Once Cassandra set foot on the dance floor, she wasn't short of partners. Young men pushed one another and argued over who would have the next dance. At first, it was more than evident that she was reluctant to say 'yes' to any of them, but she quickly adapted and became comfortable, moving about the room with ease.

Graham observed the guests from the edge of the room, swirling his wine thoughtfully. Irene had gone to find Charles shortly after he got her away from Lord Septimus, and Graham was left with himself and his thoughts.

He wished for better company. Quaffing off his drink and wishing it were something stronger, he tried to relax and move to mingle among the crowd again. Old habits died hard.

It wasn't that he found socializing troublesome. Well, with the sorts of conversation one might find in the Fergus ballroom, things would be dull, but that wasn't what kept him silent. When he was with them, he found himself assessing every detail about them in the most peculiar manner. He couldn't stop himself. It was the most ridiculous thing he'd experienced in a long while.

"Hello, Graham." A hand touched his left shoulder, sliding across his back until it rest on his right bicep. "Fancy meeting you here." The voice purred.

"Lady Flora," he only half turned to acknowledge her presence. He'd wanted better company, not. . .oh, forget it. "Here I was presuming my presence could be expected. I am a guest of the Fergus's, and kicking me out before their party wouldn't be very friendly."

Flora threw her head back and laughed more than his words had warranted, rubbing her chest against his arm. She'd married an old man when she was young and had Ben young still when her husband was put in a grave. She had a reputation—a quiet, less-spoken of one because of her money and influence—for getting every important man this side of London into her bed.

"You're absolutely too funny!" She swatted his chest playfully, pressing even closer. "You should become court jester."

"But then I wouldn't have the pleasure of making you laugh." He smiled.

"Oh, Lady Flora! I didn't know you were acquainted with Lord McRoberts!" A voice at his left drew his attention.

"The feeling is mutual, Sophie." Lady Flora's lips drew into a tight smile as she looked at the other woman with obvious distaste.

"Do tell me, Lord McRoberts, why aren't you on the dance floor?" Sophie linked her arm with his, pulling herself closer to him. "Couldn't you find a suitable partner?" The way she stressed 'suitable' made it her feelings toward Lady Flora plain.

"I believe Graham and I are of a similar mind when it comes to dancing: leave it to those who don't have the wit for proper conversation." Flora said with thinly veiled vehemence.

"He doesn't think that at all. Do you?" Sophie's grip on his arm tightened.

"He certainly doesn't need you to tell him what to think!" Flora hissed, reaching across Graham to loosen Sophie's hold. "Perhaps, if I had a husband like yours, I'd feel the need to tell everyone what they were thinking and feeling, but the last thing Graham needs is your help!"

"I beg your pardon, Lady Flora!" Sophie's nails threatened to cut through the material of his dinner jacket. "Maybe if you were actually capable of attracting male attention, you wouldn't feel the need to get after me so."

The sudden tenseness in the atmosphere was almost stifling. Graham raised a brow, eyes darting back and forth between the two women. Their argument was already drawing attention from the other guests, and he caught sight of a few other jealous females heading in their direction. Likely, to find their own piece of him to hang on to. Like hell.

He needed a reason to get away from them. The musicians had paused for a moment to get a drink, but they were returning to their music stands and shuffling through their sheet music. The idea of dancing with one of these women was. . .abhorrent, but it would get him out of their midst. . .and make the others think he was available to be dragged out there to dance with every last one of them.

A flash of brilliant blue in the corner of his eye grabbed his attention. Cassandra appeared to be trapped in a similar situation. Surrounded by eager, young men, she sipped a glass of punch, pretending to listen to the stream of useless conversation. She almost radiated boredom.

"Ladies, I do beg your pardon." Graham expertly extricated himself from their grasp.

Without another word or a backward glance, he crossed the floor toward Cassandra. She saw him. She held his gaze as he moved, curiosity wrinkling her brow.

He didn't speak. Stepping into the midst of her suitors, he held out his hand. Without looking away from him, she handed her drink off, and her fingers grasped his. There were a few muttered complaints and protests, but Graham paid them no heed as he led her onto the floor.

Her keen gaze locked on his as he turned to face her, and he realized that her eyes were a mix of blue and green—the color of the sea—rather than just blue as he'd thought.

"I'm not sure your—uh, how shall I put it? Admirers? Will appreciate this." She raised a brow.

"Yours won't be too excited about it either." He snorted.

She shrugged. "Mine will be eager to forgive, but women remember well, and they talk." Her gaze flickered to the group of women at the edge of the dance floor. Already, they were the recipient of harsh whispers and jealous glares. It was a well-known fact that Graham McRoberts did not dance. If he could at all help it.

"Well then, let's give them something to keep their tongues busy for the next year." His hand slid onto the gentle curve of her waist, pulling her closer.

She looked up at him through thick, golden lashes, and a mischievous smile put a dimple in her cheek.

"Only a year?" She raised her brows, her hand resting on his shoulder.

"Meh, we wouldn't want to exhaust them completely." He bit his lip.

"Don't worry. You're not that talented." A genuine smile spread across her face—the first he had seen all night.

With no warning, Graham spun her around, pulling her close. She gasped, but there was no bobble in her steps. Had he been watching, she likely would have cut the figure of perfect grace and poise.

"I wouldn't be so sure, sweetie. You don't know me very well." He whispered into her ear.

She stiffened in his grasp almost visibly, and he realized that their position would do her reputation no favors. Lightly twirling her back into their proper position, he found something like regret well in his chest. For a brief moment, the tension between them had settled, but now, everything was back in its box.

He mentally rolled his shoulders back, cursing himself for a fool. When had ballroom beauties made him feel anything? It wasn't the way he was wired.

Yet, he couldn't deny disappointment he felt in the face of those walled-off, sea-blue eyes. Perhaps—

No, there was no room for that in him. Not now, not ever. He shifted his gaze, watching the faces of the onlookers out of force of habit.

The music swelled and ended almost abruptly. With reluctance, Graham released Cassandra, bowing lightly over her hand. There was something off about tonight. He could feel it, and it wasn't just in his interactions with her. There was something else.

"Is something wrong?" Cassandra's voice tore through his thoughts, and he realized their hands were still clasped.

He might have told her everything, like the fool he was, but salvation presented itself in the form of Jack Harpingdon.

"Cassandra, I had hoped to get another dance, but it was dashed difficult with all those hounds around you." A quick flash of a boyish grin relaxed the tension in Cassandra's face. "I can't leave tonight without another dance with such a beautiful woman. I'm afraid my night would be restless, and you wouldn't want to make a man suffer so, would you?" Jack held out his hand, his eyes pitiful.

"Wouldn't I?" Cassandra raised an arch brow, a smile on her lips. "You presume a great deal, Lord Harpingdon."

"Do I? I guess you could make anyone be the presumptive type." Another flash of a boyish grin.

"Fine." Cassandra rolled her eyes and reached for the offered hand.

Jack began pulling her toward the dance floor, but Cassandra turned back to Graham, curious frown lines forming between her brows. Her eyes moved from his face down, and it was then Graham realized that he was still holding her hand. His grip tightened for a moment of its own accord, and he had to force himself to let go. Even then, he almost had to throw her hand away from him.

Hell. He was frowning, glaring. Grabbing a glass from the tray of a passing footman, he swallowed the drink quickly. For the second time the night, he wished for something stronger, and this time, it was for an entirely different reason.

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Argh! This chapter was meant to be up ages ago, but I got distracted and then was hit with the first cold/bug of the season which meant I didn't feel like doing anything but lounging! Hopefully, I can get a regular posting schedule in place.

Well, what do you think of this glimpse into Graham's mind?? He's not very easy to see through. I personally think it's because he's stubborn. What secret can he be hiding? What do you think Cassandra will do now? I mean, they're sort of halfway friends. . . .

Well, I guess you'll find out soon ;). Until next time! (Which will hopefully be soon!!!!)