Page 27 of Not His Usual Style (Diamonds of London #10)

Heat seeped into her cheeks. “Do stop, Greystone.”

“It’s true.”

She shook her head and offered a polite smile to a couple strolling past their location. “Where is Lady Sarah?”

“Talking with one of her friends.” As a few preemptory notes from a string quartet burst upon the air, he gave her a half bow from the waist before offering her a gloved hand. “Do me the honor of partnering me in this next Viennese waltz?”

“Oh!” Dear heavens, this was all so formal and romantic. “Of course.” As soon as she slipped her gloved fingers into his palm, he grasped her hand and then led her to an open spot on the dance floor. “Shouldn’t you have reserved all your dances for Lady Sarah?”

“No doubt I should, but she is busy, and I invited you here tonight because I wished to dance with you .” Shadows lurked in his eyes with hints of desolation. Was he thinking about his nuptials tomorrow?

Then the music began, and he led her into the complicated steps of the waltz.

There was something so sensual and intimate about touching hands and circling about one’s partner before being obliged to switch.

Each time that happened, she followed the earl’s movements with her gaze, and what was more, he did the same to her until they’d come back together for a precious few seconds.

“My father did his last authentication of the necklace,” she told him in a hushed whisper while letting her hand slide against his.

“And?”

They circled each other, and all she could think about was the brush of his arm, the random touch of his hip to hers and the electricity it imparted.

“There was an inscription under one of the jewels on the metal with the king’s name and the date of their wedding, so it does belong to the royal family of France. ”

“That is incredible.”

She nodded. “It is, and I’m also going to return it.”

“What?” The earl made a misstep and stumbled.

“My father and I are going to France. Hopefully there, we can meet with the English ambassador and then present the piece to the royal court.”

“Oh.” Once more they were separated and given new partners in the intricate dance.

It was the infinite hopelessness in Montague’s eyes when she’d told him that last bit that caused her heart to squeeze so hard she feared it would crack and then shatter. Why would knowing she’d go out of the country cause such a reaction? Regardless, it hurt him to see him like that.

When they came back together, his touch lingered a bit too long on her hands, but his eyes remained stricken. “Let me go with you. After all, I helped you take the piece out of Dawson’s house,” he said in a whisper. “Let me be there at the end as well.”

“You can’t.” The ache expanded to her chest. Emotion lodged in her throat. “You’re to be married tomorrow.”

“It can be postponed. Sarah would understand.”

“No.” Tori shook her head. “There needs to be space between us, and it will be better if I’m gone.” Tears welled in her eyes. “You have told me a couple of times that you are laboring beneath responsibility and duty. That is why you are marrying, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but—”

“That is your destiny, Montague. Going to France is mine.”

Again, the steps of the dance took them away from each other. The temporary break from him didn’t help her regain control of her emotions. In fact, if anything, it made her want to retreat to a quiet corner and give in to the tears sitting heavy in her throat.

When they came back together for the last time within the set, she nearly clung to his hands. “I’m sorry, Montague.”

He shook his head while he fought to control his expression. “No. I don’t accept that.”

The poor man. He looked like she felt. “We have this dance. You can fetch me some punch after it ends. And we have the night we shared. That must be enough.” She kept her voice low so they wouldn’t be overheard.

The shock mixed with silence in his eyes caused her to stumble this time, but he was there to keep her from falling. “Please change your mind. Don’t leave me here.”

“Oh, Your Lordship, stop. You won’t be alone, you’ll have your fiancée, and soon she will be your wife, and you will have fulfilled your duty.”

“No.” Emotion graveled that one word. “Sarah doesn’t love me.” His chin trembled and he leaned toward her with his lips nearly at her ear. “She told me she is increasing with her lover’s child. How can I go on, Victoria? How can I pretend that the child is mine knowing that’s not true?”

“I’m so sorry.” No wonder he seemed ready to cast up his accounts. “I can’t imagine how you’re feeling, and I don’t have ready answers for you.” Her own eyes teared up, because the whole situation wasn’t fair. “You’ll still have your swan friend.”

He almost smiled. So did she even though she wanted to cry. “I don’t love Sarah,” he admitted in a choked voice. “She has always been my best friend.”

No wonder they were so close, and Sarah seemed to know much about him. “Then you’ll have a bad time of it, I’m afraid.”

“But I promised my dying father; he already spent the dowry and used the property given over as part of that.” He shook his head.

“I have no options.” Then the dance ended.

At the conclusion of the set, he led her to the side of the room.

“Oh, God, what am I going to do?” In the crush and confusion, Montague took her hand and tugged her out of the ballroom.

The tightness of her hand in his brought her a modicum of comfort, but her heartbeat pounded as she followed him. “What are you doing? You’ll be missed since the ball was thrown to celebrate your engagement.”

“A pox on all of that.” He shook his head. “I can’t give you up without saying goodbye.”

“But—”

A sound that was a cross between a sob and a growl escaped him. “Let me have this, Victoria. It’s the only way I can face my future.”

She forced a swallow into her suddenly dry throat. “A future that’s not your own.” Why did it matter so much that he’d made the promise to his father? What was really holding him back from chucking it all into the proverbial bin and starting over?

“It is how the aristocracy works.”

“Then four people will be miserable.” How could she manage to survive with knowing there was no chance of being with him in any capacity?

By the time she returned from France, he would be well on his wedding trip, and the likelihood of seeing him after Twelfth Night was unlikely, for they didn’t move in the same circles of society anyway.

“Perhaps we shall write letters. It would be something we could both live for.”

“Rather empty hope, don’t you think?” Yet it would extend the heartbreak every time a letter arrived. That was no way to live.

Even if it would be a piece of him.

The earl, however, said nothing as they hurried through the corridors, moving away from the gaiety in the ballroom.

Oh, Montague. Why couldn’t he realize there was more to life than society, position, and expectations? Why was he hellbent on throwing away his own happiness on the altar of pleasing his dead father? If she did nothing else this night, she would find the answer to that question.

But at least she would have him to herself one last time.