Lord Day and Lady Night

40. The Difference Between Day and Night

...and he moved on without the barest flicker of recognition.

What da 'ell? Arrogant son of a bachelor! Who does 'e think 'e is?

Most likely a peer of the British Empire. In which case, he would be right, damn him!

And yet...

To look past her without even hesitating?

What, did ye think 'e'd actually pick ye? An infuriating little voice sounded in the back of her mind. Do ye think dis is some bloody fairy tale?

He couldn't pick her if he wanted to. They were on a mission! They were here to mingle and observe—not to cause a bloody ginormous scandal by letting everyone watch Lord Patrick Day, most eligible bachelor of London, dance at a duke's ball with a frigging nanny!

This was fact.

This was logic.

Yet somehow, all of that didn't change the fact that her heart, which had been pounding just an instant ago, now suddenly felt bruised. Not because she wanted him to come over to her and ask her to...no, of course not! But for him to not even look at her, not even acknowledge her existence...

It made her feel hollow and cheap, like a cracked old vase, about to shatter at any moment.

"My Lady." Abruptly, Lord Patrick's eyes snapped back. With long strides, he strode forward—straight in her direction. Amy's lifeless heart suddenly jumped again, and...

And Patrick stopped in front of a tall, elegant lady standing right in front of her. Amy could only see her elegantly curved back, slender neck and shiny locks, which already made made her a matchless beauty. More than that, with her golden hair and marvellous figure, she was Patrick's perfect match.

Match? Great! Please let's set 'er on fire! Let's do it right now!

Maybe she had spent too much time with Flo. Maybe there wasn't any reason to be concerned. After all, the woman might just be as ugly as—

Just then, the young lady turned to gaze directly at Lord Patrick, revealing a stunningly beautiful face that could make angels cry.

Crap.

"Y-yes, My Lord?" a tremulous, melodious voice issued from between her lips.

Lord Patrick performed a deep bow. "Lady Violet, you are as beautiful as the flower whose name you bear. There is none here but you worthy of accompanying me for the opening dance at His Grace's ball. May I have the honour of being given your hand?"

Amy felt her hands clench into fists. Suddenly, she really wanted to give him her hand. Into his face. And maybe a few other, more vulnerable places.

No! Bad Amy! Bad! Dat's da wrong one! Da noble ye wanna chop ta pieces is da copper-'aired one, not da blond bastard (may 'e die an agonizing death!).

That's what she kept telling herself, at least. Lord Arsehat was was her ally! Her ally in this pit of evil and depravity!

That still didn't keep her from wanting to kick his arse!

The aforementioned arse, however, was already moving.

"Why...thank you, Your Lordship." Blushing, the lady called Violet curtsied and extended that slender, too darn dainty little hand of hers. "I would be delighted."

"Then please follow me." With a deep bow, he took her hand and led her onto the dance floor. "It will be my honour."

As the musicians struck up a seductive melody, Amy watched Lord Patrick Day leading his lady onto the dancefloor. His second hand joined hers, and they began to move to the rhythm of the music. Or rather, he began to move her. Like a whirlwind, he twirled around the dancefloor, manoeuvering her with swift, elegant, irresistible movements. Amy couldn't tear her eyes of them. A beautiful couple dancing at a luxurious ball. Just like Cinderella and the prince, only that both of them were of noble blood. This was how the other half lived. This was what the woman by Patrick's side was supposed to look like.