His wide grin reminded her of one she’d seen on a chimpanzee at the zoological gardens. “He’s canceling my gambling hell debt.”
She couldn’t stop her voice from going flat. “If you dance with me.”
“Precisely.” He nodded toward the floor that was clearing of couples, as others moved into place. “Shall we?”
“With all due haste.”
It was an odd thing to be held by someone she’d only just met, and she was grateful the quadrille limited how long and how often he touched her. The other couples who served as partners in this particular square were a somber lot, and she wondered if they wished she wasn’t there, although she did catch a few side glances as though they were curious but didn’t want anyone to know they were. Although perhaps they knew the truth of the situation and were as uncomfortable as she was with the fact that a bribe was required to get a bloke to dance with her.
Chapter 13
It was difficult to concentrate on reading when Matthew’s gaze kept wandering to the darkened window across the way. He had shoved a chair in front of his and taken up position after returning from the reading lessons. Ever since Fancy had bid them a good night, he’d been tormented envisioning her at the ball dancing with one lord after another.
While the decent part of him hoped her dance card would have a scrawled signature beside every dance, the selfish part hoped she took no pleasure from the attention.
Damn it all to hell, he felt like a rotten cur.
After returning to his terrace, he’d considered going to the ball. He even had evening attire on hand. God alone knew why his valet had decided to pack it. He’d certainly had no plans to attend any formal functions, although it was always possible an obligation he couldn’t escape would arise.
Earlier he’d gone to the bother of drawing a bath. Soaking in the steaming water had managed to give him time to put matters into perspective and to debate the disadvantages of attending the ball. At the edge of his mind he recalled promising dances to at least two dozen women, so dance cards would be dangled in front of his nose like carrots to get a horse moving. First and foremost, however, was the matter of explaining himself to Fancy.
“You wanted to meet the Earl of Rosemont. Funny thing. You’ve already met him. He is I.” He imagined delivering the news with a bit of a laugh and a broad smile. Unfortunately, he couldn’t envision her receiving it with equal good humor. She would no doubt be hurt, possibly livid. Revealing himself in such a public arena was such a dreadfully bad idea.
However, if she did manage to overlook his failure to elaborate on his identity when they met, he would no longer be able to discern if what was developing between them—friendship or something more—was influenced by his title. Might she seek to lure him into a conservatory?
All the lengths that are necessary.
She had declared those words, and they’d resounded as a promise, a vow. Although she claimed she would draw the line at deception, he’d learned that a woman’s words couldn’t always be trusted.
He rather liked that she didn’t know his full identity, that when she looked at him, she wasn’t doing it through the lens of his title. So he’d left his bath resolved to stay in and let her have her night. To flirt and be flirted with, to dance the evening away, to have a debut that was all she hoped for. Even if it didn’t include the Earl of Rosemont.
Once more he glanced toward her window. The ball would no doubt go on until two in the morning. For him, the minutes were ticking away into an eternity.
After her fifth dance following the one that she’d shared with Dearwood, she was more than displeased with the additional information she’d gleaned and went in search of her brothers. While they were tall, a good many men were equally so, which made it difficult to spy them in the crush of the crowd. She did wish Beast had attended. He was a good head taller than most, which would have made him easier to spot. Then she caught sight of them on the far side of the room, near one of two fireplaces. Quickening her pace—
“I say, Miss Trewlove.”
She came to an abrupt halt as a tall, narrow-shouldered gentleman stepped in front of her. What was his name? Good Lord, with more important matters weighing on her mind she couldn’t think.
“Will you honor me with a dance?”
Blond. Broad. Blue Eyes. Viking. Fiords. “Not at this moment, Lord Beresford.”
She made to move past him, and he wrapped his gloved fingers around her upper arm. The scathing look she cast his way had him immediately releasing his hold, appearing somewhat contrite.
“But it’s simply not done, Miss Trewlove. To rebuff a gentleman’s request for a dance.”
“I’m not declining altogether. Just not right now.” She held up her wrist, the dangling dance card twirling. “I have a few dances left. Select the one you’d like. Just not this one.”
With great deliberation and very slowly, he printed out his name as though he anticipated she might like to use it for an embroidery pattern at some point. He beamed at her. “A waltz.”
“I look forward to it. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” Without waiting for his permission, she threaded her way around people, having to stop twice more to impatiently allow gentlemen to sign her dance card. Who would have ever thought she wouldn’t take delight in the attention? Finally, she reached her brothers, grateful Gillie was there as well, so she could confront them all in one go. Thankfully no one else was near. It seemed when the Trewloves were gathered en masse, people were wont to keep their distance. Her siblings all seemed to be in good cheer, chatting, laughing, sipping what appeared to be scotch—probably from Gillie’s personal stock.
“Have you no faith in me?”
They all swung around so fast at her words that it wouldn’t have surprised her to learn they’d each gone dizzy.
“What are you on about?” Gillie asked sincerely. “Of course we have faith in you.”
