Lily had not lied. Devlin was, in fact, cutting a swath through the dancers and it appeared as if… but no, he could not be… except that he was. He was walking straight towards her. Hope, delicate as a bird’s wing, fluttered faintly inside of her chest, only to plummet a few seconds later when she realized why the Viscount would be approaching them. “He must want to dance with you again,” she said, doing her best to summon a note of excitement in her tone when she wanted nothing more than to bury her head in her hands and cry. She had managed to sit idly by and watch her dearest friend in the arms of the man she loved once, but she knew she would not be able to do it again. Gathering her skirts she began to turn away, but Lily’s hand on her arm stopped her. “You ninny,” the brunette said under her breath. “He does not want to dance with me. He is looking at you. Now wipe that dumbfounded look off your face and smile! There you go. Very good. I will be right over there if you—”
