She bent her head. “I would very much like to dance, Your Grace,” she said softly.
“Excellent.” The music ended, and there was a moment of bustling as the dancers from the previous song left the floor and ones for the next rushed forward to take their places.
Nathan offered his hand, and she hesitated before she took it. He led her to the floor and they waited for whatever song would be played. The first strains of the music lifted, and she briefly shut her eyes. He could have sworn she cursed beneath her breath.
“Don’t know how to waltz?” he asked as he took her hand and placed his other on her hip.
She glared up at him. “Of course I know how to waltz.”
“Excellent, because I am very good at it,” he teased.
She continued to glare as they swept into the first steps, but her lips were twitching almost as if she wanted to laugh. “You are the most arrogant arse,” she said softly.
He turned her, easily dodging a slightly drunk partygoer. “I am that. I am.”
“Why did you ask me to dance?” she asked.
He lifted both brows. “Do I need a reason?”
“With you and me? I think there’s always a reason, isn’t there? Some underlying angle or game.” She sighed. “Or is it some wager again?”
“You think I would wager about you?” he asked, good humor fading.
“I may not have as much to lose as Rhys does, but I was once a member of Society. And I see that they judge me…” She swallowed and he saw the pain in her eyes. “…laugh at me. I’m certain at least one of them is making some wretched wager at my expense.”
He tightened his fingers against her hip and watched her pupils dilate in response. “You may despise me, but I hope you don’t think that low of me. I would never. And if I heard someone else was, I wouldn’t let it stand.”
Her steps faltered slightly, but he kept her from falling, and for a few turns they were both silent. Then he drew a long breath. “Abigail, couldn’t we make a truce?”
Her eyes went wide. “A—a truce?”
“Of our group of friends, we are the only ones still unattached,” he said. “We see each other regularly. It will be even more regular now that you are back in Society and I will be bringing Ophelia to events once she arrives. I’d rather be your friend than your enemy.” He leaned a little closer and whispered, “And I don’t think you hate me as much as you pretend you do.”
She jolted back at those words. It would have disrupted the couples dancing, except that the music ended at almost the same time. She executed a shaky curtsey, as if she were pulling from his arms only because of the end of the song. Then, without a word, she walked away from him.
He watched her go, weaving in and out of the groups of people, her head bent, her body curved, as if she could protect herself from attack if she made herself smaller.
He moved to follow her. He would have done so, except that as he stepped from the dancefloor, he caught a glimpse of Rhys, heading over to a small group of three men he and Nathan had called friends for decades: the Earl of Yarrowood, Viscount Goffard and Stephan Sinclair, the second son of the Duke of Featherton.
Nathan glanced around but no longer saw Abigail, so he turned his attention to his friend. This was why he’d held this ball, after all: to give Rhys a chance to renew those friendships that could help him rebuild himself.
Except that as Rhys reached the threesome, they turned up their noses and strutted away as a group. Nathan gasped. The cut direct! And half the room had seen it.
Rhys stood where he’d been left, staring after their former friends, a twisted look of pain on his face. He wiped it away soon enough and held his head up high as he walked back through the crowd to Pippa’s side. She took his arm, said something to him, comforted him.
Rage shot through Nathan. Rhys had never been anything but decent to any of their friends. He had helped some of those men through difficult times of their own. And they cut him? It was enough.
Nathan marched after the group, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. The group had exited the ballroom onto the terrace, and he followed to find them huddled together talking at the wall. No one else was out in the cool night air, and he approached them in three long steps.
“Just what the bloody hell is wrong with you?” he barked.
The men looked startled as they turned toward him.
“Gilmore,” Sinclair drawled. “Nice of you to join us.”
“I’m not joining you, you poxy fucks,” Nathan sneered. “I asked you a question, and one of you is going to answer it.”
Yarrowood straightened up from his position leaning against the terrace wall and moved forward. “There now, you can’t talk to us that way.”
“I can and I am,” Nathan snapped. “I saw you inside. The whole damned party saw you with Leighton.”
Goffard rolled his eyes. “That was the point, old boy. For everyone to see.”
Nathan crossed to him and caught his jacket lapels. He shook him none too gently. “Leighton has never been anything but a friend to you. All of you. And you cut him in public? To damage him further?”
At least they had the wherewithal to look a little chagrined at Nathan’s statement.
Goffard yanked away, smoothing his lapels. “What would you have us do?” he asked. “Align ourselves with him? After what his brother did? After he married one of those women taken in by Montgomery?”
“If you do, others will follow.” Gilmore shook his head. “You all know what influence you have. What is the use of it if you don’t use it for good? Greater good, yes, but the good of your friends?”
“Like you are,” Sinclair said, his tone cool. “Inviting him and his common little wife to your party. Trying to get him back in at the club. Have you ever thought that you won’t help him at all, but will only hurt yourself?”
Nathan tilted his head. “Is that a threat?”
Sinclair shrugged. “No, it simply a statement of the facts. You may wish to save the world, but we cut out the weak and the wounded for a reason. There are systems in place for a reason.”
Nathan stared at him, this man he’d known since school. A person he’d called his friend. The others were not as direct in their words, but neither were they arguing against them.
“Fuck the systems,” Nathan growled. “And fuck all of you. Get out of my house.”
The three of them looked a little stunned at that order, but after a moment of staring and blinking, they walked away, back into the house and, Nathan assumed, out the front door. He didn’t follow to be sure of it. His hands were shaking too hard, his breath was coming too short. He needed a moment to calm himself, to regain his cool.
To find a way to face Rhys and tell him what had transpired. They would have to find a better way to approach his return to Society. It seemed they could depend on no one else but each other at present.
And that wouldn’t be enough.
He shook his head and stalked away down the terrace. It wrapped around the back of the house, and he found an unlocked door that led into a parlor. It was dim, for the fire had burned down, but when he added a few logs, the room brightened. He leaned against the mantel, staring into the flames, as he tried to make his wild mind settle.