Web of Love by Mary Balogh

battle of their lives before too many more weeks had passed. The last battle of their lives for many of them. She smiled brightly.
    And soon she was smiling in earnest. She had never waltzed with Lord Eden before. He was a superb dancer. He held her firmly and moved in such a way that she followed his lead without thought. And he spun and twirled her about the floor, so that she had to look up into his face to prevent herself from becoming dizzy. He was so very tall and strong.
    He smiled back. “You waltz very well, ma’am,” he said. “You are not afraid to follow a lead. You feel like a feather in my arms. Charlie does not know what he is missing.”
    â€œOh, yes, he does,” she said, “and that is why he is missing it.”
    He laughed and his teeth showed very white. His green eyes crinkled at the corners. He was quite startlingly attractive, Ellen thought. Was it possible that he would single Jennifer out for more and more marked attention? They had looked very handsome together as they had danced earlier.
    He had always noticed that she was a lovely woman, Lord Eden thought. But it was only recently—since her return from England—that he had realized that she could sparkle with a truly vibrant beauty. She was sparkling tonight. She looked like a girl.
    â€œDo I detect a touch of London fashion?” he asked. “That is a very becoming gown.”
    He was interested to see her blush. “I bought it as a surprise for Charlie,” she said. “He thinks green is my color.”
    â€œIt is,” he said. “He is quite right.”
    He had never danced with her like this before. Never held her. Her slim body was warm and supple beneath his hand. Charlie was a fortunate man.
    He recalled his first meeting with Mrs. Simpson in Spain, and his surprise at her youth and beauty and elegance. She was not at all the type of woman he would have expected to be married to the rough-mannered and bighearted Charlie Simpson.
    And yet there could be no doubt about the fact that her world revolved about her husband. His respect for her had grown with the years. He would never forget coming upon her after one vicious skirmish in Spain when all was still confusion on the battlefield. He had suffered a flesh wound in the arm and must have looked unusually pale as he staggered back from the front toward her tent, the first familiar landmark he had seen. Her hands had gone to her mouth, her eyes had grown round with horror, and she had begun to wail so that he had forgotten his own pain for a moment.
    As it turned out, she had noticed only the paleness of his set face and had assumed that he was bringing her bad news. Her manner had changed instantly when she realized her mistake, and calm, steady hands had soon been easing his coat from him and cutting away his blood-soaked shirtsleeve and cleansing and dressing his wound. But she had cried again an hour later when Charlie had appeared, tattered and incredibly dirty, but miraculously unhurt. And she had hurled herself against him and wrapped her arms around his neck and murmured his name at least a dozen times.
    He could feel envious of his married friend at such moments.
    â€œDo you think Charlie is watching and wishing he were in my place?” he asked her, looking down into her eyes and grinning. He spun her around a corner of the floor until she laughed up at him with delight.
    And then another twirling couple collided with her from behind and sent her careering against him. His arms came tightly about her to steady her. Her face was still turned up to his.
    Probably no more than a second passed while he became aware of her slim and shapely feminine form pressed to him, and found himself looking directly into her wide gray eyes and down to her parted lips. He was surrounded by the fragrance of her hair, of which he had been vaguely aware since they had started dancing.
    She felt him with every part of her, from her shoulders