With Love (Blackwood & Friends #1)

Chapter 3: Musings of Impropriety at the Crosthwaite Ball

Chapter 3: Musings of Impropriety at the Crothwaite Ball

Nicola felt queer.

Not queer in the sense that she felt ill- indeed, no. Rather, she felt unusual, as if something was simply off.

Her eyes collided with a pair of silver orbs from across the ballroom and a thrill ran down her spine. Jason Blackwood was lavishing her with more attention than she had ever had from him over the years. It was downright discombobulating. And it simply didn't make her feel, well, normal.

Suppressing yet another hot shudder, Nicola forced her eyes away from the strikingly beautiful man and smoothed a crease in the satin white gloves that covered her arms up to her elbows. At one and twenty, she was no stranger to a ballroom, especially the Crosthwaite's most opulently designed one, and there was absolutely no reason for her to feel as odd as she did, as if she couldn't quite find a comfortable niche to slot into- a misfit, a piece of the puzzle that would not, could not, fit in its rightful place.

Nicola turned her back on the Marquess of Northwick and even though she could no longer behold him, his eyes strayed across her skin as tangible as if he were running the tips of his fingers along the crevasse of her bare shoulders.

"Nicola, is ought amiss?" Blanche asked, concerned.

Nicola hadn't realised she had closed her eyes. Opening them, she found her little companion shifting from side to side beside her. Blanche was always so damn full of energy, as if it were nigh impossible for her to remain stationary for long. Nicola hardly knew how she kept up with the shorter woman's abundance of cheerful energy. "Not at all," she responded with a smile. "Perhaps I need an ice."

"Shall I ask Mr Whitley to fetch us some?" Blanche asked happily, referring to the podgy gentleman who had been hounding the girls all evening for a snippet of attention from either of them. "I'm sure he would be more than happy to oblige."

Every gentleman here would be more than happy to oblige, Nicola thought to herself as she studied her friend. Blanche was gorgeous, a delightful impish beauty whose allure was hard to resist. With her dark hair coiffured into an intricate ensemble at her crown and her silver eyes flashing with energy, she painted an exquisite picture. Her gown was fashioned from the richest silk, a silvery grey in colour which charged her eyes with translucent power.

On the other hand, Nicola thought she rather paled in comparison though she was not devoid of attention. It was obvious that she had some appeal, though Blanche had most. Combined with the title of the Blackwood name and her exquisite looks, Blanche would make any gentleman a very suitable wife. Nicola, though, had no title though the sizeable dowry her father had allotted her surely made up for that lack of allure. If that didn't attract a suitable man, then Nicola's quiet, confident comportment usually did. She wasn't a rambunctious or outgoing individual like Blanche. She preferred being more reflective, though by no means shy. When it came down to it, Nicola could be very friendly and helpful. In fact, because of these admirable qualities, she had many friends, though only one she could call her closest.

There had been offers for her hand over the years and she had politely declined. Four in total, if one enjoyed counting them. However, she was fortunate to have very little pressure from her father in that regard and so, unable to accept any of the gentlemen as her future husband, Nicola had refused to entertain any proposal. One had even been from a baron.

Nobody had questioned her decision and she hadn't bothered to explain. Her father had left her to her devices, content that in time Nicola would choose a man that would make her happy. But at one and twenty, Nicola wasn't sure how much longer she would be able to enjoy that liberty.