Free Sinister Sentiments by K.C. Finn Page A

dancing as my eyes took in the many sights of the opulent room. The duke was nowhere to be seen, which was quite usual for such events, but his splendour was everywhere, in the golden platters where food was being served, and the fine crystal glasses of wine that the elder guests were holding. I would not be permitted wine, but I didn’t need it to feel giddy in this place. The chandelier hung over the dance floor, reflecting candle flames so that they pirouetted like sunspots on the polished boards, darting between the elegant feet of the dancers before me.
    One stood at the edge of the floor in order to indicate that one needed a partner. Tonight, Mother said, was the most important opportunity of my life, the moment where I could bag myself a perfect young man and turn his head to thoughts of courtship. I surveyed the room for men just a little older than myself who weren’t already taken up with partners. Across the floor, a gentleman with rich dark locks conversed with some older fellows, his bright smile wide and gracious. I toyed with a curl of my hair nervously, trying to catch his gaze.
    “Don’t tousle your hair!” Mother chided in a fierce whisper. I dropped my hand instantly. “Who are you looking at, girl?”
    “I don’t know his name,” I whispered.
    Mother followed my gaze, giving me a sly nod, her thin lips pursed in thought. The elegant bones of her face tightened, as they always did when she was thinking.
    “I do believe that’s Roland, the Duke’s second son,” she mused.
    Even as she said the words, the young man with the rich hair happened to glance our way. I was too slow to evade his stare and, when his dark eyes met mine, I couldn’t look away. He glittered like a precious thing, a perfect picture of a man. He smiled at me, inclining his head. I curtseyed in return despite our distance, which seemed to make him chuckle. One of the old men in his group spoke to him and he turned away again, leaving my heart to sink down from the base of my throat.
    “Promising, promising,” Mother said. She took me by the elbow and led me like a pony along the edge of the floor once more. “We must position you nearer so that he may ask you to dance.”
    “Why should he do that?” I asked her. “We haven’t even been introduced.”
    When I glanced at Roland again, his eyes had travelled over the top of the old men’s heads, winding their way to mine once more. Perhaps we didn’t need an introduction in order to dance. He was the son of a duke; he could do whatever he wanted. We arrived in a position just a few feet away from where he stood, in front of a table of men who were seated. A voice behind me crept into my ear, a sleek tone carrying the gentleman’s words despite the din of the music.
    “Of course that’s only the beginning of my experiments,” he said. “You’d have to come up to Bentonville to see any more.”
    His voice was like molten silver. Experiments, had he said? It sent a shiver up my spine, his words consuming me so completely that I didn’t notice another figure moving into the space in front of me. A head bowed in my direction, snapping me back to the scene before me with a little jump. Roland raised his head, already chuckling at me once again.
    “Forgive me for startling you,” he said, an amused look overtaking his perfect mouth. “Have we met? I feel as though I know your face.”
    Before I could say a word, Mother interjected, curtseying to the duke’s son with a thin smile and pulling me down with her. Her eyes were wide and unsuitably greedy.
    “You have met my husband, your grace, Oliver Flint?”
    “The fishmonger!” Roland said with a nod.
    Mother tried her best to hide her grimace.
    “He’s the owner of the factory, milord,” she corrected politely. “We don’t actively deal in the fish.”
    “Of course not,” the beautiful young man answered. “Mrs Flint, a pleasure. And young Miss Flint…?”
    I had a moment and I took it, offering him my