As casually as she could manage she flicked her eyes toward him, lifting her glass of champagne.
His eyes met hers, bright, vivid, and utterly arresting. Good Lord—he looked hungry, devouring her with his gaze. She felt herself freeze, the glass halfway to her lips, as if she had been hypnotized by that intense stare, unable to break her gaze from his. Her cheeks heated; she knew her face had flooded with color, and she had never blushed prettily.
As if he had read an invitation in her eyes, he shouldered away from the wall and took a step toward her. Panic erupted. This man would not be deterred even by a direct cut.
Desperation had her reaching for Nora’s arm. “Take a turn with me about the garden, won’t you?” she asked, her voice high and tinny.
“But the next set—”
“Please.” She tugged Nora along, wending through the thick crowd. Still she could sense him watching her, but she hoped that he would at least give up the chase. Surely not even he would risk pursuing her out into the gardens, not with Nora at her side.
She deposited her glass upon a table, wrenched the knob of the terrace door, and yanked Nora out behind her into the cool night air.
“Good heavens, Jilly,” Nora gasped. “I was due for the next dance with my husband. Oh, Robert will be so upset—he does so love a waltz.”
“He will understand. You know he would forgive you anything.” Despite Nora’s attempts to break her hand free of Jilly’s hold, Jilly persisted, dragging her friend along the hedgerows until they parted, revealing a stone path into the garden proper, a little secluded bower out of sight of the house.
Nora released an amused trill of laughter as Jilly at last came to a stop, collapsing wearily onto the stone bench beneath the shelter of the hedges.
“It’s not amusing,” Jilly grumbled, pushing back a curl that had come loose during her frantic flight.
“I beg to differ,” Nora said, “I haven’t seen you have such a visceral reaction to a man since—”
“I beg you, don’t.” Jilly cast out her hand in entreaty. She flinched as Nora laid a comforting hand on her shoulder.
“Dearest Jilly,” she sighed. “You’ve just fled from a man like a scalded cat before half the Ton. I wonder if it is truly him you wish to escape.” Nora smoothed at her skirts as she took a seat on the bench. “Do you know, you’ve exhibited more genuine emotion this past week than you have in the past few years.”
The prickly leaves of the hedges jabbed Jilly’s neck as she tipped her head back, and she knew that her artfully arranged hair would be all but ruined, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. “Distaste,” she said sullenly. “Anxiety. Horror.”
“Hmm,” Nora said, unconvinced. “But not for him, I think. You did like him.” Again, a comforting pat, like a mother would give a child.