If ever eternity could be experienced in one momentous instant, this dance was that moment for Emma. Time seemed to stretch on interminably, but in a way that was profoundly dreamlike; in point of fact, it slowed and then ceased altogether.

It happened each time she met his eyes; with each fleeting touch of their hands.

She would, in truth, have likened the experience to surrealism. Dancing with Winterly had been like floating beneath the surface of a mulled wine, muffling the sounds of the ball the while she'd drowned in his intoxicating gaze.

Then all too soon the dance ended. Winterly thereat bowed, even that gesture imposing and regal, and took her hand to lead her from the other dancers, his black eyes drifting languidly athwart her features. "You are beautiful."

How on earth did he inject such a wealth of feeling and profundity into such a simple phrase. She was certainly not beautiful. He, however, appeared to be quite sincere, subtle as it was to detect. But he was wrong.

His flattery was both undesired, and unwonted. She would handle his statement as she handled all flummery - by employing humor. "Then I am not intelligent," she said, trying to ease the weighty force of his regard with light teasing. "A woman, so I'm told, cannot be both, you see." She was funning at Lady Middleton's expense, but his eyes only hardened.

"Agatha Middleton is an imbecile. She does not understand what beauty is."

Emma smiled, delighted with him. "I've always thought beauty to mean a brilliancy of spirit and of mind." And, by his remark, she deduced that he felt the same. Furthermore, she could now accept the compliment he'd paid her because he was undoubtably referring to her mind ... not her plain, little face. It was good of him to appreciate in a woman what most did not.

But, as per usual, Winterly confounded her the very next second when he said, "It is why she and the lady patronesses dislike you: you threaten them threefold..." Once again he seemed to drink of her body; her lips especially. "For you possess the resplendence of all three."

"All three?"

"Of the mind; the soul; and of the body."

She lowered her eyes from his, having no talent for accepting compliments because she was always dubious of them. In consequence of that, she was able to offer nothing but abstracted silence which, at all events, he seemed not to mind. She rather thought he bedeviled her on purpose and relished the times he reduced her to quietude. 

Winterly, meanwhile, guided her away; not back to their party as she'd have expected, but towards the supper rooms instead. Although she was still half bemused by him, she gladly quit the assembly rooms, her hand resting at his elbow, eager enough to avoid his abstruse sister and that odious Lady Middleton.

She had been too nervous to eat all day, and now found that she was suddenly ravenous, her stomach crying lustily for sustenance as she perused the refreshments. But her choices were limited to dry biscuits, plain bread, and stale cakes. Turning her nose at the fare, she noticed that Winterly was watching her again. Indeed, when was he not?

"Almack's," said he, "is not known for its appetizing comestibles; I'm afraid if you've come here for the food, such as it is, you shall be sorely displeased."

It was from the salver of an attentive footman that he obtained for Emma a glass of orgeat. She thanked him, sipped it, and set it down directly, for it too was unpalatable and weak. "Will you not have some?" she asked him.

He lowered at the glass as though it were filled with vinegar. "They do not serve what I drink."

She nodded, understanding him to mean a fine claret or an expensive madeira perhaps. Of the spread before them, he partook of none, and she began to wonder at the strange propensity he had for never eating or drinking in public.

At the Wellesleys' dinner he had merely pushed the food about his plate, but whether or not the footmen had filled his glass, she could not be certain, for she had been determined to evade his glances that night.

He was quite the eccentric, and his compeers forgave him those eccentricities because he was monied and powerful. Theirs was, sadly, a shallow species.

"What do you prefer to drink, Lord Winterly?"

"Call me Markus," he said instead.

She blinked stupidly, at a loss with what to answer except to say, "I cannot."

It was unseemly that he should even suggest it of her. No, command it. He had a curious and clever way of disguising his commands to make them seem like suggestions. But her own parents hardly ever called one another by their first names, or at least never in front of their daughters. It was too intimate. She would not, no matter that she found him incredibly seductive, give him his name from her lips.

"But you can."

"Let me rephrase then: I will not."

He only smiled, having no doubt expected her answer. "I prefer my libations from the source." 

Apparently, they were once again back to discussing the previous subject, when she'd asked which potation he preferred, as though his recent 'request' had been no more than a delusion on her part.

"From the source?" Wine did not grow on vines. Not directly. Lud, but he was mystifying.

Strange man that he was, Winterly removed his pocket watch to note the time ... once again, after which he glared at the shuttered curtains that barred his view. Only a muted sliver of orange light peeked through the heavy drapes, heralding the hour of the setting sun.

Was it her imagination or had his eyes become darker? His flesh too seemed lighter. Paler. Even his mouth had been less inclined to humor, falling at the corners more frequently as time progressed. She suddenly forgot her query about drinking his wine from the vine, wondering instead what it was he was waiting for; or what appointment it was he meant to keep, for he was clearly eager to leave.

The thought of him leaving occasioned a stab of regret in her breast, and his distrait mood hinted at his finding her society utterly uninspiring despite that he'd called her beautiful just now. Had he merely lied? Why else would he appear so impatient to leave her suddenly. Did he have an engagement in the game rooms per chance? 

Or an engagement with his chère-amie?

"Do not suppose, sir, that you must oversee my comfort," she declared, somewhat tartly, "if you do not find my company stimulating, then, by all means, go."

He shot her a flat look, raising a single, black brow as he regarded her. "Au contraire, I am ... most stimulated."

She swallowed, nervously, an inkling of peril steeling into her blood. There was something predatory in his gaze, and his meaning had been, once again, ambiguous. Notwithstanding that the room was filled with people, she felt, curiously, that they were the only two people alive in a room full of wooden puppets.

"Why then do you remark the time so frequently? It is not yet nine o'clock, you still have little over three hours before you turn into a pumpkin, surely."

The sonorous chuckle that fell from his lips was not loud exactly, but imposing and deep. "Guess again," said he. There was something of menace underlying his words and his demeanor was somehow flintier.

"A prince then." 'The Dark Prince,' said a harsh, inner voice, a presentiment, from within, adumbrating their repartee by an appreciable degree.

His eyes narrowed marginally; almost playfully. Well, it was as tricksy a look as any wolf might own. "Believe me, I am nothing so simple as that..."

"So when the clocks strike twelve you become a..." She gestured that he should divulge his secret.

"A shadow, Miss Lucas." There was a saturnine glint of amusement twisting his lips, but in a way as to offer her no glimpse of his teeth. In fact, his smiles had been rather tight-lipped the last while.

"A shadow?" Why could he never speak plainly? And why did she have to feel so ambivalently towards him? One minute she thought herself half in love with the man ... and the next moment she was thoroughly disquieted by him.

He nodded. Slowly. "The very worst kind of shade..."

As to his meaning, ostensibly his was a private joke to which she was not included. It was best, she decided, to ignore his cryptic remarks, since she could not make them out, and so continued as though he had not answered. "Whatever the ... transformation," she said, endeavoring a nonchalance she wished she felt, "I insist you not stay on my account. In fact, I dare say we shall see enough of one another at Whitby, so you needn't-"

"What?" he interrupted her curtly, his voice suddenly frigid. Their tête à tête had, clearly, emerged onto dangerous ground.

"I ... we were invited to..." Was she to suppose that Victoria had not enlighten her brother as to their joining them at their ancestral estate in Yorkshire? Good God! Surely his sister had conferred with him before she'd invited Emma and her sister.

"Forgive me; do continue." His nose flared surreptitiously.

"Your sister was most resolved when she invited us to Castle Winterly. You are to understand, she would not take no for an answer."

"No, indeed," he agreed, brusquely, "that she would not do." He turned his piercing eyes towards the corridor that lead into the assembly rooms, as though he could see through the walls and stab his sister with the fury that brooded ominously over his brows.

"I assumed she..." She bit her lip, uncertain of what else to say.

"Your pardon, Miss Lucas," he said, evidently in no mood to continue their discourse, "but I must leave you now." He gave a succinct bow of farewell. "You are, of course, always welcome to stay with us." Without offering to explain his abrupt departure, or, at the very least, failing to tender a pleasing lie, he took his leave of her and swept from the room like a prowling shadow.

'You are, of course, always welcome to stay with us.' Well, she might have believed his empty reassurance if he'd have at least feigned a smile or stayed a little longer to assuage her worriment. But he'd left without compunction. Perhaps he had no conscience.

Having been so thoroughly abandoned, she reluctantly made her way back to where she'd last seen her companions. Alas, her sister was now dancing a Scottish reel with a different partner as poor Mr. Croft bent his less than enthusiastic ear to her ladyship. He was waiting patiently for his fair partner to return, and enduring whatever he must — even her ladyship's tiresome prattle — in proving himself the ardently devoted beau and hopeful hero of her affections.

It was for Milli that Emma tolerated more of Lady Middleton's conversation and braved the beady glowers of the lady patronesses who, for want of having anything better to gossip about, were more often than not stabbing the two sisters with their wagging tongues and bilious looks.

The would-be queens were beside themselves with affront; everybody knew that they abhorred nothing more than the nouveau riche — the nabobs and 'cits' who had infiltrated their pretty neighborhoods and sumptuous balls. Worst still was that Emma and Milli could not even own an affluent connection. Their uncle, albeit comfortably situated, was not wealthy by their definition of the term, and their father was even less so.

Milli was at times naive, but she was not as silly as their uncle was sometimes wont to propound. Emma noticed that she too had become aware of their disproving audience. And there was no sign of Victoria who, like her brother, had also disappeared suddenly. They were floundering like guppies in a sea of sharks and were incontrovertibly out of their depth here. Only Mr. Croft was solicitous, resolutely ignoring whatever news mongering found its way to his noble ears.

So it was that before the doors were locked at eleven o'clock, by which time, in theory, all voucher holders ought to have arrived already and be safely ensconced within, Milli and Emma finally collected their cloaks and departed.

"What did you think of Mr. Croft?" asked Milli, her head falling backwards momentarily as the coachman hied his horses forward.

"I thought he was the perfect gentleman."

She nodded her agreement, yet sat pensively a moment before saying, "He is very dear."

"But?" There was unquestionably a 'but' implied in Millicent's observation.

"But," said Milli, "I cannot stop thinking of Winterly's friend, Nicholas Hawksmoor." She sighed. "I had thought..."

"You thought that because Winterly had decided to go, Hawksmoor would have attended as well," she guessed.

"Yes."

"Yet you enjoyed yourself despite his absence?" She hoped that her sister had done because it vexed her to think that she'd sustained a great deal of rudeness on Milli's behalf for nothing.

"Indeed!" her sister assured her. "And what of you." The fuscous interior did nothing to hide the flash of white teeth as her sister smiled impertinently. "No, you needn't answer, for I know very well that you did." Milli tapped her sister's knee conspiratorially with her fan. "To think that my sister danced two consecutive sets with the most handsome man in the room...! Why, it is no wonder the lady patronesses were beside themselves with outrage. I have it on good authority that he danced with no one else."

"I did not dance with him twice!" It had been only the one dance!

"You most certainly did!"

Had she?! Had the man so held her in thrall that she'd lost all sense of ... well, everything! Good Heavens! he was dangerous.

Thankfully, her sister said nothing further on the matter, knowing full well that she'd said quite enough. The coach, erelong, stopped outside their uncle's townhouse and they alighted directly. Emma swept into the vestibule and handed her cloak to Reid who greeted them both.

"A package arrived for you earlier, Miss," he said to Emma.

She glanced around cursorily, having at first assumed the footman's words were for Milli, but she started immediately when she saw that it was to her he had spoken. "For me?"

"Yes, ma'am, Mrs. Jenkins had it delivered to your chamber." 

When he asked if there was anything else they required of him, she declined and thanked him, thereby dismissing him off to bed.

Her heart leapt inexplicably as she climbed the stairs, two at a time, in her haste to lay hands on her mysterious package. What on earth could it be ... and from whom had it come?

🌟Guesses? What do you think is waiting in her room?🌟