“Never,” Mr. Bratten called, but his voice was too far away.
A hushed whispering turned into laughter on my left, and I moved toward it, arms flailing like kites in the wind.
Rustling sounds from all around tempted me, then I felt a sudden movement behind me and heard a man’s easy laugh. I whirled around, leaping toward the sound, and bumped hard into the figure of a man. I grasped his arms, and he held me steady in an embrace. The most awkward embrace imaginable.
“I’ve caught you,” I said. It was impossible not to smile, though I knew I looked ridiculous with a handkerchief covering my eyes.
“Who did you catch?” Beatrice called.
My fingers searched nervously to decipher the identity of my prey. If only I’d paid better attention to the men tonight. This man’s coat was thick and smooth. Expensive. Except . . .
“No medallion, so not the lieutenant.” Though the figure was indeed a fine form, strong and broad and tall. He stood as still as a statue as I traced lines over his chest, which rose and fell with even breaths. My hands reached his shoulders, and the man drew a deeper breath.
“Am I taking too long?” I asked.
A rough hand took mine and placed it on his face. He shook his head mutely as though to answer “no” to my question.
“He is having too much fun,” Beatrice said with humor.
“Or perhaps he is ticklish.” Georgiana laughed.
I blushed, imagining what I must look like. How improper the entire situation was. Moving my hands quickly to his neck, I grazed upward to his smooth, strong jawline. “Not Mr. Bratten, who I believe neglected a shave tonight.”
“She is not wrong,” Mr. Bratten chortled from across the room, and I smiled. That left Sir Ronald and Peter.
As I traced his face, I felt a distinct crease in his cheek, a dimple from a smile he likely bore as I humiliated myself trying to discover him. My heart jumped. This had to be Peter. I raised onto my tiptoes to run my fingers through his hair. It was wavy and smooth, unlike Sir Ronald’s coarse tufts. I ruffled it up before huffing and taking a step back.
“Mr. Wood?” Please say it isn’t you.
As my handkerchief lifted, green eyes pierced into mine, twinkling above a wicked grin. “Miss Moore. I did not expect to be so fully scoured this evening with your lingering touches.”
Laughter filled the room, and I pushed Peter away with a scoff, decidedly through with blindman’s bluff. Why did Peter Wood always ruin everything?
“Would anyone like their tea?” Lady Demsworth stood, motioning to the butler. “How flushed you are, Beatrice. Do come sit for a moment. And you, Miss Moore, do join me.”
Anything to escape what I’d just endured. Had Peter been laughing at me the entire time? Likely so. He’d made me a fool. And yet, my fingertips still tingled from his touch.
The tray was brought in, cups and saucers clinking. I followed Lady Demsworth’s direction and took my cup from her after she poured. The company followed suit, and I was soon surrounded in activity. To my left, Mrs. Turnball and Lady Demsworth conversed about the upcoming ball, while Lieutenant Rawles sat on my right, restacking his pile of books. Neither drew my interest, and I placed my empty teacup on the tray before turning around in my seat to examine the room.
Mr. Bratten and Sir Ronald were at a card table in the front with Beatrice and Georgiana. Where on earth was Clara? More importantly, where was Peter? My answer came a moment later when I saw them a few paces away on the window seat. Clara looked absolutely discouraged with her chin lowered, gazing out the window while Peter gave some monologue that appeared uninspiring. How dare he steal her away twice in one evening?
Offering my thanks to Lady Demsworth, I squeezed from between my neighbors and strode toward Peter. Anger from being manipulated boiled within me, and I could no longer control my tongue.
“Clara.” I tried to keep my voice even as I approached them. “I need a word with Mr. Wood. Would you mind? Perhaps you could find a chair at the card table and enjoy the game?”
She looked up at me and lifted one corner of her mouth. “Of course.”
As soon as she was out of earshot, I took her seat, trying to appear unaffected by this devious man whose agenda to distract my sister from Sir Ronald had officially crossed the line. I would not allow it. What little confidence Clara had, what bit of armor she wore that protected her from feeling inadequate and undesirable had been long in the making, and I would not allow one man to destroy her dreams nor her attempts to achieve them.
“You and I must have a conversation. Now.” My words were clipped, low, but I maintained a strained smile.
Peter sat up straighter to face me directly. “You are angry with me.”
“Murderously so,” I said.
But Peter’s eyes brightened, and he leaned closer. “What have I done now to incite such a rage in you, Amelia? I thought we were becoming friends.”
“Friends?” I caught myself fuming on the word and lowered my voice. I could not allow any of our company to overhear what I had to say. “How could you ever imagine that I would desire your friendship? You are the most unamiable, selfish, ill-behaved person I have ever met.”
Peter’s smile dropped as he raised his chin. Finally. Perhaps now he would take me seriously.
He swallowed, his gaze boring into mine. “Why?”
“Never mind. Only leave my sister alone. You have done enough to draw Sir Ronald’s attention away from her, and I can no longer sit idly by. You do everyone in this party a disservice by meddling where you ought not to.”
Peter was silent, brows raised. He did not counter me, nor did he seem angry by my response. Whether he contemplated my thoughts or was calculating his own rebuttal, I did not know, nor did I wait before counting more accusations against him in my head.
He took in a long, slow breath before responding. “Georgiana needs me to encourage her.”
“Then do you deny it? That you are pushing my sister out of Sir Ronald’s company to suit your own ambition for Georgiana’s marriage?”
Again he paused, eyes too gentle for the overwhelming fire within mine. “My intention has only been to aid Georgiana in her own endeavor. I have no ambition for the marriage. Only for her happiness.”
“At the expense of my sister’s? How cruel a person you must be to openly scheme one woman into love by denying another of its possibility. I will ask you again to stop your interference at once.”
He let out a disbelieving laugh, rubbing his jaw with a hand. “You do not know me at all, and yet you describe your opinion of me so brashly.”
“Do you deny it, Mr. Wood?”
He leaned against the window in his usual carefree manner. “I do not.”