“This is Miss Katerina Valentino. Katerina, my son Christopher Bennett.”
He took the delicate, long-fingered hand and lifted it to his lips, and then raised his eyes to hers. She met his gaze for another long, unguarded moment,
and then a wave of nervousness visibly washed over her, and she dropped her eyes to the floor.
As Colin said, powerfully timid. “Pleased to meet you, Miss Valentino. How
do you like the party?”
She replied so softly he couldn't hear her.
“Katerina,” his mother said gently, “It's very loud in here. You needn't
screech, but do raise your voice a little.”
She took a deep breath. “It's… crowded. The hosts must be quite popular.”
Her voice had a delicate and well-modulated pitch, and the sound sent an agreeable shiver up Christopher's spine.
I could listen to this woman talk for hours, he thought, enjoying the sensation. Wait, what? Get ahold of yourself, man. “Yes, they are,” he said, returning to the mundane conversation.
“I was… glad to be invited,” she commented idly, though the force of will required for her to utter the simple phrase made it seem more important than it
was. She tugged on her hand.
Christopher blinked, suddenly realizing he'd forgotten to let go. Her fingers
fell from his grip. “I am also glad you were invited,” he said, trying to be charming.
A hint of color stained her cheeks.
So, she's susceptible to a compliment. Good.
She glanced up at him again, meeting his eyes briefly. “The violin is… out of
tune.”
Christopher listened. “You're right. I suppose hiring the highest level of musicians isn't necessary in this din. Do you like music then, Miss Valentino?”
“Yes, very much.” She raised her head at that, and he saw a hint of passion in
her eyes.
“Do you play any instruments?” he asked, thankful to have stumbled upon a
means of prolonging the conversation.
“The pianoforte,” she replied.
“Well?” he pressed.
Her eyes met his. “Yes.”
He raised his eyebrows. While most young ladies did learn to play the instrument, admitting right out that one played well—rather than well enough or
some other self-deprecating comment—might be considered immodest.
However, given how shy she was, she might be giving a modest assessment of
her talent. How interesting it would be to hear that hint of passion expressed in music. I hope she isn't too shy to play for me sometime.
Wait, what? Why am I thinking of another meeting? This is a favor toMother, nothing more. His internal argument distracted his attention, allowing his mouth to carry on flattering the girl without his full consent. “I would enjoy
hearing it. I love music. Alas, I have no talent.”
“He exaggerates,” Julia interjected. “He sings rather well.”
Christopher shrugged. “Perhaps.” Only in your mind, Mother. I sing like an
amorous bullfrog. “Well, Miss Valentino, would you care to dance?” Though the invitation escaped before he could consider its wisdom, he could feel no regret.
The opportunity to touch Miss Valentino was not to be missed.
The young woman looked up at him again briefly and then nodded once,
returning her gaze to the floor while her cheeks flamed.
“Very good.” He extended his hand into her field of vision.
