“To match your cheeks,” the marquess said.
Her eyes dipped to his mouth, which she could only describe to herself as sensuous, and she wondered what it would feel like on her own. But allowing such wayward and improper thoughts to seep into her mind caused an uncomfortable throbbing low in her abdomen and a weakness in her knees. Was it pathetic that in twenty-two years she had never been kissed? Except by family members, that was. But that did not count. It was notthatsort of kiss for which she sometimes found herself yearning.
Butnotwith the Marquess of Roath.
The music came to an end. There was one more waltz in the set.
“Have you realized that this is the supper dance?” he asked her.
She looked inquiringly at him.
“A gentleman is expected to lead his partner into the dining room, fetch her a plate of food, sit beside her, and converse with her until it is time to return to the ballroom,” he said.
Assemblies at home had never been like that. Not even the formal balls they had at Christmas and at the summer fete.
“I believe,” she said, “you have made that up on the spot, Lord Roath.”
“I do assure you,” he said with raised eyebrows, “that you would humiliate me beyond hope of recovery if you were to walk away when the waltz is over. I may be handing you a deadly weapon by telling you that, of course, but you might also cause scandal for yourself from which it would be hard to recover.”
“You exaggerate,” she said. “At the very least.”
“We will take Jenny with us as chaperon,” he said. “Will that soothe your misgivings?”
She drew breath to speak, but the orchestra, after a brief pause, struck up another, more spirited waltz tune. And this was, she thought as he twirled her about the floor, the loveliest of all. She was waltzing on the most magical night of her life with surely the most handsome man at the ball. It would be foolish not to enjoy it all to the full. But it seemed it would not be over even when the set was done, for he was to escort her in to supper and sit with her and converse with her—andJenny.
She was not committing herself to anything by smiling at him and twirling with him, laughing as she did so, and feeling happy.Wasshe? For one was supposed to do those things at a ball. No one, after all, had the power to force her into marrying against her will. Even that very formidable duke and his duchess.Hemight feel an obligation to them. She had none, even if theyhadmade it possible for her to waltz. And it was very much against her will even toconsidermarrying Lucas Arden, Marquess of Roath.
—
Jamieson was wheeling Jenny in the direction of the dining room as Lucas and Lady Philippa approached them. Aunt Kitty, Lucas saw, was gazing after them and must have given her blessing. There was no reason why she would not have done, of course. It was quite unfair to assume that any man who showed the smallest interest in his sister must be a fortune hunter. It was even insulting to her to assume such a thing. Not much harm could come to her, anyway, in the Abingdon dining room with half thetonsqueezed in there with her.
“May we join you?” Lucas asked.
“But of course.” Jenny smiled at both of them, but was there an edge of disappointment in her voice?
Ah, Jenny.
“Thank you,” he said.
“I have never before seen the waltz performed,” Jenny said to Lady Philippa as they walked. “I do not wonder that it has taken the Continent and London by storm. It is divine.”
“I learned the steps last year so that I could waltz at a local assembly,” Lady Philippa told her.
In the dining room two long tables had been arranged parallel to each other down the length of the room, with a number of smaller tables set against the walls on either side. His grandmother, Lucas saw, was already seated at the end of one long table, her hand on the back of the vacant chair beside her to reserve it. The intended occupant of that seat, the Duke of Wilby himself, was standing a short distance away guarding one small table in a corner of the room. It had been set for two. He was frowning ferociously, an expression that no doubt deterred any would-be occupants of that table, a pair of lovers, for example, who would be only too delighted to spend the following half hour tête-à-tête without the necessity of making polite conversation with fellow guests.
The duchess beckoned. “Your chair will fit here very nicely, Jenny,” she called, indicating the corner of the table. “Thank you, Mr.Jamieson. Yes, just here. Very kind of you. And there is room for you beside her at the head of the table. A servant will bring another chair and another setting.”
Which a pair of servants promptly did.
“Lady Philippa,” His Grace said while Jamieson was maneuvering Jenny’s chair into position and taking his own seat. “The main table is a little too crowded at this end for you to squeeze in comfortably. I beg your pardon for that, but Luc will keep you company here.”
Lucas looked steadily at his grandfather, but the old gentleman, after pulling back a chair for the lady and indicating it with onehand, acted as though his grandson were invisible. He turned to make his way to his own place, where he seated himself after bowing graciously to a large-bosomed matron in the place next to his. The preposterously tall plumes on her headdress nodded back at him.
Lucas pushed in the chair as Lady Philippa sat upon it and he took his place across from her. He looked ruefully at her. “That was not even subtle,” he said. “I do apologize. You are obviously at the very head of the list my grandmother came here to compile. It is even possible that no one else’s name is even on that list yet. They came and saw you in their own home and decided that you would do very well indeed. Unfortunately the world has never given them much of an argument when their minds are set upon a certain course. Would you like me to have a stern talk with them tomorrow and inform them that you must be struck from the list since you are quite adamantly opposed to marrying me?”
She surprised him by laughing. “I cannot help liking them,” she said. “Though it is obvious even without your saying so that they are very accustomed to having their own way. Is your grandfatherreallydying?”
“Who knows?” he said. “Even his physician cannot predict such an event with any great accuracy, I suppose. His Grace can be a very stubborn man. He may give Death one of his looks when it comes calling, and Death may go slinking away and not dare return until a more convenient time.”
