He arched his eyebrow as she stood there gawking at him, then glanced at the two elderly ladies. Upon noting the grip each had on her arms, he grinned. “Good evening, Miss Swift.”
His deep, glorious rumble simply melted her.
“Good evening,” she replied, breathless as she struggled to get out the words.
“Don’t you look lovely tonight?”
“Thank you, Your Grace.” Her face was in flames as she bobbed a curtsy. She felt the insufferable heat rush up her cheeks and along her neck.
“The third dance is to be a waltz.” His voice remained deliciously deep and husky, pouring over her like a smooth, aged brandy. Of course, she always choked on those hard spirits. “Would you do me the honor? May I claim you for it?”
“Yes, you may,” Phoebe responded before she could beg off. “She is looking forward to it. Aren’t you, Adela?”
“A veritable dream come true for me,” Adela muttered, not bothering to hide her sarcasm as she resigned herself to the humiliation certain to occur within the hour.
“I look forward to it as well,” he said with a sparkle of amusement in his eyes.
As the two dowagers released her wrists, he took hold of one of her gloved hands and placed a light kiss on it. “Adela,” he said in a whisper. “It shall be a dream come true for me, too.”
“What is wrong with that man?” she grumbled when he strode away.
Of course, the crowd parted as though he were Moses at the Red Sea. Honestly, did they all have to grovel because he was a handsome, wealthy, eligible duke?
She had to get out of dancing with him.
But how?
She could not possibly hold her own, and soon everyone would be watching them. All those eyes on her, laughing at her every misstep.
There was no help for it, she had to get away.
Two dances came before the dreaded waltz.
Each was about twenty minutes in duration, which gave her a good forty minutes to plot her escape.
Too bad, really.
She liked the duke and could not imagine anything more enchanting than dancing with him. But not amid this crush. It would have to be somewhere out of the way, out of everyone’s sight where no one would mock her if she stumbled. He would never pass an unkind remark, for kindness and concern seemed to be his manner around inept souls who crossed his path.
Unfortunately, the two dowagers outwitted her at every turn.
They trailed her like bloodhounds, making it clear there would be no fleeing this impending debacle.
She drank a glass of champagne, and then downed several more. She must have gulped down at least three glasses of champagne, but who kept count? By the time he approached to claim her for the waltz, she was undeniably foxed.
Everyonewas gawking at her, most of them in disbelief.
She thought drinking herself numb might help calm her nerves, but it only made her lightheaded and clumsier than she already was. “Your Grace,” she whispered as he took hold of her hand and led her onto the dance floor. “This is a horrendous mistake. Won’t you reconsider?”
“No. I wish to dance with you. Just let me guide your steps. Trust me, Adela. Do you trust me?”
She nodded.
“Good. We’ll take it slow. I won’t let you stumble.”
There was nothing she could do but believe in his words of assurance and pray hard for the best outcome. Her stomach churned as he swept her into their first turn, and churned again as they spun into their second.
She was not going to make it through their waltz without casting up her accounts.
