“I remember you,” Lord Waltham said with a smirk. “Still as clumsy as ever, I see.”
“Don’t bother asking Lady Prudence to dance,” Randolph said. “She will refuse.”
“Nonsense,” Waltham said. “We have danced before, and I’m sure she would welcome the opportunity to do so again.”
He didn’t ask but instead offered his arm, clearly expecting her to take it.
Prue stared at it, unable to speak or move no matter how she wished otherwise. If only a hole would open in the ground and allow her to disappear.
Silas’s gaze caught on Prue returning to the ballroom, wishing he could speak with her, but since she had discovered the wager, he hesitated to approach. She wouldn’t want to converse with him during a ball.
He would have to wait to tell her about how his meeting went until they met for the birthday party planning.
He watched as she paused to speak with someone, thinking again how lovely she looked in a blue gown. Her understated beauty was something he was coming to appreciate, especially after speaking with Miss Maria Havenworth, whose father was landed gentry and had more money than anyone should.
Speaking with the lady was a chore when they didn’t seem to have anything in common. He’d resorted to speaking about the weather after they’d shared an awkward dance.
Her lack of a title didn’t matter, but he had hoped to have some common ground with the woman he chose to be his wife. Miss Havenworth didn’t enjoy riding or reading. She liked to sketch but didn’t enjoy much else from what he could gather. She didn’t even like cats.
That only made him miss Prue more.
“Viscount Winstead?” Miss Havenworth said. “Were you listening?”
He realized he’d missed her question, but he couldn’t tear his gaze from Prue, who still stood by the entrance flanked by Randolph and Waltham.
Something was wrong. He could see it in the stiff lines of her face and body.
“Please excuse me for a moment,” he said without so much as a glance at Miss Havenworth.
He wound through the crowd as quickly as possible to where the three stood, taking in Prue’s pale face and the wary look in her eyes.
She barely acknowledged his presence, keeping her gaze lowered.
“Winstead, find your own wallflower,” Lord Randolph said with a grin, the slur of his words suggesting he’d had far too much to drink. “Waltham and I are enjoying a conversation with Lady Prudence. They’re old friends.”
Silas had never liked Waltham, and the way he watched Prue made him like him even less. “Is that right?” Based on Prue’s expression, she didn’t agree, but she had yet to utter a word. Her gaze held on the floor as if she wished she were somewhere else.
“Tell him, Lady Prudence,” Waltham prodded. “Tell him we are about to share a dance.”
“Perhaps another time,” Silas said as he took her arm and tucked it beneath his, longing to hold her until her upset faded. “She already promised a dance with me.”
Prue blinked at his touch. For a moment, he thought she might pull away. Then she tightened her grip on his arm, face still pale. “Yes, I had nearly forgotten,” she said, her voice barely audible.
With a glare at the two men, Silas led her toward the dance floor but slowed as they neared it. “Are you well?”
She shook her head, but he wasn’t sure if it was in answer to his question or to clear her thoughts. “I do not care for that man.”
“Nor do I.” He waited to see if she explained the reason.
“Thank you for rescuing me. Seeing him again was a...surprise.”
Worry trickled through Silas. “Again? Did he hurt you at some point?”
“Only my reputation.” She closed her eyes briefly before finally opening them to meet his, unease lingering in their depths.
Anger burned inside him. He needed to know what had happened and hoped she was willing to tell him. Without a word, he led her to an open terrace door, hoping no one noted their movements. The cool evening air was a relief after the warm, crowded ballroom.
He continued on a narrow path off the terrace where the shadows would hide them. It wasn’t his grandmother’s house where they could speak without interruption, but it would have to do for now.