Free In the Night by Kathryn Smith Page A

“My dear madam, I plan to be as close as your very shadow.”
    Dear heaven. Did he mean that? How could he possibly hope to avoid making fodder for the gossips if he planned to watch her so very closely for the rest of the evening?
    Slowly, the full chill of the evening sinking into her bones, Moira returned to the warmth of the ballroom. The chandeliers glared down upon her, the noise assaulted herears. So many voices vied for attention over the rousing melody of the orchestra. Perfume assailed her nostrils, along with the scent of cinnamon. Her stomach growled. She should have gone to the supper table earlier. Would anyone notice if she snuck out to the other room where sandwiches and sweetmeats awaited those who liked to nibble throughout the evening?
    Unable to resist her insistent stomach any longer, she drifted through the crowd toward the neat little cucumber sandwiches that had her mouth watering in anticipation. No one paid her any attention.
    Well, almost no one.
    “Where have you been?” Minerva demanded, seizing her by the arm. “You are cold.”
    Moira dismissed her with a wave of her hand. “I am fine.”
    Her sister began babbling about something—Moira wasn’t listening. Her mind was back on the balcony with Wynthrope. She was in his arms again, his lips succulent against her own…
    “Moira?”
    Blinking, Moira glanced sideways. “What?”
    Her sister’s doe eyes widened. “What is the matter with you? You have not heard a word I have said.”
    Moira smiled at her tone. Poor Minnie, was she truly concerned or merely worried about what effect Moira’s oddness might have on her own evening? “I am sorry, dearest. I went outside for a breath of air and got a little chilled. It is nothing a little mulled wine wouldn’t cure.”
    “Allow me to fetch that for you, Lady Aubourn.”
    Whatever warmth Moira’s body was lacking came rushing back at the sound of his voice. It had been little more than minutes since she left him on the balcony, and yet it felt as though she had not seen him for a fortnight, so pleased was she to see him.
    She lifted her gaze to his, surprised by her own outward display of calm. “That would be very kind of you, Mr. Ryland. Thank you.”
    His smile told her it had nothing to do with kindness. He wanted to do everything he could to put her in his debt. He’d travel to India for silk if she wanted, just so she would owe him something in return. It might be worth asking outrageous things of him just so she would have to eventually pay when he wanted to collect.
    Regardless of this thing between them, Wynthrope was still a gentleman, as his attention to Minerva proved. “Miss Banning, may I bring you refreshment as well?”
    Minnie shook her head, corkscrew curls bobbing near her cheeks. The poor dear looked absolutely flabbergasted. “No, thank you, Mr. Ryland.”
    He bowed to them both, flashing Moira another naughty grin that had her blushing like a schoolgirl, and then was swallowed up by the dancers.
    Minnie turned to her with a openmouthed stare that was part amazed, part resentful. “How did you do it?”
    Moira’s brow puckered. “Do what?”
    Her sister scowled at her as though she were a simpleton. “Snare Wynthrope Ryland, that’s what!”
    “Lower your voice!” Moira whispered, grabbing her sister’s arm and hauling her closer. “I have not snared anyone.”
    Minnie’s full lips thinned. “Hmpf. You cannot lie to me, Moira. That man looked at you as though he wanted to dip you in sugar and have you for dessert. Now how did you manage to achieve what so many other women have not?”
    Dip her in sugar? Sticky, but not a distasteful thought. What was it about her that made everyone talk in terms of food? She knew she was no longer fat, quite the opposite. Perhaps she wasn’t as adept at hiding her natural tendency to gluttony as she thought.
    “I have not done anything,” she replied. It wasn’t quite a lie. She hadn’t done anything—except kiss