Page 57 of The Duke's Bride in Disguise
"No, thank you."
"You've been standing alone all night, surely you'd rather be the belle of the ball? I should like the opportunity to show you off to the room."
"I'm quite fine where I am," Ava replied to Theodore Bellhurst through gritted teeth. The pompous young man appeared to think she must have suffered a blow to the head, to refuse a dance with him.
"I'll have you know," he said smoothly, brushing an invisible fleck of dust from his immaculate, dark jacket, "I'm quite the mover."
"And I'll have you know, that within my satin slippers are cloven hooves," Ava replied evenly, relishing the look of shock on Bellhurst's face.
"I beg your pardon?" he stuttered, aghast.
"Oh, you heard me correctly," Ava replied innocently, before spinning on her heel to seek out a new hiding place.
Lady Birmingham's ballroom was bursting at the seams; underneath the three glistening chandeliers, hundreds of people mingled, dancing, talking, and making fun. It was all a little overwhelming for Ava who, even if she had been able to dance, would still have preferred her position on the periphery of the festivities.
Try to remember it all, she reminded herself, as she watched ladies, dripping with diamonds and dressed in the finest of dresses, flirt outrageously with handsomely attired men. Beside the dancefloor, a small orchestra valiantly attempted to play above the roar of the crowd, whilst liveried footmen nimbly darted from person to person with fresh glasses of sparkling wine.
It was a marvellous sight to behold, and one that Ava knew she would not see again, once she resumed her real identity.
She had just decided to attempt to wade through the crowds to fetch herself a glass of ratafia, when a familiar face caught her eye.
It was Kilbride, though he did not have his usual commanding air about him—in fact, he looked rather faint.
Ava watched, surreptitiously, as Kilbride extracted himself from the group he had been speaking with, and lurched across the room.
Was he in his cups? He looked as though he was, as he staggered across the room, heading—Ava realised with a gulp—in her direction. She darted behind a pillar, like the coward she was, afraid that Kilbride—if he was drunk—might make a scene.
It was only when he was near enough for her to see his face clearly, that Ava realised something was terribly wrong. He staggered, gasping for breath, toward the French doors which led to the terrace. Fearing that he might collapse, Ava darted forward, reaching out to grasp him by the elbow.
"Your Grace," she whispered, "Whatever's the matter?"
"I—can't—breathe," Kilbride replied, as he gulped for air.
"Let me fetch someone," Ava said desperately, afraid that Kilbride might expire before her. Never had she felt such terror—he needed to be alright, she could not bear if anything happened to him.
"No," Kilbride replied forcefully, "I—just—need—air."
With one final show of strength, the duke lurched forward,stumbling through the open doors which led to the gardens, as Ava fretfully followed him.
Outside a fine mist of spring rain was falling, leaving the terrace mercifully empty. Kilbride threw himself against the veranda's balustrades, and took several deep, shuddering breaths.
"It's alright," Ava whispered, springing forward to take his hand, "Everything will be alright."
She couldn't tell if it was the rain which left the duke's cheeks wet, or if it was tears. Certainly, he looked so lost and helpless, that she impulsively reached out to soothingly stroke his cheek.
"It's alright," she crooned again, feeling a stab of tender protectiveness toward Kilbride. He was so big, so masculine, and yet here he was, almost helpless before her.
His breathing seemed to be returning to a more even keel, so Ava reached her hand away, not wishing him to think that she was mollycoddling him, when he didn't need it. She didn't get far however, for Kilbride reached out his hand to clasp hers in an iron grip.
"Stay," he implored, his blue eyes pleading, his voice weak.
"Of course," Ava replied simply, allowing him to tug her gently toward his chest. She fell into his arms in an embrace that was so different to their last. It was tender, it was loving, it felt like home, she thought sadly.
She could hear the duke's heart beating within his chest, a rapid pounding that slowly, slowly returned to a more even pace.
"You are better than laudanum," she thought she heard him whisper into her neck, but she didn't want to question him, afraid that just by speaking she might break the spell.
Her fairytale was coming to an end, but for a few moments more, she wanted to enjoy the feeling of being held in her Prince Charming's arms.
