Then Comes Murder

Dancing with Devils (part six)

Nora ignored the use of her name. How could she not? Beyond the fact that she rather liked the familiar sound of it on his lips, Lieutenant Jacob Thornton-Spencer had quite clearly gone mad. 

She glanced at Margaret across from her, at the scowling Ian Maxwell, at Marcus, and Amelia Osborne. All were still occupied with dinner and a conversation that continued its flirtation with appropriate impropriety. Unlike the rather handsome lieutenant who had fully breached the boundaries of polite discourse.

"Are you foxed?" Nora asked bluntly. Though her heart fluttered, she was able to keep her words even and disinterested. She was not so lucky, however, with the creeping blush that had been plaguing her all evening.

After that moment of flirtation in Spencer House, Nora had thought, just for a heartbeat, that he admired her. But he'd hardly spoken to her since they'd arrived in Whitehill. If anything, it seemed he'd been expertly avoiding her. So now, to have him suddenly so near and warm? The man was tempting her to fever; Nora had half a mind to treat him like one. She wondered if her father might have a cure for rakish innuendo or inconstant affection in his medicine case. Or, at the least, something to treat the dizziness caused by his mercurial interest.

For it was certainly not his proximity that stuttered her heart and made her thoughts blurry.

"Not nearly," he answered. Those warm hazel eyes flickered, and, as if he realized her discomfort, the lieutenant retreated slightly. He was still close enough so that—like when she'd been captive in his arms—she could see the rays of gold in his eyes, but far enough that she could catch her breath without worrying he'd hear it rattling in her chest.

"In fact," he continued with an easy smile as he served a cut of the roast onto her plate, "if my father is going to speak, I think I'd like to be much further in my cups."

Despite his disheveled appearance on their first meeting, and his rather impressive rudeness, the lieutenant moved with a smoothness that intrigued her. Nora watched as he wielded the knife with an easy comfort. The strength of his hands, the tendons in his wrists... Nora bit her tongue to silence her mind from creeping any further.

There was no reason to explain the pull in her chest, no mathematical equation to elucidate why she felt so drawn to him. Logically, Nora knew that Caroline would disapprove. Her cousin would expect Nora to politely disengage with the dangerous lieutenant and focus her interests on someone safer. Someone of whom her cousin would approve.

Seated by the duke, Caroline's smile was brittle. Nora could see the strain behind her blue eyes, the tautness in her neck. Her cousin had labored over this week of celebration. Everything had been artfully arranged so that this flock of friends and family and societal sycophants might be impressed. From the colors in the guest rooms to the dessert wines, Caroline had tossed and turned night after night worrying about each and every detail. Nora knew that encouraging this flirtation would add another weight upon Caroline's shoulders.

I just want you to be happy.

A rebellious shade of her spirit smothered the guilt. If Caroline was so adamant that she not make the acquaintance of Jacob Thornton-Spencer, perhaps she should have taken better care with the seating arrangement.

"I doubt that will be necessary," Nora said. For all the rumored nastiness of the man, she couldn't imagine that the Duke of Ashurst would be so wicked as to spoil the evening. Despite her reservations for the societal elite, he could not be so cruel as to ruin the dinner Caroline had worked so hard to create. Everyone admired Caroline, and Nora refused to believe the duke would slight her.

"Has it been so long since my father hosted a dinner? Perhaps memories are short if everyone has forgotten the number of outraged husbands and fainting ladies he's managed to offend over the years."