JULIA WAS AT Lady Westmond's ball, scowling. It seems it was all she seems to do lately. However, the source of her present agony was standing right next to her, her mother. They were standing next to the refreshment table, and all she could do was eye the various assorted foods hungrily while her mother went about her business of trying to detain the duke of Finchfort.

True to her mother's words, she had paraded her among all the eligible bachelors. Introducing her to every single one of them. Anyone of them she wasn't well acquainted with, Ophelia always managed to find someone who would introduce them. She always went like, "lord Finchfort!" in a high-pitched voice, always in a high-pitched voice, just like she was doing now. "I don't believe you have had the pleasure of meeting my daughter, lady Julia Cavendish," Ophelia said eyeing the duke who looked as if he was about to run out on them any minute from now if given the opportunity.

Julia cowered her head in shame and willed herself not to listen, but alas she couldn't cut off her ears, for as much as she buried her head down not wanting to listen, she could still hear her mother. "Isn't she lovely? My pride and joy, so even-tempered. An accomplished watercolourist." Ophelia said, the lie rolling off her tongue smoothly.

"No, I don't believe I have had the pleasure. Lady Julia," he executing an immaculate bow. "The pleasure is all mine."

Julia painfully raised her head and curtsied.

On and on Ophelia went, talking about his parents. The duke looked miserable and positively uncomfortable. He scanned the room, presumably looking for the nearest exit, and Julia felt compelled to help him.

"Your grace, I think I see your mother heading this way, she must need your help."

The duke cast her a grateful look and looked in the direction she had pointed. "I believe so, lady Julia, " he said. And then he sketched a bow and hurried off in search of the supposed mother that needed his help.

Immediately after he left, Julia felt a sharp pain on her hand and cried out. "What was that for?" She gasped out in pain, rubbing her hand where her mother had just hit her.

"That, " Ophelia said, pointing at Julia's hand. "was for ruining all my progress tonight."

"I did no such thing."

"Yes, you did."

"They were all itching to leave. Besides, you weren't even subtle about your motive," Julia ground out. "I'm sure all of them knew you were hankering after an offer."

"Gracious goodness, I didn't even mention marriage," Ophelia rasped out.

"You didn't have to, it was always clear that whenever a mother marched up to any young eligible bachelor with her daughter in tow, there is always one thing on her mind, marriage," Julia said.

Ophelia scoffed and said, "what else should there be."

Spying the duke of Wychford, standing alone with his hands in his pocket, looking about. Ophelia looked left and then right, before she quickly held unto Julia's bodice and pulled, which made her buxom to sprang forward. Then she grabbed Julia's hand before she could even protest, her grip, like a vice as they marched towards Wychford at a pace that shamed Julia.

"Your grace!" Ophelia shrilled. "It is so nice to see you," Ophelia muttered in practiced glee. "I used to be a friend of your mother before she passed on, what a gentle and kindhearted woman she was."

"Yes, she was." Wychford's strong baritone voice replied.

"I don't believe you have been opportune to meet my daughter, Julia," Ophelia said, slightly pushing Julia forward. Wrinkling her nose, Julia scowled at Wakefield. He quirked a brow. Amusement dancing off him. She wanted to meet Wychford, but not entirely in this manner with her mother hovering behind her back!

He picked up her hand and raised it to his lips, amusement dancing off him.  "Nice to meet you." He mumbled. Julia scowled and murmured her greetings too.

Just then the orchestra seized its discordant warm-up and struck the first notes of a waltz. Ophelia clapped her hands in glee as she muttered, "Oh isn't that wonderful, the orchestra has just struck up a new note." Turning towards Wychford, "I think you should ask Julia to dance."

Wychford managed a frosty nod before he said, "My lady, may I have this dance with you."

Even if Julia wanted to refuse, there was no way she could. Her mother was impaling her with her deadly I-Am-Your-Mother-Don't-You-Dare-Defy-Me gaze.

Defeated Julia said, "Yes you may." And placed her hands placed on his proffered sleeve. Wychford led her like a gentleman to the far corner of the room, where other people were already engaged in a waltz.

With one quick glance at her mother, Julia could swear that she was already planning their marriage in her head. Julia was sure that there wasn't even anything anybody could do at the moment to wipe off Ophelia's smile. She was positively glowing with it. Her smiles turned into a full Fledged grin as Wychford began to dance, taking the lead.

Julia scowled at Wychford, opened her mouth to say something hurtful, and then clamped it down when she remembered that she was supposed to be making designs on Wychford and not looking for ways to possibly annoy him.

She lowered her lashes and peeked at Wakefield from under her lashes, and when she found his gaze intent on her face, she slowly raised her head and bestowed him with a very wonderful smile, the type that took one age to master. The type that transformed a person's face into something resembling art.

Smiling prettily, Julia murmured, "I don't believe I have met you before now, why is that?"

As Wychford spanned her around and brought Julia crashing into him. He murmured. "Because the war has ended, and there is nothing else keeping me away."

"How lovely, a soldier and a gentleman at the same time. The perfect combination," Julia said, sliding her hands slowly from his shoulders to his strong arms. This time he was looking at her, in the way men looked at a woman they wanted to hold up against the wall and kiss senseless. yes, Wychford wanted to kiss her senseless. She could see it in his eyes, in the way he looked at her bosom as if he wanted to touch her there, but couldn't at the same time.

She smiled up at him, reminding herself that her game was to tease, entice and withdraw but never give in.

Drawing her closer, with one hand at the small of her back, Wychford murmured in her ear, his voice hoarse. "You play a very dangerous game, one which you are likely not to win."

Julia raised her face, stared right into Wychford's eyes and pouted so that her soft wet mouth glistened under the dim lights in the ballroom.

Wychford swallowed.