Her Assassin's Heart - Book 2

Chapter 22

    The sounds of swishing silks and satins buzzed in the back of her mind. Tinkling glass and laughter filled the enormous ballroom. The sights and sounds surrounding her were all so familiar. They reminded her of times gone by when hers had been the much-anticipated presence at every social gathering.

    The Fergus ballroom was not as ornate as the ones she's seen in the fine London townhouses, but it was all the more welcoming because of its simplicity. Figures in bright ball gowns moved about the room with all the proper grace of the upperclass. The main difference here was the tartan, proudly worn and displayed as though it meant far more than the most costly silks.

    Cassandra hadn't yet discovered the reason behind the Scotsmen and their skirts. Brawny men strutted about as though they felt no shame in donning a clothing article so typically seen on women. Even Charlie was wearing one.

    Despite the welcoming appearance of the room, Cassandra hesitated at the door. For some reason, the irrational fear, that if she stepped into that room, her old self would resurface, had taken hold of her. Her brain told her that crossed the threshold would send her careening back into her preening, self-centered ways, and there was nothing she dreaded more.

    From the dim hallway, where she took shelter, she could see Ethan and Lavinia chatting and socializing like parties of this size were a common occurrence in their everyday lives. They seemed far more at home here than they had in the London ballrooms back home.

    She had been passed by a few couples in the hall, and she'd distinctly heard one of them refer to her afterward as that 'stupid, little English mouse'. If only they knew what she'd been before coming here. The comment, however, wasn't enough to stir her from her position.

    Chewing on her lip, she wondered if she could manage to find her way to the garden without running into Irene—who would most certainly force her into the social light. Right now, she oddly wanted a moment to mull over what she was feeling. Without the life she'd built for herself over a span of several years, she had no idea what she really was and what she wanted to be. She had a dim idea, but she wasn't sure how to reach her goal while keeping her personality intact.

    Gritting her teeth, she determined to try to get out of here. It was no use just standing and watching the party, and it was becoming increasingly uncomfortable. Turning, she crashed into something solid. Over-correcting in an attempt to get out of the way of the unseen stranger, she lost her balance and felt herself toppling in an ungraceful pile of silk.

    A manly hand on her back held her upright, and one of her hands found purchase on the lapels of a dinner jacket.

    "It seems every time we meet, you're in need of my assistance." Graham's other hand fit to the curve of her waist, and he easily pulled her upright.

    "Perhaps, Mr. McRoberts, that's because you seem to enjoy following me, even when it's evident your presence is unwelcome." She felt a strange tightness in her chest, and he didn't, she noticed, remove his hands from their position.

    "Oh, I wasn't complaining." He flashed a smile which she could barely make out in the dimly lit hallway. "I rather enjoy our little encounters, but not, I imagine, as much as you."

    "You only imagine that, because you're in the habit of stroking your own ego." She sniffed, pushing out of his grasp. "Now, if you will excuse me, you're blocking my way."

    "Not going out there?" He nodded his head in the direction of the ballroom, raising a brow.

    "Not directly." For some reason, she didn't want to tell him her true intent. She prayed he would just let her go.