Sally knew what she meant. None of the Jones girls had ever expected to attend something as glamorous as this. They weren’t exactly urchins, but they were still a good long ways from being a part of London society.
The ton they were not.
Which was fine by Sally. It was more than fine. She wanted nothing to do with this world or anyone in it.
Sebastian chose that moment to approach through the thickening crowd as if to call her out on her lie with his mere presence.
Her heart turned traitor too, making her mind out to be a liar as it picked up its pace the closer he drew near. “Sally,” he said. He said it like an accusation.
She arched her brows. “Sebastian.”
Her sister made a funny humming sound as she inched away. “I’ll just be over there if you need me.”
“Have I frightened your sister away?” he asked as they both watched Rebecca hurry off toward the ballroom where the musicians had started to play in earnest.
“Hardly,” Sally said. “Jones girls don’t frighten easily.”
“Is that right?” he asked. His tone was stern, more serious than she’d ever heard him. “Then what is your excuse?”
“Pardon me?”
His brows came down and he offered his hand. “Dance with me.”
It was a challenge. He might as well have slapped her with his glove and threatened a duel at dawn.
Her mouth went dry as she tried to remind herself that she was not a coward. She could handle this. It was only one more night. One dance.
She slipped her gloved hand into his and instantly realized her mistake. One dance was never just one dance when it was with the one you loved.
The room spun about her as his hand pressed against her back. Love. The word crashed over her. Was that what this was?
The swelling music coursed through her veins as if in harmony with the crashing waves of emotions that soared in her chest.
“This feels right,” he murmured as he pulled her into his arms.
She swallowed to keep from agreeing, her gaze fixed on his chin. How did he manage to have an attractive chin? It just wasn’t fair.
His grip on her tightened and his voice lowered. “Have I mentioned how striking you look?”
She sighed. Yes, yes, Rebecca and her lady’s maid had helped to choose the blue gown that best suited her complexion, but it was still a thousand times less elegant than every gown here. And not even Rebecca’s curling tongs could make much of her stick-straight, perfectly boring brown hair. “I’m not beautiful.”
“I believe that’s up to me to decide.”
She arched a brow. “How so?”
“They say beauty is in the eye of the beholder, is it not?” He donned a magnificently snobby expression. “And I am the beholder.”
She tried not to. She really did. But a laugh tumbled out of her, and he grinned, and for a moment everything was all right. She was just Sally and he was just Sebastian, and families and duties and long-lost mothers had nothing to do with anything.
“Now you are beautiful,” he said, his gaze warming and making her insides melt.
“You said that already,” she said with another laugh, heat stealing into her cheeks.
“No, I’d said you were striking. And you are.” He grew serious. “Always.”
She rolled her eyes.
“I mean it—”
“No one finds me beautiful. Or striking.” Whatever that meant. “And that’s quite all right by me.”
“I do.” He drew her closer until she placed a hand on his chest, reminding him with a touch where they were. That there were others all around them. “You are beautiful when you smile, when that passion that is so distinctly you reaches your eyes and makes them glow.”
Her eyes widened at the uncharacteristically romantic talk.
“Your smile is truly something spectacular to behold. Anyone who sees it—anyone who’s lucky enough to win one—must be humbled by that pure beauty.”
“I-I—” Her lips moved as she fumbled for words. She was spectacularly unprepared for something like this. It was an assault. He was waging a war on her heart and it wasn’t fair because nothing had changed.
Nothing could change.
“But you’re always striking.” He sounded so serious as he spoke as though she hadn’t tried to protest. “You’re striking because of your convictions and your strength and your ability to face life and people head on.” His brows went up. “You’re not even intimidated by my father.”
She bit her lip. No, indeed she was not. In fact, the more time she’d spent with him and the more she learned about him, the more she merely felt sorry for the earl.
“Maybe it’s that medical training,” he said, musing to himself as he studied her. “Maybe it’s that ability to see us all for the mere mortal shells that we are.”
Her lips twitched with mirth at that. Was that how she saw people? Possibly. It was how she saw her patients, to be certain. A body was a body and person was a person, no matter what their rank or station.
“Whatever it is, it means you’ve never once looked at me as though I am an earl’s son, for better or for worse. You’ve never looked at me and seen what everyone else sees. My guess is, that is what makes you special to many people. You let people be who they are without judgment.”
His words were lovely. Sweet, even. They cut straight through her sternum and burrowed into her heart. But his last words brought with it a flash of her mother. Her father. All the questions she had and the lies and secrets that she hoped to discover.
But would she still look at either of them without judgment if she were to learn the whole truth?
The music came to an end and he drew her from the dance floor, down a nearly deserted hallway leading toward the
