What Comes of Attending the Commoners Ball by Elisabeth Aimee Brown

Author:Elisabeth Aimee Brown [Brown, Elisabeth Aimee]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Metaphorical Cello Press
Published: 2024-09-27T00:00:00+00:00

“Or you will scream?” Hugh answers Lucas, chuckling. But his grip relaxes, and I squirm away. Unfortunately, Lucas is blocking the entrance to the alcove, and I bump against him. I make myself as small as possible, which is difficult in all these ruffles.

“Mother approves, you know,” Hugh says with a smile. He directs it at Lucas, but I reply.

“You aren’t trying to kiss her.” I scrub at my cheek again, trying to get rid of the clammy memory of his lips.

At my side, Lucas speaks with a voice like ice. “You need the approval of Miss Flanders, not of Mother, if you want to—” He breaks off with a cough. I think he looks at me, but as I am busily not looking at him, I can only guess at his expression. “You should mingle, Hugh.”

“Always with the mingling,” Hugh grumbles. “Can’t let me have any fun.” He leans against the wall, and when he catches my gaze, he winks. “Well, shall we be back to dancing, then?”

Dancing! As if he hadn’t just tried to kiss me against my will! “No, thank you.” I make my tone as impolite as possible.

He surveys me for a moment, mischief lurking in his eyes.

“Perhaps you could fetch the lady a drink,” Lucas suggests. Well, not so much suggests as commands. I shiver a bit at the authority in his tone, but Hugh is not cowed.

“Certainly, certainly.” He winks at me again and sidles past. “We can resume our … discussion … when I return.”

After he’s pushed his way past Lucas, I turn slowly, folding my arms across my chest. “If you’re going to scold me, you can save your breath.”

When I finally work up the courage to meet his gaze, his forehead is furrowed behind his thin mask. “Scold you?”

“I know I shouldn’t have come—this isn’t a place for me—I wasn’t going to, and I let him talk me into it, because—” I bite my lip and look at the ground, ashamed.

“You do not think I blame you, Miss Flanders?”

“Isn’t this my fault?”

Lucas’ eyebrows raise. “You are not responsible for my brother.” He sighs. “I should have known he was up to some mischief. I’m sorry for the way he’s treated you.”

“But I shouldn’t be here,” I insist. I feel so guilty, and I want to wallow in my condemnation. “I shouldn’t have come at all!”

“How did you come to be here?”

“You mean, at this ball? Or in this corner?”

Lucas reddens a bit. “I saw how you got to the corner.”

“We should probably leave it,” I say, matching his blush. “And as for how I came to the ball—” I explain Hugh’s note, and how he sent me the dress, as we creep out of the alcove.

Lucas’ eyes flick to the gown. “I wondered where you came up with that.”

“Hideous, isn’t it?”

“I was going to say bright.” He holds out an arm to me. “Would you care for some fresh air, Miss Flanders?”

I accept his arm gladly, letting him guide me through the stuffy ballroom.

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