“She’s danced several times. I’ve asked Kit to take her out on the floor.”
Viscount Kittridge. One of Selena’s dearest friends. “Someone she knows through you. I’m talking about all these mucks she’s only just met.”
“It’s her coming out, her introduction into Society. It takes a while for the gents to warm up to a debutante.”
He gave her a pointed look. “How long did it take you, at your first ball, to have your dance card filled?”
She sighed. “Five minutes. But I was raised within Society.”
He grinned. “And you were touted as being the most beautiful woman in London. That probably didn’t hurt.”
Her smile was soft, but bright. “No, I suppose it didn’t.”
“I should have brought some of my gents from the club.”
“Is that who you want her to marry?” She rubbed his arm. “Patience, my love.”
He shook his head. “I haven’t got it, not where Fancy is concerned. I’ll not see her hurt or disappointed. I won’t be long.”
He made a move to leave her, but her fingers closed around his upper arm, holding him in place. “Don’t start trouble.”
“I’m only going to have a few words with one gent, and after that, all should fall into place.”
“I’ll have another dance once you’re done.”
Grazing his fingers along her cheek, he almost took her mouth then and there. He did love her. “I’ll give you three.” Then because she was his wife, he pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I love you, Lena.”
“Find us a dark alcove somewhere, and I’ll show you how much I love you.”
His laughter echoed around him as he strode through the grand salon until he reached a circle of three men, chuckling and cackling, as though they hadn’t a worry in the world. If he discovered they’d been making sport of his sister, they’d each suffer a drawn-out, painful death. “Dearwood.”
They immediately went silent and the two whose name hadn’t been spoken skittered away like cockroaches suddenly revealed by light. Did his family really want Fancy to marry one of these fops?
Turning to face him, the earl visibly swallowed. “Trewlove.”
“I have your vowels.”
The man’s eyes widened. “Here? On you?”
He sighed. “No. At my club. Dance with my sister and I’ll tear them up. Your debt to me will be considered paid in full.”
Dearwood was an unattractive fellow when his jaw was hanging down. “But do close your mouth before taking her upon the dance floor.”
His lips snapped together as he gave a brisk nod before turning on his heel.
“Dearwood?”
The man came to an abrupt halt and glanced back, his stricken expression indicating he feared the club owner was on the verge of rescinding the offer. “Discreetly let it be known that this offer is open to any man who owes me blunt.”
Strolling as unobtrusively as possible among the layers of people away from the dance floor, Fancy refused to go anywhere near the section of chairs, take a seat, and delegate herself a wallflower so early into the process. She hadn’t expected immediate acceptance, had known she’d be an object of curiosity. Still, she’d anticipated a few of the gents unknown to her before tonight would at least be interested in satisfying their inquisitiveness by taking her on a turn about the dance floor.
She passed small clusters of two or three people, chatting away, averting their gazes or stepping in to make the circle smaller when they caught sight of her approaching. Not a cut direct precisely, but certainly not an invitation to join them. She wasn’t rude enough to intrude. As she walked on by, she would catch snippets of conversation.
Pretty enough.That didn’t mean they were discussing her.
Five thousand a year.Probably a reference to her. Each of her siblings were contributing a thousand pounds a year to her dowry.
Scandalous...
