“I think it best if I return to my sister,” Callie said, her voice wavering slightly.
“I shall take you.”
“No!” she said, a touch louder than she had planned. She paused, then continued. “I think I should go alone.”
For a moment, he considered pressing the issue—forcing her to accept his escort. But he recognized a battle won when he saw one. “Indeed,” he said, bowing low over her hand, before adding quietly, “Tonight, then?”
She met his gaze and held it for a long moment before she gave a small nod. “Tonight.”
And then she was gone, swallowed up by the crowd.
Seventeen
By nine o’clock that evening, Callie was pacing her bedchamber and counting the hours until she could creep down the back stairs and begin her next adventure. Her nerves had been on edge since she’d escaped Ralston that afternoon. Between Oxford’s constant talk of himself and odd advances toward her and Mariana and Rivington’s doting upon each other, the rest of the exhibition had been interminable, not even seeing Jerusalem had made it enjoyable.
Of course, being at home was even less diverting than being at the Royal Academy. Callie had cloistered herself in her bedchamber immediately upon her return, crying headache to ensure that her mother would allow her to forgo the plans to attend the Cavendish Ball. Now she paced the little room, going quietly mad in captivity.
She turned to the clock in the corner of the room, checking the time once more. Ten past nine. She sighed, throwing herself onto the bench under the bay window that overlooked the back gardens of Allendale House.
If only Ralston hadn’t made it abundantly clear that the interludes they had shared—the moments that had made her feel so alive and exhilarated—were a mistake.
She’d wanted the floor to open and swallow her whole when he’d ended their kiss and promptly apologized. While it might have been the gentlemanly thing to do, it certainly wasn’t in Ralston’s character to apologize unless he truly regretted his behavior.
Callie could only assume that he regretted ever getting involved with her—after all, a na?ve spinster wasn’t exactly the ideal companion for a first-rate rake.
But he’d called her lovely. She sighed again, pulling her legs up underneath her and playing the moment over in her mind. It had been exactly as wonderful as she’d imagined it would be—wonderful, handsome Ralston, the man she’d pined over for a decade, had finally noticed her. Not simply noticed her—said she was lovely.
And then he’d hauled off and apologized. For everything. She’d rather he’d never given her any attention at all than regret their time together.
Callie stood and went to the looking glass that stood in the corner of the room. Facing her reflection, she took herself in—Too-brown hair, too-brown eyes, too-short stature, too full a mouth, altogether unfashionably endowed with too-ample breasts and too-wide hips.
No wonder he’d apologized.
She sighed, wishing she could banish the memory of Ralston’s earnest words, so forthright and gentlemanly that they made her want to spit.
Or cry.
She took a deep breath, willing away the stinging tears that hovered just behind her eyes. She would not cry on what was to become, she hoped, the most exciting night of her life. Exciting not because of Ralston…but because of her.
And a little because of Ralston.
Fine. And a very little because of Ralston. But mainly because of her.
She thought for a moment, attempting to divine whether gambling or Brooks’s was more of a draw. It was impossible to decide. She would simply have to wait until she had first-hand experience. Which she would have in…she looked at the clock again. Twelve past nine. Was it possible that the timepiece was somehow broken? It couldn’t possibly have been only two minutes since the last time she checked. She watched the hands on the clock face, waiting for the minute hand to move to thirteen minutes past. The wait was interminable. Yes. It was most definitely broken.
Callie spun on her heel and headed toward the door to the room, intending to sneak into the hallway beyond and check the actual time. Surely it was closer to eleven. She was going to have to get dressed quickly if she was going to be on time for Ralston. She had to call for Anne.
She’d barely taken a step toward the door when it flew open and Mariana burst in, closing it immediately behind her. The younger woman stood, arms akimbo, breathless—as though she had run for miles to be there.
With a quick glance to the pristine, unused bed, Mari speared Callie with a triumphant look, and said, “I knew it!” The words were spoken as though she had just invented the wheel. Or something equally world-changing.