“Am I?” he asked her. And was he really? Her of all people? The one woman on earth with whom he could never even flirt, let alone court? Why the devil had he told her all these things—while he waswaltzing with her, half thetonlooking on?No child in the womb...Good God. She must be made of stern stuff. Many ladies would have swooned right away.
“You expect me to be filled with pity for the Duke of Wilby,” she protested. “And Iam.You expect me to volunteer to help grant his dying wish. Though he does not look as though he were dying. He is at aball, not on his deathbed. You are hoping I will say yes without your having to go to the bother of asking the question directly.”
“On bended knee? With red rosebud clutched in one fist?” he said. “I must confess I would do almost anything to avoid such a colossal embarrassment.”
He twirled her once about, and she tipped back her head and laughed while he smiled at her.
“You waltz very well,” she said.
“So do you.”
For a few moments, until the first tune of the set came to an end and they stopped dancing, they gave themselves up to an enjoyment of the moment—to lilting music; to the gleaming dance floor beneath their feet and the candlelight creating a prism of colors amid the crystal of the chandeliers overhead and along the upper halves of the walls; to the swirling colors of the ladies’ gowns and the more sober elegance of their partners; to the banks of flowers and greenery with which the ballroom had been decked; to the sounds of conversation and laughter beyond the music; to the touch of their hands and the heat and shared rhythm of their bodies as they waltzed.
Then they stood, recovering their breath and waiting for the next dance of the set to begin.
“Well?” he asked.
“Well?”She looked back at him with raised eyebrows.
“Areyou going to volunteer?” he asked her.
He watched indignation harden her eyes and tighten her lips.
“Never, Lord Roath,” she said. “Not in a million years.”
“As I expected.” He grinned at her.
This was all a little bizarre, he thought. Or surreal. Or, at the very least, improper.
“Volunteer,”she said contemptuously. “The very idea! If you wish to propose marriage to me,my lord, you may do it on bended knee after conferring with my brother. And then you may get to your feet while I blister your ears with my refusal.”
“What is your favorite color rose?” he asked her.
Chapter Eleven
It was by far the most exhilarating set of the evening so far. Indeed, if she were perfectly honest with herself, Philippa would have to admit this was the most wonderful night of her life. How could it not be? She was in London at the start of her come-out Season. She was at her first grandtonball, and all her fears had been put to rest even before she danced the opening set with Sir Gerald Emmett. An astonishingly large number of gentlemen had sought to be presented to her, had bowed over her hand and gazed upon her with admiration, and had paid her lavish, foolish compliments, which had caused her to laugh and fan her heated cheeks. Her dance card had begun to fill up. It was quite full before the second set began. She was not going to be a wallflower. Stephanie would enjoy sayingI told you sotomorrow.
But now...
She was not even going to have to sit out all the waltzes. Against all her expectations, permission had been granted her at her very first London ball. It was astounding, to say the least. For there wasno dance in the world more exhilarating, more purelyromanticthan the waltz. She wished this set would never end. Though there would be others after supper, and surely it was not too much to hope that someone else would ask to partner her for at least one of them. It was even possible that she would end up dancing every set of the evening. It would be success beyond her most extravagant dreams.
She could not deceive herself, however, into believing that this intense happiness she was feeling was attributable only to the fullness of her dance card and the fact that she was waltzing when she had not expected to do so for at least the next few weeks. Would she be feeling quite this exuberant if, for example, she were waltzing with Sir Gerald? Or with any of the other gentlemen who had signed her dance card or would have done if it had not been full? She knew she would not, much as she liked Sir Gerald. She ought to be ashamed of herself. She was reacting to the Marquess of Roath tonight just as she had upon her first sight of him when she was eighteen—before he had spoken and revealed himself to be a heartless, cruel man.
Though... was hereally? Did a few unguarded words define a person for all time? Hehadassured her more recently that his words had been unjustified and that she had misunderstood. None of which had been a real explanation, of course.
In the week or so since she had met him again, he had not once given her a proper explanation of those words. Merely saying they had been unjustified and she had misunderstood was really not saying anything at all. It was easy to deny. It was far harder to explain.
They danced the second waltz of the set to a somewhat slower, more lilting rhythm than the first. And if she was not much mistaken, he was holding her a little closer, though there was no suggestion of impropriety. They touched each other only with theirhands. But his body heat mingled with her own, and it seemed she could almost feel his heartbeat. They danced without talking, their eyes roaming over each other’s face and only occasionally looking away.
She was aware of Jenny, smiling happily at them. Mr.Jamieson was beside her again. She saw her mother conversing with a silver-haired gentleman, and caught her eye. Mama nodded with obvious approval. The Duke and Duchess of Wilby, seated side by side, somehow made their plush velvet chairs look like thrones. They were both looking directly at their grandson and Philippa. His Grace was frowning, while Her Grace looked speculative, her head nodding slowly, just like Mama’s.
Philippa suspected that she was already under serious consideration as the Marquess of Roath’s bride. They had come to London in order to see him married. To set his feet on the path to getting the next heir of the direct line. All as soon as could decently be accomplished. There was some urgency because the duke was dying, or at least in questionable health. There must be any number of other women they were considering too, of course, but she was undoubtedly one of them. Which suggested that whatever issue Lord Roath had had with her father had not also involved them.
“Peach,” she murmured, and winced slightly when she realized she had spoken aloud. He would think she had taken leave of her senses. Ten minutes must have passed since he asked the question.
He understood her, however. “A peach rose it will be, then,” he said, and she looked back into his face and wondered if he really would have the gall to come to Stratton House to make an offer for her. She must surely be the last woman on earth he would want as a wife, just ashewas the last man on earth...
He would never get by Devlin, anyway. For Devlinknew.And he had promised to confront the Marquess of Roath one day if theirpaths should ever cross. He had been furious when he said it and had looked every inch the ruthless infantry officer he must have been for six years during the Peninsular War.
