Something akin to admiration began to flutter within her. He was still rude and annoying, and she certainly did not enjoy his company, but for the first time since that fateful duel three and a half years earlier, Sarah found that she admired him. He was strong. No, not in that watch-how-effortlessly-I-can-toss-a-young-lady-onto-a-horse way, although for all she knew he was that, too. She did have her hand on his arm, and there was nothing soft about him.

Hugh Prentice was strong on the inside, where it truly counted. He’d have to be, to come back from such an injury.

She swallowed, her eyes finding focus somewhere across the room even as she continued in step next to him. She felt unsettled, as if the floor had suddenly dropped an inch to the right, or the air had gone thin. She had spent the last few years detesting this man, and while this anger had not consumed her, it had, in some small way, defined her.

Lord Hugh Prentice had been her excuse. He had been her constant. When the world tipped and changed around her, he had remained her steady object of disgust. He was cold, he was heartless, he was without conscience. He had ruined her cousin’s life and never apologized for it. He was horrible in a way that meant nothing else in life could ever be that bad.

And now she had found something within him to admire? That was unlike her. Honoria was the one who found the good in people; Sarah held the grudge.

And she did not change her mind.

Except, apparently, when she did.

“Will you dance to your heart’s content once I’ve left?” Lord Hugh suddenly asked.

Sarah started, so lost in the tumult of her thoughts that his voice hit too loudly at her ears. “I hadn’t thought about it, honestly,” she said.

“You should,” he said quietly. “You’re a lovely dancer.”

Her lips parted in surprise.

“Yes, Lady Sarah,” he said, “that was a compliment.”

“I hardly know what to do with it.”

“I’d recommend accepting it gracefully.”

“And do you base this upon personal experience?”

“Certainly not. I almost never accept compliments with grace.”

She looked up at him, expecting to see a sly look, maybe even a mischievous one, but his face remained as impassive as ever. He wasn’t even looking at her.

“You’re a very odd man, Lord Hugh Prentice,” she said quietly.

“I know,” he said, and they steered around Sarah’s enormous great-uncle (and his remarkably tall wife) to reach the ballroom door. Before they could make their escape, however, they were intercepted by Honoria, who was still radiating such happiness that Sarah thought her cheeks must ache from smiling. Frances was standing at her side, holding her hand and basking in the bridal glow.

“You’re not leaving so soon!” Honoria exclaimed.