Alasdair didn’t come straight to her, as he might have in another room, another week, another stolen moment.
No teasing glance. No smirk. No quiet words just for her ears.
Tonight, he stayed on the opposite side of the ballroom, speaking to lords and ladies who once scoffed at his barbarian ways and now laughed at his every remark.
He looked perfectly civilized.
And she hated it.
The quiet ache in her chest only grew as she watched him exchange pleasantries with Lord Kittridge, then Lady Hartley. She caught the warmth in his voice when he greeted Lord Farnleigh. Somehow, it all felt wrong.
He was being good. Too good.
And it made her want to scream.
Still, she smiled graciously, remained poised and attentive, especially when surrounded by the small group of gentlemen drawn into her orbit. Marianne remained beside her, acting as both chaperone and subtle buffer. Wilhelmina, for once, hadn’t wandered too far either.
“So that’s the story of my hunting dog, Egbert,” Lord Pomfrey concluded with an exaggerated flourish.
Elizabeth laughed softly, her gloved fingers fluttering to her cheek. “I should very much like to meet Egbert someday. He sounds like quite the gentleman.”
“It’s a family trait, Lady Elizabeth,” Pomfrey said with a wink.
“Indeed,” Marianne added with a smooth smile. “You’ll find the love of animals runs strong in our bloodline.”
“Ah, then we have something in common!” Lord Avery piped in eagerly. “I’ve just taken in three kittens. And of course, I have my horses.” He paused. “If you’re interested, Lady Elizabeth, you’d be most welcome to visit.”
“Kittens?” Elizabeth’s face lit up. “They are simply darling. And far less temperamental than some people.”
That earned her a polite chuckle from the group. She didn’t even have to lie. Shedidlove kittens. She just wasn’t sure she could love any of these men.
Still, she knew how to play the part.
The men were circling now—Avery, Pomfrey, and even a viscount whose name she couldn’t quite remember. It wasn’t a surprise. She’d learned how to draw their attention, how to feign the right kind of interest. With a smile here, a soft laugh there, a faint blush when appropriate.
It was all part of the game.
“I would be delighted to have you all over,” the viscount said. “My estate backs onto a working farm. You’d enjoy it, perhaps even see our staff milk the cows.”
His gaze dipped to her décolletage.
The laugh that rose in Elizabeth’s throat died before it reached her lips. She pressed her gloved hand to her chest to hide what he was looking at and to steady herself.
She smiled, a little too sweetly. “How generous, my lord,” she said lightly. “Though I dare say the cows might not be as thrilled.”
Marianne stifled a snort beside her.
Elizabeth kept her gaze away from Alasdair’s direction. But she couldfeelhim. Somewhere across the room, watching.
He always did.
And yet, tonight, he was letting her play the game alone.
And for some reason, that hurt more than it should.
Alasdair watched her with quiet intensity.
His student—hisElizabeth—was doing remarkably well. She stood at the center of the lords’ attention like a polished gem, gleaming under candlelight.