Honoria kept looking out at the dancers. How many times had they stood this way together, she and Sarah? Side by side, both staring off at the crowd as they carried on a conversation without ever once looking at each other. They didn’t really need to; they knew each other so well that facial expressions were not necessary to know what the other was feeling.

Marcus and Cecily finally came into view, and Honoria watched as they stepped forward and back. “Do you think Cecily Royle is setting her cap for Marcus?” she asked.

“Do you?” Sarah countered.

Honoria kept her eyes on Marcus’s feet. He was really quite graceful for such a large man. “I don’t know,” she murmured.

“Do you care?”

Honoria thought for a moment about how much of her feelings she was willing to share. “I believe I do,” she finally said.

“It won’t matter if she does,” Sarah replied. “He’s not interested in her.”

“I know,” Honoria said softly, “but I don’t think he’s interested in me, either.”

“Just you wait,” Sarah said, finally turning to look her in the eye. “Just you wait.”

An hour or so later, Honoria was standing by an empty platter at the dessert table, congratulating herself for having captured the last éclair, when Marcus came to claim his waltz.

“Did you get one?” she asked him.

“Get what?”

“An éclair. They were heavenly. Oh.” She tried not to smile. “I’m sorry. From your expression I can see that you did not.”

“I have been trying to get over here all evening,” he admitted.

“There might be more,” she said, in her best imitation of optimism.

He looked at her with a single raised brow.

“But probably not,” she said. “I’m terribly sorry. Perhaps we can ask Lady Bridgerton where she got them. Or”—she tried to look devious—“if her own chef made them, perhaps we can hire him away.”

He smiled. “Or we could dance.”

“Or we could dance,” she agreed happily. She placed her hand on his arm and allowed him to lead her toward the center of the ballroom. They had danced before, even the waltz once or twice, but this felt different. Even before the music began, she felt as if she were gliding, moving effortlessly across the polished wooden floor. And when his hand came to rest at the small of her back, and she looked up into his eyes, something hot and liquid began to unravel within her.

She was weightless. She was breathless. She felt hungry, needy. She wanted something she could not define, and she wanted it with an intensity that should have scared her.