CHAPTER 24

THALIA ENTERED THE grand ballroom of the Duchess of Aycliffe's London mansion, and her breath caught at the sheer opulence that greeted her. Everything was exquisite. The room was a dazzling display of wealth and taste, with crystal chandeliers casting a soft, golden glow over the sea of elegant guests. Rich velvet drapes in deep burgundy adorned the walls, and gilt mirrors reflected the light, making the room seem even larger and more resplendent.

Conversation filled the air, punctuated by the strains of an orchestra playing a waltz. Even though several hundred guests filled the vast ballroom, the space didn't feel cramped. Ladies in shimmering silks and satins twirled across the floor in the arms of gentlemen handsomely dressed in their black and white evening attire.

Thalia could almost taste the extravagance in the air. The scent of jasmine and roses mingled with the rich aroma of champagne and the decadent feast laid out on long, linen-covered tables. There were towering confections, platters of game and fresh fruit, and crystal bowls filled with punch. The sight was enough to make anyone feel intoxicated by the sheer abundance.

Yet, amid all this splendor, Thalia couldn't shake the melancholy that plagued her. The grandeur, though breathtaking, felt overwhelming. She would rather be in her cozy sitting room reading a book and nursing her broken heart.

Her brother-in-law had swept her sister into a dance immediately upon entering. They made a handsome couple twirling across the floor while gazing at each other with adoring eyes. Her opinion of Lord Andrew had improved tremendously in the weeks since his marriage to her sister. It was obvious he loved Artemis and would do anything to make her happy. She thought back to the time when she had embarked on a journey across the country to stop their marriage and felt absolutely ridiculous. And then immediately cut that thought, as that led to memories of the marquess.

She would not think of him. She might never forget him, but she would not indulge in useless reminiscences. Tonight, she would put her social mask on and would navigate this gilded maze, poised and confident. A gentleman she had met previously, but whose name escaped her, approached her and asked her to dance. With a gracious nod, she accepted.

The attention she kept garnering never ceased to surprise her. She had just changed the way she dressed and her hairstyle. Underneath, she was the same person. Yet she had gone from wallflower to seductress in the span of a week? It would be amusing if she were not too broken-hearted to appreciate the irony.

Her dance partner was an accomplished dancer, although he kept taking surreptitious glances at her bosom whenever he thought she wasn't looking. He was not the first to do so. She fixed a polite smile on her face and allowed herself to be swept away in the music.

How would it feel to dance in Liam's arms? She had never danced with him. Their affair had been so short-lived they had not even had time to experience that. She gave her head a shake to dislodge the intrusive thought. One day, she would be able to enjoy a dance, a conversation, a walk in the park, a liaison even, without comparing it with how it would feel with Liam. But that day was not today. Alas.

The dance ended, and her partner returned her to the side of the dancefloor, only to be besieged by a bevy of gentlemen wanting to claim a spot on her dance card and offering champagne or punch.

Her smile had become a frozen rictus she hoped didn't look as forced as it felt. It was difficult to smile when your heart was weeping. Coming here tonight had been a mistake. She raised her eyes, looking for her sister, and instead her gaze clashed with the object of her obsession. He stood alone in the crowd, not talking to anyone. In fact, people moved around him, as if an invisible force surrounded him in a protective circle.

His intense eyes pinned her, and a wave of heat swamped her. Breaking the stare, she accepted a glass of champagne from one gentleman and took a sip, willing her heart to calm and her blood to cool.

This was bound to happen at some point. Since they moved in the same circles, they would meet at a ball or other event. But not yet. She wasn't ready yet. Leaving this ball became urgent. She would claim not feeling well...

"Good evening, Lady Thalia. I believe this dance is mine."

How had he approached her so stealthily? Her group of admirers had parted for him like soldiers to allow their general through. He extended his hand, holding her gaze. She studied his beloved features. His wild hair was perfectly combed back tonight and tied at his nape with a leather strip. His suit was impeccable. It hugged his Greek god torso with an elegance that spoke of flawless design. He was clean shaven. She would have missed that rugged stubble that had sometimes abraded her skin, except that his jawline and chin were a study of chiseled male beauty. They deserved to be exposed for all to admire.

He was lethally, devastatingly handsome, and her knees grew weak, remembering how those perfectly shaped lips had possessed hers. How his mouth had commanded and enthralled, while those muscular arms held her tight against a chest made of unyielding rock. He captured her eyes, a corner of his mouth lifted, and a sparkle lit his eyes. As if he could read her thoughts and was daring her to call his bluff and refuse him.

She would have, except she saw something behind the arrogance of his bearing. A vulnerability. A...yearning? She placed her hand in his, and he led her to the dance floor where, with a smooth maneuver, he swept her into the twirling couples.

Was it only a few minutes ago that she wondered how he danced? The same way he did everything else. Flawlessly. Masterfully. She was floating in his arms, weightless and free. His arms held her secure and protected as he swirled her through a turn, her skirts floating behind her like banners in the wind. She laughed with the sheer exhilaration of the moment, and his eyes warmed, crinkling at the corners as he beheld her.

She instantly sobered. Remembering herself. The circumstances. A dance meant nothing. He couldn't just sweep in and make her forget herself.

"What are you doing here, Lord Ashford?"

His face tightened at her use of his title, and he held her closer. "I'm dancing with the most beautiful woman in this ball."

"Flattery will get you nowhere. You know what I mean. Why did you seek me out in the middle of the ball? I thought you wanted nothing more to do with me."

"No. That's not true. I want everything with you. I was just an obstinate prick. Would you allow me to redeem myself?"

There was sincerity in his tone and true longing. It soothed her bleeding heart.

"If you are trying to apologize for the events of the other day, my lord, I accept your apology."

"That's not all I want. I want you back. In my life and in my bed. I need you, Thalia."

The raw declaration went straight to her heart. Even so, that didn't mean they belonged together. He had no desire to marry, and she refused to be controlled or dictated to.

"I'd be lying if I said I didn't miss you." His arm around her waist tightened at her declaration. "But I don't think there's a way forward for us, my lord."

"Don't say that. We need to talk. If we both want it, there must be a way. Let's get out of here. Come home with me, please."

"I can't leave the ball with you. Quite the scandal that would create. Especially after the scene you caused, alienating everyone to claim a dance you had not requested."

"To hell with that. All your dances are mine. You are mine."

"I don't belong to anyone, my lord. I believe that's the crux of our problems."

Just then, the music ended, and they stopped. But he didn't release her, just stood there in the middle of the ballroom, still holding her by the waist, her hand trapped in his.

"Release me. You're creating a scene," she hissed.

Her next dance partner arrived. An amiable gentleman from the north called Mr Granville.

"Lady Thalia, I believe this is my dance."

"No, it's not. Go away," Liam almost snarled at the man.

"Excuse me, my lord?"

"Lord Ashford is joking, Mr Granville. The next dance is, indeed, yours." She turned to Liam. "You're welcome to pencil in your name for my next available set, my lord."

Their eyes met, clashing in a battle of wills. He was trying to dictate to her once again. Take control of her life and her choices. She would not allow it.

"I'd be honored, Lady Thalia," he said at last, taking the pencil and dancing card hanging from her wrist to write his name with forceful, almost angry, strokes.

And then he turned and marched off the dance floor. Leaving her with Mr Granville, who smiled congenially and offered his arm to lead her into the next dance.

She danced five more dances before it was Liam's turn again. He had watched her the entire time from the edges of the room. Standing all by himself, no one talked to him, and he seemed not to care. He'd just stood there, looking at her with a possessive gaze. But when he came to claim his dance, instead of dancing, he offered her his arm and led her out of the ballroom. She didn't object, for she was happy for the respite.

"If your aim is to make amends, this is the exact opposite of what you should do. You are behaving like a boor."

He took a deep sigh as he led her onto the balcony. "I'm sorry, Thalia. It drives me crazy to see you dance with other men. To watch them put their covetous hands on you. They all want you, but none of them deserves you."

"And you do?" she asked with a raised brow.

"Maybe not. But I saw you first," he growled.

"Excuse me, but I'm not a prize to be claimed by the first to arrive."

"What I meant is that I saw you. The real you, before any of these fools. They had you right before their eyes for years, and none of them could see past your ghastly gowns. Much less perceive the beauty of your soul."

"And you did?" This time, the question was soft. Breathless.

He snorted, looking into her eyes. "I saw your external beauty at once. And got a glimpse into your heart during our first conversation."

"Oh." Why had he never told her that?

"Let's go talk in private, please," he asked as other couples spilled onto the lamp-lit balcony. "Otherwise, I may do something rash, like kissing you here, in front of people."

"You wouldn't!"

"Wouldn't I?" he asked softly, his gaze focusing on her lips. They throbbed with the memory of his kisses, as if he were touching them now. "I'm desperate for you, my muse. Let's go home together, please. Put me out of my misery."

"I'm not going home with you," she said firmly, resisting the desire to melt into him. They had things to resolve, and this conversation was too important to allow it to be clouded by passion. "But I guess we can take a stroll in the gardens."