“Heaven defend us,” he murmured before bowing politely to her and continuing on his way into the ballroom.
It was almost time. A cotillion was coming to an end. A waltz was next. He stood close to the doors, his prowling forgotten, and watched Brougham lead a flushed and smiling Jane off the dance floor and return her to Lady Webb’s side. The inevitable court of hopefuls gathered around. It looked as if Kimble had won the race. He was smiling and saying something to Jane. Jocelyn strolled forward.
“This,” he said firmly when he was close enough, “is my dance, I believe, ma’am.”
“Too late, too late,” Kimble said flippantly. “I spoke first, Tresham.”
Jocelyn regarded his friend with haughtily raised eyebrows as the fingers of one hand grasped the handle of his quizzing glass.
“Congratulations, my dear fellow,” he said. “But the lady’s hand is mine nonetheless. Of course, if you care to argue the point—”
“Your grace,” Jane began, sounding more embarrassed than angry. Jocelyn lifted his glass all the way to his eye and swung it in her direction. All the other bucks in attendance on her had frozen in place, he noticed, as if they were expecting fisticuffs to break out at any moment and were terrified that they might be involved.
“You have fought enough duels to last for the next decade or so, Tresh,” Kimble said. “And I have no wish whatsoever to peer down the wrong end of your pistol, even if I know very well that you will shoot into the air when it comes to the point.”
He bowed, had the temerity to wink at Jane, and strolled away.
“I cannot waltz, your grace,” Jane reminded Jocelyn. “This is my come-out ball, and I have not yet had the nod of approval from any of the patronesses of Almack’s to waltz at a public ball.”
“Poppycock!” he said. “This isyourball, and you will waltz if you wish to.Doyou?”
Lady Webb, who might have spoken up in protest, did not do so. The decision was Jane’s. Did she have the courage? He looked directly into her eyes.
“Yes,” she said, setting her hand on his sleeve. “Of course I do.”
And so they took the floor together for the waltz, a move that drew considerable attention from most if not all of the gathered guests, Jocelyn noticed. He and Jane were anondit, he realized, despite his efforts to see to it that they were not. And now he had goaded her into waltzing in defiance of the prevailing custom.
He did not care a tinker’s damn what anyone thought. But she did, of course. This was her come-out ball, which Lady Webb had prepared for her with such selfless enthusiasm. He gazed intently at her as he took her in his arms. How could he possibly behave himself as a gentleman ought and act as if she meant nothing at all to him? How could he possibly disguise what he felt for this woman? Even just touching her, like this…But he held her the regulation distance from his body and concentrated on keeping the heat he was feeling out of his gaze.
“It was quite odious of you,” she said, “to say what you did when you arrived.”
“Lady Sara?” he said. “But you are. And I was on my best behavior. Besides, you retaliated without a blink, Jane.”
“Not that,” she said. “The other thing.”
“About your looking like a bride?” he said. “You do. All white lace and satin and blushes.”
“Flushes,”she said. “I have been dancing.”
“With all your most loyal and persistent beaux,” he agreed.
“Jealous?”
He raised his eyebrows and did not deign to answer. Instead, he drew her closer. Scandalously close, in fact. He could sense the gossips murmuring and muttering behind fans and lorgnettes and gloved hands. Jane made no protest at all.
They did not talk after that. It was a spirited waltz tune that the orchestra played, and the dance floor was larger than the drawing room at Dudley House, where they had last waltzed together. He moved her about the perimeter of the floor, twirling her to the rhythm, his eyes locked on hers the whole while, their bodies almost touching.
There was no need of words. They had spoken plenty during the weeks of their acquaintance. Enough that they could sometimes converse quite eloquently without a single sound issuing from their lips. Despite good intentions, he made love to her with his eyes, heedless of any audience they might still have. She pressed her lips together, but she did not once look away. He was not going to spoil the evening, her eyes told him. For Lady Webb’s sake he was not. She might have been goaded into possible scandal by waltzing with him, but she would not be persuaded into looking back at him as he was looking at her. Or into quarreling with him. And yet her eyes said other things too. They were far more expressive than she realized.
“Well, Jane,” he asked her when he knew the waltz was drawing to an end, “what is your assessment? Is this the happiest day of your life?”
“Of course.” She smiled slowly at him. “How could it not be? Areyouhappy?” she asked him.
“Bedamned,” he told her.
There was a stranger with Lady Webb, he saw as he took Jane’s arm to lead her back to her godmother. A young man who was dressed with perfect decency and propriety but with not the slightest flair of elegance or fashion. Someone who lived almost exclusively in the country, it would appear. The milksop and country bumpkin, if his guess was not quite wide of the mark.
It was a suspicion that was confirmed almost immediately, as soon as Jane’s attention was drawn away from someone who said something to her in passing. She looked ahead to Lady Webb, her hand stiffened on his arm, and she hurried forward.
