Chapter 72
Slowly, Draven turned around to face him.
John’s smile widened but it didn’t reach his eyes. "Pity you prefer to wander about here alone rather than enjoy the celebration." He added with a touch of condescension.
Draven regarded him with the same look one might reserve for a worthless interruption.
"I fail to see how that is any of your business."
John chuckled like he found Draven’s words genuinely amusing.
"Few things ever are, but I make it my business to know them anyway. As you can see, it has served me very well."
An unspoken meaning lingered there. Draven could not, for the life of him, decipher what the man was attempting to imply, and he had neither the patience nor the inclination to ask.
He turned away.
Whatever game John imagined they were playing, Draven had no intention of participating.
By the time Draven returned to the ballroom, the encounter had already been pushed from his mind.
His gaze moved across the crowd, searching.
He found Cassandra at once.
Her gown made her difficult to miss, but it was not merely the striking colour or the elegance of its design that caught his attention. The way she carried herself tonight made her seem almost luminous against the crowded ballroom.
He suppressed the instinct to cross the distance between them immediately.
They agreed that their courtship had to appear natural, and there was nothing natural about a man abandoning all sense to chase down a particular woman.
Two gentlemen intercepted him just before his resolve faltered, drawing him into a conversation concerning a matter of mutual acquaintance.
Draven gave them his attention for several minutes, responding when necessary and allowing the conversation to unfold without appearing distracted.
Yet his awareness remained elsewhere.
When the string quartet began tuning for the next number, the conversation naturally came to an end.
Draven excused himself.
Across the ballroom, Cassandra had already noticed him.
She watched as couples began pairing off around her, gentlemen offering their hands to ladies and leading them toward the dance floor.
Draven appeared before her a moment later, offering her his hand.
"Would you do me the honour of a dance?" The request was perfectly proper. The intensity of his eyes was not.
Cassandra placed her gloved hand in his.
"Of course." She replied, feeling the tender way his fingers closed around hers.
He led her onto the dance floor just as the first notes of the waltz began.
Cassandra had danced countless times. She knew the steps well enough that she scarcely needed to think about them, yet something about dancing with Draven made her unusually conscious of every movement.
His hand settled at her waist more securely, more intimately than was strictly necessary.
He didn’t seem inclined to loosen his hold.
She did not object as they began to move.
The music carried them effortlessly through the first turn, then the next.
Cassandra’s hand rested against his shoulder while his other hand held hers, and for a few moments the ballroom seemed to recede around them, blurring around the edges until it was just the two of them.
Cassandra found herself paying attention only to the man before her, never looking away.
She expected some form of awkwardness between them. They had never danced together like this before, never stood so close beneath the scrutiny of an entire ballroom. Yet, to her surprise, they were perfectly in sync.
It was almost disconcerting.
They moved like they had done this a hundred times before.
Cassandra became aware of the eyes surrounding them, could feel them drilling holes into her flesh.
She leaned slightly closer, keeping her voice low and her smile in place as they turned. "I can feel them watching. How many?"
The corner of his mouth curved up.
"Every one of them." He did not glance around the room to confirm it. He did not need to. His attention remained fixed entirely upon her. "Every eye in the room is on you."
Cassandra gave the smallest nod. "Good. It will serve our purpose."
Draven didn’t respond as he guided her through the next turn.
The music swelled, and somehow the watchful stares ceased to matter.
For the length of the dance, there was only the music and the firmness of Draven’s hand at her waist, momentarily lost in a world of their own making.
When the final notes faded, Cassandra felt almost disoriented by the sudden return of the ballroom around them. It was as though they had been plucked from a bubble and deposited abruptly back into reality.
Reality unfortunately involved several dozen probing stares.
She drew a slow breath and stepped away when Draven released her hand.
They exchanged the appropriate bow and curtsy. Cassandra was still trying to settle her breathing when she straightened.
A faint flush had crept into her cheeks, and she prayed it wasn’t too visible.
"Well," she began softly. "Even if you do not prove to be the perfect husband, Your Grace, I must admit you make a remarkably fine dance partner."
A flicker of amusement passed through his eyes and he smiled.
It was utterly charming, and quite possibly the most perfect smile she had ever seen on him. Without meaning to, she found herself taking note of every little detail—the mirthful glimmer in his blue eyes, the way his full lips curved, and the endearing crinkles that appeared at the corners of his eyes.
"I shall consider that a promising beginning to our courtship and future marriage." He said and her face grew warmer.
She looked away before he could see how much the remark affected her.
She turned away from him, pretending to give her attention to the next set of dancers gathering upon the floor.
Her thoughts were already racing.
This was supposed to be her arrangement.
Her plan, her carefully calculated path toward the power she needed.
Why did it suddenly feel like she had set something in motion that she could no longer control? Had she overlooked something crucial in her plans?