Speaking of bad poetry.

For this dance, she was paired with Mr. George “Denny” Denton, a stalwart and jovial sort of fellow, if lacking in subtlety, and heir to a sizable fortune and estate. He was also an appallingly bad dancer. He made so many mistakes that Lily’s own missteps either went unnoticed or could be blamed on his clumsy lead. Despite the muddle they made of the pattern, they laughed their way through the dance and appeared to be having a high time indeed.

She would do well with a husband like Denny. He would support her, give her children, and be unlikely to ever forget his ridiculous good fortune in securing such a lady’s hand. Denny was an affable, uncomplicated man, well liked by his peers.

Julian, of course, had never despised a man so much in his life.

He forced down the red swell of envy, through no insignificant force of will. Jealousy was a distraction he couldn’t afford this evening. This was Lily’s night to shine, and his night to find answers, at long last.

He drifted into a connecting room, where he found no answers—but he did locate and down a cup of weak punch. He would have liked something stronger, but he needed to keep his wits about him. With Lily’s intoxicating presence already proving a dangerous distraction, he couldn’t afford to blunt his mind further with spirits. He had to be ready for anything. Fists, pistols, knives.

When he returned to the ballroom, a waltz was just getting underway. Dancers thronged to the floor.

Lily wasn’t among them.

“Isn’t this dance Morland’s? Where the hell has he gone?”

Lily tamped down her defensive reaction and gave him a polite smile. “And good evening to you too, Mr. Bellamy. You look dashing, as usual.” That wasn’t quite true. Despite his angry fuming, Julian looked more dashing than ever. But she didn’t suppose he would heed the compliment right now.

“Where is the duke, blast him?”

“He and Amelia already went home.” Lest his anger spike, she added quickly, “I urged them to go. They don’t like to be away from Claudia so late at night, and who can blame them?”

In truth, once she’d seen that list of partners Julian sent her, she’d written immediately to Amelia. Together, they’d worked out matters in advance, ensuring she and the duke would leave before this set. And if Amelia hadn’t agreed to help her, Lily would have resorted to pouring sleeping powder in the duke’s punch. That’s how determined she was to seize this time with Julian.

“I can’t believe they would desert you like that and leave you here alone.”

“I’m not alone. I’m with you. And if you’ll claim it, this dance is yours.” She offered her hand.

He took it. “How can I refuse?”

As they moved to the dance floor, Lily should have known a surge of triumph. Except she didn’t feel triumphant, she felt exhausted. Even before her illness, she’d found events like these wearying. The dancing, the conversation, the constant effort it required to be aware of her every movement, word, smile, and breath and meld them into a flawless portrait of genteel breeding. Even when she enjoyed herself, it left her feeling drained. And tonight, the ordeal was multiplied tenfold. Atop all those challenges were the strain of following conversation and keeping in step with the dance. Sometimes both at once.

By the time Julian took her in his arms, she wanted nothing but to collapse in his embrace and beg him to take her home. But then, years from now, she didn’t want to look back on this evening and remember dancing with every gentleman in the room except Julian. She wanted to remember this night as theirs.

So they waltzed.

“You’re looking at me very queerly,” she said. At least, his stare was making her feel very queer inside.

“Am I?”

She nodded. “So serious and intent. It is a party, you know.”

“I know it’s a party, Lily. If I do look serious, it’s not displeasure. It’s awe. You are radiant, and this moment is … too much to be believed. It’s like I’ve stumbled upon a bit of reality that exceeds all my wildest imaginings, and I don’t know where I’ll go from here.” His gaze deepened, pulling on hers with the promise of raw truth. “I’m so damned proud to be the man dancing with you.”

She had to look away. It was that, or dissolve into tears. He could have no idea how deeply those words affected her. Coming from anyone else, they would be pleasant flattery. Coming from Julian, they were manna in the desert.

Still, she tried to keep the conversation light. “I’ll admit to being rather proud of myself. Let’s hope no one tells my mother’s Aunt Beatrice.”

“Aunt Beatrice can have her moral, miserable corner of heaven, and welcome to it. I’ll take tonight.” He cast a glance about the ballroom. “Truly, this is my perfect exit from the ton. It would be impossible to ever top this triumph. Everyone’s staring at us. Staring at you. I wish you could see the envy on their faces.”

She wished he would stop talking about leaving forever.

“Are you certain it’s envy?” she asked. Julian was right that they were being closely watched. But to Lily’s eye, the expressions of the onlookers read as fascination, rather than jealousy.

“Oh, yes. It’s envy. Admiration for you, tinged with loathing for me.” An ironic half-smile pulled at his lips. “I think they know, Lily. I think they finally see me for who I am. For years, I’ve been able to bluff my way into good company, but now that they see me paired with you … The truth must be obvious. They all see an illegitimate guttersnipe, daring to waltz with a lady.”

“I don’t think that’s what they see.”

They were silent for a moment.

“Have you enjoyed tonight?” he finally asked.

“I suppose I have. I’ve done as you asked, Julian. I’ve danced with every gentleman on your list, conversed with several more besides.”

“Excellent. Has any man distinguished himself in your regard?”

“Yes. One has.”

His jaw tightened. “Can I ask his name?”

“I’m not sure of his given name, to be honest.”

“Really? Describe him, then. I know everyone in the room.”

Lily smiled to herself. Were they really playing this game? “Very well,” she said. “He’s tall. Strong. Dressed to perfection, in a black topcoat and”—she shot a glance downward—“black trousers as well.” She dragged her gaze back up to his face. “He has hair dark as midnight, and a deceptively light wit. Brilliant blue eyes that make my heart skip beats. A smile that warms me in secret places. He’s my dearest friend in the world. And he’s a lovely dancer.”

As they swept into a brisk turn, she took the opportunity to ease closer in his arms and speak directly into his ear. She could only hope she struck the right volume—loud enough to be understood, not so loud as to be overheard. An uncertain tenor, for this most risky of declarations.

“Of course it’s you,” she whispered. “There’s only you. And if you’re determined to see me wed, you’ll have to do the duty yourself, Julian. Because I won’t have any other man. No one else makes me feel the way you do. No one ever will.”

Beneath her hand, his shoulder muscles bunched and tensed. A defensive reaction, but one that only spurred her on. She gazed over his shoulder at the colorful whirl of dancers. “You’re right. Everyone in this room is staring at us. They’re watching us with unguarded envy, and it’s all because they see the truth. We’re so obviously in love.”

He tripped over his own foot, landing firmly on hers. Lily suppressed a sharp cry of pain. At least she needn’t wonder whether or not he’d heard her words. They managed to cover the misstep with a quick turn, but it was a close thing.

He tried to pull back, presumably to speak with her. But she held him tight. “Not now. Please, let’s just enjoy the dance.”

He struggled for a moment more, leading with an erratic rhythm. But before long, he gave in. Their steps fell into a sympathetic cadence. The tension in his shoulders released, and his gloved hand warmed where it gripped hers. And although they were already dancing indecently close, he spread his fingers over her back and drew her closer still.

His thumb caressed her just between the shoulder blades, stroking a current of pleasure down her spine. It was the gentlest of touches, but it was deliberate and true. An admission. I love you, too. He could have stopped the music, called everyone’s attention, and declared mad, passionate, everlasting adoration for her—in rhyming couplets—and this would still be better. Now, she felt triumph. His was the only resistance she sought to conquer.

Lily allowed her head to tilt, just slightly, until her temple came to rest against his jaw. She felt his sigh stir her hair, and it roused her deep inside.

When this dance ended, there would be a reckoning. Julian might refuse to admit to his feelings, or refuse to acknowledge hers. Even these sweetest of emotions might not overcome the bitterness and guilt entrenched in his soul.

But while they danced like this, holding each other with such tenderness, he could not deny their bond. So long as this waltz lasted, they were in love—for everyone to see.

It ended far too soon.

They came to a stop. Lily was aware that all around them, people were moving. Couples were separating and re-forming for the next set. For the first time all evening, she pretended deaf ignorance. She couldn’t bring herself to let him go.

With one last surreptitious caress, Julian released her. She was afraid to even look at him, because she knew his eyes alone would spell their fate. Would they be filled with love? Hope? Regret? Sadness?

Finally, she braved a glance.

All of the above.

“Lily,” he began. Then he stopped, looking uncertain how to continue. He tilted his head, as though an idea might shake loose, and began again. “Lily …” His gaze cut to the side. “Lord Weston is approaching. He has the country dance.”

Lily wanted to growl. To the devil with Lord Weston and the country dance. She mentally rifled through the stocking drawer of acceptable feminine excuses—fatigue, dizziness, the need for refreshment … Why hadn’t she thought to turn an ankle during the waltz?

But before she could seize on a way to demur, Julian passed her hand to Lord Weston, bowed, and disappeared. Lily found herself making a numb circuit of the room—a circular promenade in prelude to the dance. As they walked, she searched the borders of the room for Julian. Her heart leapt every time she glimpsed a shock of dark, ruffled hair, but they all belonged to imitators, not the man she sought.

She queued up with the ladies, and then her attention was consumed with following the steps and paying the minimum of polite attention to her partner. Lord Weston was a nice enough man—she didn’t wish to be rude, but her concentration was obviously elsewhere. She missed her cue to move diagonally and curtsy to her corner, leaving poor Mr. Barnaby bowing to thin air.

But in the crowd behind him, Lily spied a cluster of gentlemen gathered in a corner, and amongst them—

There was Julian. The breath she’d been holding rushed out of her. Thank goodness.

Mr. Barnaby moved back into place, blocking her view, but at least she knew Julian was there. He hadn’t left, and that meant her battle was more than half won. After this dance, she would plead a headache or similar and beg Julian to see her home. From there, she just needed to entice him to stay. Desire danced over her skin, raising the little hairs on her arms. She would hold him tonight, and nothing—not even clothing—would come between them.

But first, she had to last through this dance. Fortunately, this particular dance was a pattern designed to showcase a single couple at a time. There were long periods of standing still, interspersed with brief interludes of circling one’s partner, then returning to one’s place while the couple at the top of the dance traveled the length of the floor, joining the queue at the opposite end.