She risked a glance at the other dancers. “If only more of them would speaktome, instead ofaboutme.”
“Smile,” he ordered. “Don’t frown at them. You must at least look like you are enjoying yourself.”
Startled, she stared up at him again. And it struck her abruptly, how kind it had been of him to rescue her like this. Against his own inclinations, to be sure. She’d seen his fingers tapping their rhythm against his leg as he spoke to the king. A sure sign of his tension and distaste. She should not waste his sacrifice.
And more, he was right. Did she want everyone to titter and whisper about her fall? Or did she wish it to become only the prelude to the talk of her of her dance with the elusive Lord Unobtainable?
“Thank you,” she whispered. Then she obeyed. She smiled up at him with all of her frazzled nerves and fervent gratitude.
She felt his sudden tension again, beneath her fingers, but there was no sign of it in his expression. She let herself relax a little more. Good heavens, but he was a fine dancer. She didn’t have to think at all. She just enjoyed the feel of his hands on her and gave herself over. It felt as natural as . . . as the air moving in and out of her lungs. She gave a little shiver at the warm rush of pleasure it gave her.
“I’m thinking back,” he said. “I did attend the ball Lord Burchan threw to launch his daughter, at the beginning of the Season. It was Lady
Chester’s first society event, and we all went to support her.”
“That was kind of you. She seems a lovely person.”
His lips thinned a little. “So she is, I’m sure.”
What was it her friend Lady Mary had said? He danced with his friends’ wives, then glared at them across the room?
“Granted,” he continued. “I spent most of that evening in the card room, but I don’t recall seeing you there.”
“No. You would not have. My aunt and I had only just arrived in London. We were scarcely settled in our lodgings and not yet ready to go into company.”
“Lodgings. Separate lodgings?”
She nodded, puzzled.
“Why is your uncle not bringing you out, from his home, under his care?”
“Because he does not wish to, I presume.” He watched her, as if waiting for her to admit to some crime, or some defect of personality, and it irritated her to no end. “And since he is a man, and a gentleman of fortune and title besides, that is the end of the matter. He does not wish to.”
“Putting aside the matter of your uncle and what he could or should do, I have to ask you—is that what you believe? That men like your uncle—like me—are free to do whatever we will?”
She nodded. “Or whatever you will not.”
He snorted.
“Do you deny it?”
“I do.” He shrugged beneath her hand. “I will agree that I have more authority and opportunity than any woman and more than most men, but there are obligations attached. Serious and binding duties that balance against the advantages. And the notion of utter freedom?” His expression darkened. “No.”
She held silent as he maneuvered them through a crowded section of the dance floor. When his attention shifted back to her, she asked the question that had been building.
“What constrains you, then? Is it duty that is so important to you?”
He laughed. “Is that the answer you expect? Honor, duty, propriety?”
“Would it be the truth?”
“No.”
She waited.
He drew a deep breath. “I care for a handful of people only, Miss Mayne. But they are dear to me, indeed. My younger sister, my friends. They would be adversely affected if I threw off the shackles and did just as I wished.”
“What would you do?” she whispered, fascinated.
