Page 7 of The Wildcat and the Rogue (The Shifter Season #8)

JANE

Arriving at a ball on my own is always something I despise. It reminds me of the absence of my sisters. Balls were much more fun with them in attendance too, though it is pleasant to be able to talk to Harriet.

And to dance with Ewan, though that is not something I will readily be able to admit to anyone. And I need to ensure that I dance with at least a few other gentlemen this evening for fear that people will begin to think that Ewan and I hold affection for one another. Something they would surely realise in an instant if they knew that I still think of him by his given name.

Lady Ferrington's balls are always a sight to be seen, and everywhere I look there are shifters showing off what they are in the most outrageous way they can, something that is lacking from the balls we attend where there are mixed shifters and humans in attendance.

I smooth down my grey dress, the accents making it appear striped, much like how I look in shifted form. It isn't as extravagant as many of the dresses in the room, but I feel it suits me better. And I'm not the only one. Lord and Lady Renarton are merely wearing russet coloured outfits with white detailing, signalling to everyone that they're fox shifters, albeit in a subtle way. As everyone here is a shifter of some kind, the subtlety works.

I search for Harriet, finding her in conversation with her cousin. Both of them are wearing brown, but Miss Spineforth has spines sticking out of her hair. I think they're supposed to make her artfully look like a hedgehog, but I'm not sure they have quite the intended effect.

I smile at them as I approach.

"Ah, Jane," Harriet says. "Isn't it a splendid evening?"

"I've only just arrived," I respond. "But everything looks wonderful. Lady Ferrington knows how to put on a ball."

"She does." She looks over in the direction of the hostess. She's beaming and speaking with her husband. Even the hint of a scandal around the two of them marrying despite her being his cousin's widow hasn't stopped her from being the centre of social events. Perhaps if things had gone wrong for my family in Scotland, we would have been able to weather the storm that came with it.

"It seems that anyone who is anyone is here tonight," I say.

Miss Spineforth nods. "I believe so. Lady Ferrington knows how to get people to say yes to attending her events."

"No doubt everyone loves the chance to be able to show off their shifter side," Harriet says. "It's not something I ever did in the country."

It's not really something she's doing here, given how easy it would be to mistake her outfit for any kind of brown animal. Not that I can really talk.

I turn around in time to see Baron Hedging approach. I turn to smile at him, assuming that he wishes to dance. He seems to be nice enough, even if I haven't gotten much out of him in terms of who he is as a person.

"Miss Whisking," he says with a dip of his head.

I smile back. "My Lord."

"Would you...Agatha?" His gaze slips past me to Miss Spineforth, an unreadable expression on his face.

And yet I know precisely what it means. "Mrs Stoaly has just asked if I'd take a turn around the room with her," I say to the Baron. "Perhaps Miss Spineforth can accompany you for the dance?"

"Would you mind, Miss Spineforth?" Baron Hedging asks.

"Not at all, My Lord." She puts her hand in his, a small smile on her face as he draws her onto the floor.

"That was kind," Harriet says. "You could have insisted this was your dance."

"I think he'd have regretted every moment of us on the dance floor together," I respond. "How do they know one another?"

"I'm not sure," Harriet responds. "I only met him recently. I shall ask my cousin when we return home later."

"You should. He seemed rather pleased to see her." My gaze drifts over to the dance floor where the two of them are preparing to dance. Despite the fact that I know it's for the best that they dance together, I still feel a pang of sadness at the sight. I want someone to look at me like that. To care more for me than any kind of propriety or rule.

Without meaning to, my gaze strays to the edge of the room where I know Ewan is.

I shake my head. This is nonsense. I have to keep my mind off of Ewan and what we used to be. It means nothing now and it never can again.

He looks in my direction and my breath catches in my throat. How am I supposed to put thoughts of him aside when he captures my attention just by being around?

"You should talk to him," Harriet tells me.

"I shouldn't."

She gives me a knowing look. "If you don't, you're going to find yourself in a compromising position."

I scoff. "I know not to do that."

"If you're so confident, then you should go talk to him," she says.

I'm not sure what my friend is up to, but it feels like it's something. "All right." It's not as if Ewan is unaware of how things stand between us.

I weave my way through the various ball goers, not stopping to greet anyone. Not that any of the people here particularly mind. Other than dancing with some of the eligible gentlemen, I haven't done anything to draw attention to myself, and as I have no title and no fortune to speak of, most people don't pay me any attention.

Ewan's face lights up as I approach, reminding me that there is one person who cares that I'm in the room. Perhaps that is unfair, Harriet is a dear friend and I'm grateful for her company at each event such as this one.

"Miss Whisking," he says in a deep voice.

"Mr Milne," I respond.

"It has been a while since you have sought me out at a ball."

"It is best not to speak of such things."

"Ah, yes, we are to pretend we are strangers. How could I forget?"

"It is for the best."

"So you keep saying." The way he looks at me makes me think he disagrees. And perhaps he does. It's hard to know a man's mind. Particularly a man such as Ewan Milne.

"I am surprised you're not in the gaming room at this time. Do you not usually play cards with some of the other gentlemen at this hour?"

He raises an eyebrow. "Are you keeping track of me, Miss Whisking?"

"You know I would do no such thing. It would be highly improper for any young lady to act in such a way."

He chuckles. "But you are not any young lady."

"No, I suppose I'm not. I'm more desperate to find a match than they are."

"You're not going to find one by watching me, Jane," he says softly.

"Likely not."

"If you truly wish to know what is on my mind, then I shall tell you, but I warn you that it will bring you into my dastardly schemes." While his tone is teasing, there's a note of something more in his voice. Perhaps even some kind of danger.

"Tell me," I respond. "Maybe I can help."

Indecision wars on his face.

"Tell me. I'm not going to help you steal anything, but perhaps I can ease what's on your mind."

"Here is not the place to speak of it," he says. "There are too many ears that might mistake our plans for something they are not."

I resist the urge to point out that if they think he is stealing from other members of the ton, then they are correct in their assessments. I have no idea how Ewan came about his apparent profession, but I'm certain there will be a tale to tell.

"It has been unseasonably warm, don't you think?" I ask pointedly.

"Not particularly," Ewan responds.

"I've taken to sleeping with the window open, but even the breeze from that is not enough at times. Perhaps tomorrow evening I shall open it further still."

"I would caution you against that, Miss Whisking. You might get a feline visitor, you know how cats see an open window."

I resist the urge to smile now that he seems to have gotten my message. "I shall be on the lookout for such creatures. Perhaps a well-mannered cat would be a good guest."

"Ah, but what of the ill-mannered ones?"

"I would like to think they knew better than to come."

His lips quirk up into a smile. "I suspect you might be right."

"I often am. Now, I should take my leave, I promised Lord Gibson my next dance," I say as the music comes to an end.

He nods. "Miss Whisking."

"Mr Milne." I hold his gaze for a moment longer than necessary, wishing it weren't true about Lord Gibson. Ewan and I have yet to dance tonight, and it would have been good to continue our conversation. But I know better than to pry, especially when he says we can't talk of it here. This kind of conversation is better left for private.

Even if alone is the last thing the two of us should be.