His face grew gentle, inclining toward her ever so slightly as he met her gaze. Malou's breathe caught as she noticed his hand reaching for her face, the gentle warmth and brush of her fingers against her cheek, drawing all her attention to the touch. Warmth crept through her, as he pushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear. But it was his words, words more encompassing that she had ever thought to hear, that surprised her, warmed her in a different way. They were so gentle, so caring, so unexpected. Malou forced herself to swallow and then unbidden in the barest of whispers, she found herself saying, "There hasn't been anyone." The past tense hanging unspoken between them as she watched his eyes glance back to the ballroom beside them, did he regret what he'd said? This man who knew too well the sting of loss? Or was he was overwhelmed as she was?