Page 264 of Once an Angel
His mother tapped her feet to the music; her fat ringlets bobbed. "Hello, darling. Enjoying yourself?"
"Immensely," he lied.
He slipped behind Emily's chair and leaned against the wall, determined to be there when she returned. His gaze wasn't the only one locked on her. Heads craned as she spun around the room in an enchanting swirl of cream and rose. Justin's breath quickened. He wanted to dance with her as he had in New Zealand. He wanted to splay his hand over the delicate expanse of her ribs, and damn the consequences. As he watched her, his heart lurched into reckless song. His fingers drummed on the back of the chair, itching for a smooth scrap of paper on which to record his melody.
At last the interminable tune was done and Emily and her escort made their way back toward the chair. Justin picked a minuscule speck of lint off his sleeve and stepped forward. Penfeld chose that moment
to lean over and offer his mother an hors d'oeuvre from a silver tray. Before Justin could maneuver around them, Emily was gone again, whisked off by another young swain. He swore under his breath.
The orchestra launched into a waltz by Brahms that captured perfectly the floating sway of Emily's skirt.
His mother popped a little sausage into her mouth. "Hungry, dear?"
Emily's smooth cheek dimpled as she smiled up at her partner. Justin's nails dug into the back of the chair. "Ravenous."
Penfeld beamed at the dance floor. "They make a charming couple, don't they?"
Justin grunted, refusing to commit himself. The man's golden hair shimmered as he inclined his head to Emily.
"Young Peter just graduated from Oxford," the duchess said. "He's level-headed, bright, and very interested in his father's mining business. A simply marvelous prospect."
"A prospect for what?" Justin snapped. If the levelheaded Peter didn't keep his gloved hands still on Emily's back, he was going to be a marvelous prospect for getting his head dunked in the punch bowl.
His mother only made a mysterious noise.
Justin leaned over her shoulder, craning his neck as another couple blocked his view. "That fuzz on his chin makes him look a little like an overgrown rat, don't you think?" He smugly stroked his own jaw, where a day's growth was already pricking the skin.
She tittered. "Don't be so harsh on the boy. Has it been so long that you've forgotten your first whiskers?"
Justin's hand froze in its motion, then fell limp at his side. He resisted the urge to check the looking glass, afraid he might discover his hair had gone snow white.
This time he didn't wait for the last note of the waltz to sound. As soon as Penfeld started to shift his bulk, he flung himself over the valet's legs and plunged through the crowd.
He took Emily's arm firmly and forced himself to make a genteel bow. "Would you be kind enough to grant me the pleasure of your company for a dance?"
She opened the card affixed to her wrist by a golden thread and studied it. A charming line of concentration furrowed her brow. "I'm afraid not. My dance card is full." She patted his sleeve.
"Perhaps another time."
Stung by her careless rejection, Justin's grip on her arm tightened, but before he could protest, a familiar voice chimed between them. "Why, good evening, Your Grace. Charming ball, is it not?" Cecille du Pardieu bobbed him a schoolroom curtsy that made him feel at least eighty. "Come along, Emily dear. There's a young gentleman who's simply dying to meet you."
He had to admire Cecille's opportunism. Emily was the obvious belle of the ball, and claiming her now could only enhance Cecille's own reputation. Hooking her arm in Emily's, she dragged her away, chattering as if they had always been the best of friends. They disappeared in a crowd of laughing,
jostling young people.
He dragged his creaking bones back to Emily's chair and sank into it. When Sims, standing back at a discreet distance, offered him another glass of champagne, Justin took the entire tray and balanced it
on his knees, leaving the perspiring footman empty-handed.
"Dry, sweeting?" his mother chirped.
"Parched," he replied. As he tossed back a glass, his hungry gaze combed the crowd for a hint of
chestnut curls garlanded with roses.
* * *
Justin rolled the fluted stem of the champagne glass between his fingers. The ballroom was nearly as empty as the tray sitting at his feet. His head gave a warning throb.
