It was past midnight, and she had just made another tour of the gardens when she returned to the dance floor. Her partner was laughing at something she’d said—what had he said his name was? — and Genny smiled and glanced over his shoulder. Her smile promptly froze on her face.
It couldn’t be him! But it was him. She felt as though she’d just been punched in the stomach. Her glance slid quickly away and she pretended not to have seen him, even as she watched out of the corner of her eye and twirled about with her garrulous companion to the melody of Tales of the Vienna Woods.
He stood at the edge of the room, taller than the men around him, engaged in conversation with the dignified Mr. Fairchild. His eyes swept the dance floor, and before she could look away they had found her. Unwillingly she allowed her gaze to meet his, and tried to arrange her face in lines of surprised indifference. Still, something magnetic arced between them, assaulting her senses, attacking her willpower, reducing her stiffened spine to jelly.
The endless dance finally ended. Almost at once the musicians struck up The Vienna Blood Waltz. Ethan bowed politely to Mr. Fairchild and now strode toward her across the crowded dance floor, careful and unhurried, nodding to those who spoke to him, acknowledging the greeting of someone he knew. He wore a dark broadcloth suit, the cuffs of his white shirt falling gracefully across his lean brown hands. A white cravat accentuated the bronze tone of his face and the sleek darkness of his hair.
Genny became conscious of a sudden silence in the matron’s corner behind her, and heard the sudden spate of whispering as they speculated as to his identity. He touched her partner lightly on the shoulder. “Excuse me. I would like to dance with my wife.”
Genny’s partner, young and robust and as tall as Ethan, stared at him for a moment, then glanced at Genny and back at Ethan. Belated realization dawned on his face and he flushed, muttered something, bowed to her and disappeared.
Ethan remained motionless, watching her. Genny reluctantly looked into his face. His eyes shone in the muted light, reminding her of the gray-blue haze that hung over the surrounding mountains. He wore an odd, half-smile that wasn’t really a smile at all and that filled her with something like trepidation.
She had no choice but to give him her hand. She placed the other hand on his wide shoulder, feeling beneath her fingers its hardness and strength through the cool smoothness of the coat. Neither spoke as they joined in the waltz.
She knew people were watching them, but could take no pleasure in being the center of attention. She felt like the schoolgirl she’d been at the age of eleven, when she’d been caught putting pins in the headmistress’ overcoat. Had someone reported her behavior to Ethan?
Still, he didn’t speak. Where had he learned to waltz so well? Oh, yes—she’d heard someone say he’d been to Europe, to Vienna. No doubt the Austrian ladies had fallen over themselves in their eagerness to share a dance with him! The thought stiffened her spine and she decided she would show him she could waltz as well as he and better than most; she assumed an almost perfect form and gracefully became a mirror of his own movements. Her gown swung out like a bell; people were staring in admiration, but Ethan seemed not to notice. It would have been a moment of supreme triumph for her, if her partner had been anyone but him.
Why didn’t he say something?
When the waltz ended at last, he drew her silently out of the room, through the gay, chattering crowd and across the hall into the dining room. In appearance, he was merely guiding his wife across the room, but Genny noticed that the arm around her waist was very firm. Nearly all the tables were filled, but Ethan spied an empty one and led her to it. Flushed and breathless, she realized that for some reason all of her senses had reached a state of acute clarity, as she had heard sometimes happened to dying people.
