Once Dr. Crane returned Honour to Lestat's side, all her stifled laughter died by degrees, rapidly. The orchestra was playing a waltz now, and she did love the waltz. It was freeing and delightful and sweeping and really quite fun. Of course, she imagined Lestat could waltz very well indeed. Hand tucked properly in Lestat's arm, she was in the process of turning to ask him if he'd let her dance with him. By chance, she happened to glance across the space where guests had started waltzing.
Errol. Errol and Fred.
Beauty froze altogether. He moved with a fluid power that was surely drawing all sorts of attention. She couldn't look to see who else had noticed, although she wanted to. It was arresting. She'd never seen him formally dressed before. Beauty set a hand across her stomach, which was misbehaving.
"Excuse me," she said to Lestat, intent on finding another one of those champagne flutes. It took only a minute to find a champagne-laden table, and another minute to wend her way through the crowd, back toward the edge of the dance floor to Lestat. Her feet felt shod with lead. She stopped short, then stared at Lestat's crimson shoulder a distance away. Something like guilt, something like helplessness settled hard on her shoulders. She twisted the stem of her flute nervously. Her eyes drifted away from Lestat and toward the place where she'd last seen...