Page 20 of A Single Thread of Moonlight

“May I have this dance?” Nicholas asked, and he took my hand in his, bowing over it in an old-fashioned gesture.

It was the first time he had touched me. His fingers wrapped around my own and I felt a tug of awareness in my belly.

“Of course,” I replied. Eyes were sliding in our direction, just as he had said.

He swept me on to the dance floor, and then – in the moment before the music began – he gave me a look so warm it bought a flush to my cheeks.

It’s only pretend, I told myself sternly.

I had a part to play as well. I dropped my eyelashes demurely before glancing back up at him, offering a smile of my own.

There was a quiet buzz of conversation, and I forced myself to keep my eyes on Nicholas, not to acknowledge the fact that the air was once more thick with the sound of gossip – and that, yet again, I was the centre of attention. It seemed that Serena Fox had made quite a splash.

The music began, and he took me into his arms.

The fine cloth of his jacket was soft beneath my fingers, but his shoulder was taut. His arm was around my waist, my face close enough to his chest that I could see the individual stitches on his waistcoat. I knew he was tall, but suddenly he seemed even bigger, filling my vision. I had to crane my neck to look up at him.

“You are very tall,” I said.

Nicholas kept the smile pinned to his face. “What an astute observation. I might comment that you are very short, but it would be impolite.”

Do not roll your eyes, Iris.

“I was only trying to make it look like we were having a conversation. Isn’t that what people who are flirting do?”

He pulled me a bit closer to him, closer than was really decent, and lowered his head so that he could murmur softly in my ear.

“This is what people who are flirting do.”

I glanced up at him. “Not terribly comfortable for tall people, I’d imagine.”

“Being tall has its advantages.”

“Such as?”

He gave me a long, burning look, and then – almost in a whisper – he said, “I’m very, very good” – he paused for a second – “at tennis. Long arms.”

I choked on a laugh.

“Please don’t laugh when it looks like I’m trying to seduce you. It will give people a poor opinion of me.”

We danced in silence for a moment, Nicholas spinning me expertly around the enormous ballroom. He danced well, and I was sure that he knew it.

“How will it work?” I asked quietly. “Going to Holland Hall, I mean.”

“Nothing could be more simple,” he replied. “I am invited to go, along with my grandmother, who will thankfully be able to act as your chaperone. Yesterday I begged an invitation from Lady Scott-Holland for an old family friend who was visiting on short notice.”

“Serena Fox,” I murmured.

“Exactly so.” He nodded. “Our hostess graciously extended the invitation to include my guest.” He said it all with the arrogance of a man who was used to getting his way.

“What about your grandmother?” I asked. “Surely she knows I am not a friend of the family.”

“She believes that we are old friends who met as children. My grandmother didn’t accompany us on our family holidays so you have not met before. She would also not expect to be familiar with the daughter of a man of business.” He smiled thinly. “I’m afraid she may think you somewhat below her touch, though in this case it will work in our favour. It would be different if we were trying to pass you off as a titled lady, of course.”

“Of course,” I agreed, thinking that was actually precisely what I was.

His grandmother would know Iris Scott-Holland’s history. I knew from the investigators’ reports that Helena had not told anyone I had run away. Instead there had been some story about an accident – no body found, but as time passed it was thought likely that poor Iris Scott-Holland must have perished. A terrible tragedy, especially so soon after Lord Scott-Holland’s death.