A Lasting Impression

Monroe”—Holbrook winked—“we have no solid evidence. Yet.” He bit into his tea cake and turned back to watch the crowd.
    But Sutton could only stare. If what Bartholomew Holbrook just told him proved true, that could be the lead the investigators had been searching for. Which could provide the evidence he and Holbrook needed in order to proceed with their case.
    Holbrook stopped chewing. “That young woman there . . .” He indicated with a discreet nod. “The pretty one flanked by admirers. Do you know who she is?”
    Mind churning, Sutton trailed his gaze, then smiled. “In fact, I do. That’s Miss Claire Laurent, Mrs. Acklen’s personal liaison. She’s the young woman your wife requested to meet.” Claire looked at him then and gave him a playful look, and Sutton could hardly wait for the music to start.
    Seconds passed, and he felt the older gentleman’s stare.
    “If I were blind, Mr. Monroe, I might inquire as to whether you knew that young woman well.”
    Sutton couldn’t hide his grin. “Miss Laurent and I are . . . close acquaintances.”
    “Ah . . .” Holbrook nodded.
    “What’s the ah for, sir?”
    “No reason. I was merely wondering.”
    “You never merely wonder about anything, sir.”
    “On occasion, Mr. Monroe, with someone that pretty . . . I actually do.” Smiling, Mr. Holbrook popped the last bite of tea cake into his mouth.
    The orchestra music faded, and the director turned and announced for guests to find their partners for the first dance. The traditional waltz.
    Sutton maneuvered through the crowd easily enough. It was fighting his way through the wall of Claire’s enthusiasts that proved most difficult. But the second his eyes met hers, she cut a path toward him. He escorted her to the dance floor and bowed to her. She curtsied and gave him a smile he tucked away for later.
    And though he’d never been overly fond of receptions or balls, tonight he welcomed the music, and the dance, and the chance to hold this woman in his arms.

43

    F or weeks, Claire had imagined this moment. The never-ending list of tasks behind her, save one—not to step on Sutton’s foot as they danced. Her left hand on his right shoulder, she looked up at him, silently counting. One-two-three, two-two-three, three-two-three, four-two three.
    “Stop counting,” he whispered.
    “I’m not counting.”
    “Your lips were moving.”
    She gave him a look, and he smiled.
    His fingers tightened around hers. “Just follow my lead.”
    The pressure of his hand on her back increased and he drew her closer. Their bodies weren’t touching, but on occasion, as they turned, his thigh brushed against hers. He was so handsome in his black cutaway and paisley ascot, a dark lock of hair falling across his forehead. And those eyes . . .
    “You . . . look . . . divine,” she whispered.
    He laughed softly. “I can safely tell you that no one has ever said that to me before.”
    “Well, it’s true. You’re the most handsome man in the room.”
    Again, that smile. “What about the men in the central parlor? Or those outside?”
    She feigned contemplation. “I haven’t had opportunity to give them study. I’ll do that and let you know once I have.”
    The waltz ended and the quadrille began. And by the time the last chord of the livelier music had ended, Claire had found her rhythm and wasn’t eager to relinquish Sutton. But not changing partners would have been considered rude. Of them both.
    Her dance card was almost full, and after four more dances, with four different men, she was ready for some fresh air and a cool drink. She bowed and thanked her dance partner, Mr. Waverly, an older gentleman who smelled of hair tonic and mothballs and who gained enormous pleasure from telling her about the many lucrative businesses he owned.
    Claire discreetly took her leave of him and picked up a cup of cranberry punch on her way outside. The night air was heavenly, and she paused on the front steps to take in the view.
    The effect of lantern light on the estate grounds was mesmerizing, prettier than she’d imagined it would be. Everything had come together beautifully. She’d sampled delicious tea cakes, meatballs, stuffed mushrooms, and other appetizers until it was a wonder she still fit in her dress. And the midnight supper Cordina was preparing with the extra hired help would be every bit as delectable.
    Claire took a breath and exhaled, stretching her shoulders. Mrs. Acklen had told her not to