly work on causes worth working toward, the world did not allow it. Especially not if one was a marriageable young miss who moved in the exalted circles of the ton.
A spinster, on the other hand, was not expected to simper at wealthy bachelors or giggle her way through every waltz. In another year or two, three at the most, Diana would achieve the status of Lost Cause and all the blessed freedom that came with it.
In the meantime, she had to make do with wallflower. Yet another of her endless disguises, this one allowed her to seemingly conform to society’s expectations—attend balls, accept invitations—without actually taking part in any meaningful way.
If her behavior made Diana seem odd or antisocial or unwomanly, well, sometimes one must sacrifice one’s best pieces in order to win the game. Her only possession society valued was her reputation. If it were up to Diana, she’d sacrifice that, too. Being “ruined” would make things far simpler, because then she wouldn’t have to live a lie in two worlds. She could leave High Society behind and concentrate on everyday people.
Well, if it wouldn’t reflect poorly on Thaddeus. He was a dreadful chess player and a delightful cousin. The only reason she bothered playing along at all was because he loved this world. Dancing, dinner parties, pleasure gardens. If escorting her along made him happy, she would not take that away from him.
She’d just watch from the shadows.
Her fingers itched to tug the tiny journal out of her reticule and jot a few notes. Careful observation was the fuel that powered her life. She broke her fast every dawn with a stack of the day’s papers, spent the morning on her feet performing firsthand investigations at wine merchants, reviewed and strategized every afternoon in preparation for the evening, in which she would scribble innovations and inefficiencies witnessed from the background of social gatherings.
Lately, however, all of her musings centered on the Duke of Colehaven. Try as she might, she could not get him out of her mind.
Her gaze once again picked him out from the crowd.
The very unremarkableness of his understated attire made the man himself stand out from all the other lords in black coats and white cravats. Colehaven had apresencethe others did not. A way of parting the room just by entering it, of causing every face to tilt toward his like flowers in search of sunlight. Everyone seemed to bloom as he passed by.
Diana resisted the urge to fluff her gown or twirl a limp tendril of hair into a curl. She had no intention to primp for him, of all people. Her only goal was to remain unnoticed until it was time to go home.
Yet, not for the first time, she felt Colehaven’s eyes upon her. Her pulse quickened. Why was he watching? After their disastrous introduction, he would not dare invite her to dance, would he? How would she reply, if he did?
The duke’s gaze slid away, as if he had not recognized her at all.
Diana’s shoulders slumped against the wall in equal parts relief and chagrin. Of course a devastatingly handsome duke in the middle of a gay ball had not smoked her out from amongst such a splendid crowd.
He was likely on the hunt for a duchess-worthy debutante. Or perhaps on the prowl for another rakish conquest. Diana didn’t care. She was watching him because she was bored, not because she had any wish to find herself in his arms.
“I’d rather be in the library,” came a voice to her left.
Diana turned her head sharply in surprise. After years of haunting the shadows of society gatherings, this was one of the few times someone had approached her.
The young lady appeared to be around Diana’s age. An inch or two shorter, half a stone lighter, dark hair, brown eyes. A stunning evening gown of midnight blue gauze over an underdress of lavender satin. She was staring at Diana with unabashed interest.
Most likely, they had glimpsed each other on countless other occasions. Unfortunately, for as adept as Diana was at memorizing numbers and performing advanced calculations, she was hopeless at remembering faces.
To combat this lapse, she maintained detailed physical descriptions in her journal of everyone she had ever met. This was not the moment to pull it from her reticule and attempt to determine a match.
“I’d prefer a library, too,” she admitted instead, “but that’s the first place my guardian would look for me.”
The young lady wrinkled her nose in commiseration. “Mine, too.”
“You have a guardian?” Diana’s mind whirred. Less than one percent of unmarried society ladies were sponsored wards without immediate family, which meant this woman was either—
