The king waved a hand. “Pray, do not think on it.” His smile twisted into a grin. “You are hardly the first young lady to fall at my feet.”
Everyone around them tittered dutifully and the girl grew impossibly redder.
“Your Majesty,” Whiddon bowed. He turned and offered another to the girl. “Miss Mayne. Pray do excuse me, sir, but I believe the young lady promised this set to me.”
The girl blinked at him. The music had stopped when the king arrived.
“Oh, yes. I should like to see some dancing, at that.” The king waved his hand. “Do begin again, if you please. I shall watch as I chat with Treyford.”
The musicians hastily returned to their instruments. Miss Mayne looked as if she might object. Whiddon took her hand and pulled her close. “I don’t care if you sprained your ankle or broke your leg in that fall. If you have any hope of salvaging your reputation, you will dance.”
* * *
Charlotte,still in a haze of embarrassment and fury, let herself be led away. She was still reliving her humiliation. So much so, that she barely noticed when Lord Whiddon led her onto the dance floor. She didn’t come to herself until he took her hand and placed his at her waist.
“Oh! A waltz.” She blinked rapidly back into the still-humiliating present.
“Yes. Thanks be to the gods, for it will allow us to speak. But first—relax.”
She gave a bitter laugh.
“You must. Listen to me. You must act as if nothing happened. Nothing of consequence. You must smile and enjoy our dance. Everyone will be watching.”
Heat rose again from her chest and climbed upward. She kept her eyes fixed firmly on his neckcloth as the music started and they began to move. She could not bear to glance aside and see the sea of faces waiting, watching and whispering.
“Relax!” he ordered again.
She tried.
“Good. Now, I should like to know who that chit in the orange dress is to you.”
Charlotte’s lips pressed together. “She’s my cousin,” she said tightly.
“Surely not!” She sensed his surprise in the sudden tension of his shoulders. His broad shoulders, she suddenly realized. Her hand rested there, and she registered the heat and hard strength beneath her fingers.
“I’m afraid so.”
“She pushed you!”
“Yes. I am aware,” she said flatly. “She was behind me. Could I have seen her, I would have read the signs and known she was up to something.”
“Ah, yes. Your study of unconscious messages.”
“You may laugh, but I am very familiar with all the ways Harriett signals ill intentions.” Her tone emerged darkly, but her patience was at an end.
That silenced him. “What is the relationship?”
She frowned. “I just—oh. How are we related, you meant? Her father, Lord Burchan, is my father’s elder brother. Or was, I should say, before my father’s death.”
“You are Lord Burchan’s niece?”
“Yes.” She was beginning to recover. She waswaltzing. Her first waltz, although she’d been given permission by the patronesses of Almack’s weeks ago. And with Lord Whiddon. His hand felt like a brand on the curve of her waist and she was keenly aware of the small, heated universe that existed only between them as they moved in elegant twirls across the floor.
“I thought you were being brought out under the guidance of your aunt, the other Miss Mayne.”
She looked up into his face at last and let her sudden amusement show. “Have you been inquiring after me, my lord?”
He shot her a quelling look. “I didn’t have to. I heard someone else talking about you.”
