Page 19 of Love, Lies, and the Lyon (The Lyon’s Den Connected World)

A nastasia dimly heard Mr. Hardwicke say, “Pardon?” but her gaze was arrested by another.

She was stunned by the sight of Mr. Jeremiah Jemisin, her former lover, who was fast approaching.

No more than twenty feet away, he still bore the same sardonic smile and the same short, curled, dark hair. He was still striking in his red regimental uniform. He grinned with delight as their eyes met, and he strode forward.

Her heart beat in her throat as he approached. Her pulse raced, but not in a good way. She knew then what it was to be like a deer cornered by hunters, or a hare caught in a trap. She wanted to flee. She wanted to hide. She wanted to—

“Ah, Miss Banks. Good evening. What an interesting dress.” Mrs. Sherwood entered her line of vision and curtsied. “What quaint designs you find in the country.”

Anastasia blinked. “Oh. Mrs. Sherwood. Good evening.” She curtsied, feeling eyes on her.

Mrs. Sherwood wore a white dress of shimmering satin that caught the light, and she had her blonde locks curled and arranged expertly around her shoulders. She wore a pretty pearl necklace, and there was no denying the delightful picture she portrayed.

Anastasia offered up a smile. “You look very well.”

“Thank you.” Mrs. Sherwood smoothed down her dress and looked Anastasia up and down.

It did not escape Anastasia’s notice that the compliment was not returned. “Allow me to introduce my aunt, Mrs. Richard Wildemay.”

There were the requisite bows and curtsies as the parties were introduced.

Aunt Mildred said to Mrs. Sherwood, “What a beautiful dress. Wherever did you have it made?”

“At the modiste’s on Albemarle Street, Mrs. Charlotte Bean. But she is quite discerning in her choice of customers.” Mrs. Sherwood flashed her a cold smile.

“Yes, I know. I’ve been going to her for years.” Aunt Mildred sniffed. To Mr. Hardwicke, she asked, “And you, sir, are you enjoying the evening?”

Mr. Hardwicke grunted. “Yes.”

With the conversational topics exhausted, the group stood with nothing to say. Anastasia swallowed the lump in her throat when Jeremiah joined their circle.

“Why, if it isn’t my old friend Miss Banks. How are you?” His voice was jovial but held an undercurrent of mocking.

Anastasia felt her cheeks turn pink, and she curtsied. “Mr. Jemisin.”

“Jemisin? Mr. Jemisin?” Aunt Mildred repeated. “Why, I’ve heard that name before.”

“I’m so glad. I’ve heard all about the beautiful Banks women, but I’m delighted to meet a third.” Jeremiah gave Aunt Mildred a deep bow and a winning smile. “Charmed.” He rose and looked at Anastasia. “How good it is to see you again, Miss Banks. Why, it must have been what, ten years?”

“Seven,” Anastasia croaked. “Seven years.”

“Of course. Since the day your mother died.”

Anastasia looked away, hoping to the saints that her cheeks did not betray her.

Of course he would remember, and of course he would try to remind her of their foolish actions that day.

How, while her mother had lain dying at home, Anastasia herself had been cavorting in Jeremiah’s bed across town.

How foolish she’d been. Never mind that she’d written a letter to him shortly afterward, severing their attachment completely and requesting him never to speak to her again.

That was the one good thing about him, she realized.

He’d never sought to renew their acquaintance and had made no mention of it to anyone, as far as she knew.

She met his grin with what she hoped was a blank expression, when Mr. Hardwicke asked, “Miss Banks, would you like to dance?”

“What? But, Hardwicke, you never dance. You hate dancing,” Mrs. Sherwood said.

Anastasia glanced at him.

His eyes sought hers, and he offered his hand.

To refuse him would have been rude. And she desperately wanted to be anywhere but here.

“Yes.” She took his hand and allowed herself to be led onto the dance floor, where they lined up to join the next set.

Fortunately, a dance was just ending, and so as they waited, Anastasia asked, “Do you really hate dancing?”

“I wouldn’t say I hate it. I do not like it.”

“Then why ask me?”

He stared straight ahead and spoke so only she could hear. “Because I also dislike awkwardness, and that man was disturbing you. It seemed like the right thing to do.”

“But you don’t like me,” she pointed out. “I heard it said that you find me stubborn, opinionated, and taciturn.”

He acknowledged this with a nod.

She wondered what he was thinking.

“You look very well. That color becomes you,” he said.

“Oh. Thank you.”

He took her hand and led her in the dance as the new set began. It was a reel, and so soon they were paired off together, then crossed, partnering briefly with new dancers.

His hand warmed her through her thin glove, and she relished in the touch.

She had not been touched by a man since Jeremiah, and for the past seven years, a part of her had felt as cold as stone, as if she had caught a chill that would never go out.

Young women she had grown up with had gotten married, but never her.

They’d danced and met potential husbands at dances, but she had never been asked.

Except now. Mr. Hardwicke’s attention left her hand felt pleasantly warm, and when the dance required Mr. Hardwicke to release her hand, she felt sorry for it.

As the reel continued, she was paired up with other dancers, going through the steps she’d learned as a girl.

The steps became second nature and she’d forgotten how much she enjoyed dancing.

It had been a kindness of Mr. Hardwicke to ask her.

But then a polite request came to cut in, and she came face to face with the younger Mr. Jemisin.

Her breath caught, and her hand darted to her mouth. “Mr. Jemisin,” she said.

“Miss Banks,” he said as he moved with her through the dance steps.

“You are in London,” she said, a statement of fact.

“Yes.”

“With your brother.”

“I am. I… did what you asked and went to your father. He gave his permission, so I came back as quick as I could. Then we heard that there was to be a dance tonight and so decided to come. Are you here with your…”

“Percy!” Betsey’s voice rang out.

Heads turned. Betsey walked quickly along the sides of the dance reel, and it took a moment before the dance continued.

With a nod, the younger Mr. Jemisin stepped out of the formation and returned her to Mr. Hardwicke, who stepped in to take his place immediately.

Had he been watching them? Anastasia wondered.

But the dance resumed, and Anastasia got swept up in the steps again, looking over her shoulder as the young Jemisin began talking animatedly with her sister.

Mr. Hardwicke said, “Who is that young man? I feel like I’ve seen him before.”

“He was courting my sister. Still is, I should think.”

“You don’t know?” Mr. Hardwicke asked.

“Not exactly. They were… Well.” It was no business of hers to discuss her sister’s relationship so openly, and with a man who was practically a stranger. “It is her private business, and not for me to discuss.”

He gave a nod. “That man is watching you. The soldier. You do not like him?”

She shook her head.

“Then let us dance another, and I will stay by your side until he leaves.”

“That’s very gallant of you, Mr. Hardwicke, but there’s no need. I’ll be perfectly fine on my own. Besides, you wouldn’t want to dance a second dance with me. The gossips might take notice.”

“I do not care about the gossips.”

That sent a warm tingle through her. Surely, he must have known that to dance a second dance together would suggest his interest in her as a romantic partner.

It would start gossip. He might not care now, but…

to dance with a spinster? Her shoulders gave a little slump.

He was doing her a kindness, that was all.

“Truly, Mr. Hardwicke, it’s fine,” she said as he led her into a second dance. “There’s no need to stay by the side of someone you do not like.”

“Ah. You overheard me say that I found you stubborn, opinionated, and taciturn.” He stared straight ahead and spoke only for her. “I never said I did not like you.”

Her mouth dropped open, and her heart gave a flutter. Did he really just…?

She swallowed and tried to focus on the dancing.

This song was slow, and it encouraged the dancers to move in elegant, stately formations. It offered a dancer many opportunities to gaze upon the countenance of their partner and exchange polite conversation, away from the loud and noisy crowds that watched idly from the sidelines.

But this time, a blush rose to her cheeks, and she spied him watching her, as if she were the only woman in the world.

When their hands brushed, a thrill at his touch traveled along her skin like a ghostly phantom, and it made her senses heighten.

She looked up at him. When their eyes met, it was more.

She didn’t know how to describe it. But the world seemed to fade away, and all there was in the room was the two of them, moving in time to the music.

A part of her didn’t want the music to stop. She was, in that instant, happy.

And then Jeremiah had to ruin it. He tapped Mr. Hardwicke on the shoulder and said, “All right, chap. I’d like to cut in.”

Mr. Hardwicke did not acknowledge him, for they had not been introduced.

Jeremiah’s smile disappeared and he stood there, turning red, and finally stalked off, turning hard on his heel.

Anastasia looked upon her dance partner with a small amount of joy and let amusement show on her face. She gave him a slight smile. “Thank you.”

“He was thoughtless. This isn’t the sort of dance you cut into.”

“And you haven’t been introduced.”

“No, but I now know who he is. And have an indication of his character. How do you know him?” Mr. Hardwicke asked.

“Our families were friends, once upon a time.” Until they hadn’t been.