Free Miss Goodhue Lives for a Night by Kate Noble Page B

almost kissed her right at that moment.
    Instead, he’d managed to hold himself in check for three extra minutes. Truly a feat.
    Why was it still there? The attraction that had driven them to glance at each other across a luncheon table all those years ago—the need to run across a field to return her gloves, and the hope to catch a word from her lips? He thought he’d buried it. Thought it had died when he’d learned of her true intentions, if not her true nature. But all it took was one morning, one mischievous lie to an officer in the royal army and a short dressing-down in a carriage to send shock and heat running through his veins in equal measure.
    â€œThat’s unfortunate,” Lord Ashby said, drawing him back to the study, and to the ticking clock, on which now eight minutes had passed.
    â€œYes. Sadly, it seems as if tonight’s ball is our only lead.”
    â€œWell, if it proves as useful as the boarding houses, we will hire out runners tomorrow and paper the city looking for the girl. Circumspection be damned, this Eleanor likely doesn’t even know that her family wants to find her.”
    â€œThat’s for Cee—for Miss Goodhue to decide.” But to his mind, it would be what would have to happen. Because there was no way he could handle spending another day in Cee’s company without losing every bit of resolve he’d held fast to the past decade.
    That resolve, he realized, was crumbling quickly. Faster than time ticked away on the clock, because at that moment, Lady Ashby came through the door.
    â€œDarling. Mr. Hudson. May I present Miss Cecilia Goodhue?”
    And there she was—dressed in pink and looking for all the world like a lady of society. But underneath that silk he could tell she was trying very, very hard to look like she did this every day. And failing spectacularly.
    Damn. The word ran through his mind as anything that resembled strength and resistance dissolved completely.
    â€œWell,” he said, surprised to find he had a voice. “We should go.”

    A MILITARY BALL was not like every other London ball. Or at least, Cecilia assumed it was not. Having never attended a ball of the military or ton persuasion, she could not be sure. But the guards at the gate, wearing formal dress and sabers at their sides, were a bit of a clue.
    One might have thought the ball would be held at St. James’s Palace, as Horse Guards was essentially its entrance hall. However, the king’s guard did not hold its celebrations in front of the king, and therefore this particular ball was held three buildings down from Horse Guards, in a rented hall of absolutely no importance.
    While the building was ordinary, the guests brought the color and consequence. Cecilia had been to a few public balls this past winter in Claxby with her friend Margaret, and there, men wore stark black with blinding white shirtfronts, while the vividness came from the ladies’ gowns, spinning and bursting like flowers set free of their stems. But here, Cecilia thought, as they stepped down from the carriage and made to join the receiving line, the color came from the uniforms. The line in front of them was a sea of red and blue wool, marked with gold buttons. There were only a few black coats dotted throughout the room, and the most formidable by far was the one standing beside her.
    â€œYou’re glowering,” she said in a whisper.
    â€œNo I’m not,” he replied automatically. But he straightened his posture and smoothed out his expression at the same time.
    â€œBetter,” she replied with a smile. “No one will speak to us if you look like you’re going to murder them if they don’t. Besides, I believe most of the men here are armed.”
    He shot her a glance. “You could have told me this in the carriage, if it was so important.”
    â€œYou could have said one word to me in the carriage,” she replied, trying to keep