Sebastian was not inane enough not to recognize the way the lady reacted the moment she heard his name. So he’d been right. There was some connection between them, some connection he wasn’t privy to and now felt at a disadvantage in spite of. What was it about her lithe little frame that had drawn him in? He could hardly have recognized anyone from so far across the ballroom, much less someone whose face he couldn’t see. And there weren’t many women that made much of an impression in his life, as far as picking them out of a lineup went. She had to be special, she had to be different, she had to be—
He shook free any rouge speculations and made to narrow his gaze as the woman’s hand seemed to tremble a bit around her glass. All sign of spunk and ease had gone over one of the many golden balconies. Should he be worried, or… offended? Offended felt like the right response. Deigning not to make so harsh a judgment without further proof of identity however, Seb dismissed his reservations and let a smooth smile settle over his features. “Would you like me to?” He parried back, the hint of a tease lilting his quiet tone.
Even as he posed the question, Seb reached out a hand to the lady and gestured towards the dance floor. He was pleased in as much as she had cleared her dance card for him at the very least; a lady like this was bound to have a full set of suitors at her beck and call and he had taken precedence over them. It bought him at minimum that much more time to try and diagnose her identity. And then, subsequently, determine how he felt about her altogether. He inclined his head as if urging her to accept his hand. “This aria is particularly lovely for a waltz.”