In the bright light, her hair gleamed the rich brown of earth, and her skin took on a warm creamy glow. Her neck was long and slender, leading to delicately sloping shoulders his hands itched to touch; he flexed his fingers.
Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a swarthy gentleman in severe evening dress approaching her. Hugh moved swiftly to her side without analyzing his actions and raised her hand to brush a feather-light kiss across her fingertips.
“Miss Mannion, I have caused you undue discomfort this evening. Kindly allow me to make amends and grant me the honor of the next dance.” Hugh kept his gaze trained on Vanessa’s face, though he was aware of a dark scowl possessing the features of the swarthy gentleman he’d outmaneuvered.
Surprised, a panoply of emotions crossed Vanessa’s face.
A part of her wanted to reject him cruelly, while another remembered her mother’s request. Then there was a third part, a small but insidious part, that felt a tingling rush at the touch of his hand and a particular weakness in her legs when he looked at her. She rudely shoved that part aside, and with a modicum of relief, she adopted the mien her parents desired. Her face cleared, and a slow, genuine smile lit her face.
“It would be unkind not to allow you to make amends,” she replied, a faint teasing lilt coloring her tone. Suddenly she felt a heady, womanly power suffuse her. Her breath quickened, color blooming on her cheeks. “No, more than unkind,” she said slowly, her eyes glowing like jewels, “it would be barbaric.”
Hugh threw back his head and laughed, drawing many a curious eye in their direction. “Hoisted on my own petard. Miss Mannion, I salute you.” He executed a courtly bow, then straightened and extended his arm. “A new set is forming. Shall we join?” As they stepped through the opening figures of the dance,A Trip to Paris, he asked politely, “Do you waltz, Miss Mannion?”
“Waltz?” She had no notion of what the word meant, and there was no time to question him further, for they separated to circle the couple below them in the line.
“Yes,” he said as he passed her on the far side.
She shook her head and waited patiently while they danced the figures with the couple next to them, then cast down the line to begin the series of steps again.
“What dances are done here?” Hugh asked.
“The minuet . . .”
He groaned comically, but there was no time to question him for again they parted.
“What else shall I have to suffer through?” he asked moments later.
She raised her eyebrows. Then, before the figures separated them, her answer came out in a rush. “The cotillion and allemande.”
He nodded noncommittally, which mysteriously infuriated her. “Will you danceHull’s Victory?” she archly asked when they came together again.
A brief frown furrowed his brow. “You have the advantage of me there, Miss Mannion. I am not familiar with it.”
She nodded sagely before their steps took them apart. A smile played upon her lips, for she now held him off balance, as he had held her.
He looked at her quizzically, but “Later” was her only reply, for Miss Chaumonde and the swarthy gentleman were now their partners in the line. With black annoyance, he watched a wide smile spread across Vanessa’s face as she greeted the gentleman.
When the dance ended, Hugh led Vanessa to the refreshment table, procuring her a glass of cool punch, then guided her into a nearby chair. “Now tell me, for I’ve always accounted myself conversant with all manner of fashionable dances, what isHull’s Victory?” He sat down next to her.
Vanessa laughed, nearly spilling her drink. “It is a contredanse that originated in this country. It commemorates the defeat of yourGuerrièrewarship by Isaac Hull’sConstitutionfrigate in the last war.” She was impressed when he merely nodded at the information and took a sip of his punch. She had expected him to turn arrogant again.
“Battles and birthdays have spawned the creation of many dances. But the waltz, now that is something special.” His deep voice held a warm affection that sent shivers down her back.
“Yes,” sneered a dark gravelly voice, “a dance fit only for the Quadroon Balls.”
Vanessa swung sharply around at the sound of Mr. Wilmot’s voice. He, too, sent shivers down her back, but not the kind associated with pleasurable emotions. Even the ebullient Paulette on his arm looked a trifle subdued.
Hugh Talverton stood in deference to Paulette, though a cool, frighteningly blank mask descended over his features. He had heard of the Quadroon Balls while on board ship, for they were deemed a New Orleans attraction not to be missed by any gentleman of means. Like the Cyprian Balls in London, they were an open opportunity for cavorting with mistresses and other high-flyers. That the unknown gentleman should ally the waltz with lightskirts showed a gross stupidity on his part or a desire to discredit him in the eyes of Miss Mannion. Hugh was inclined to believe the latter, though he thought it quite rag-mannered to mention the balls before ladies.
He studied the dark-complected visage before him. “I wouldn’t know. I don’t frequent such affairs,’’ he said stiffly. '‘Concerning the waltz, however, I have heard it said that ifimproperlyexecuted, it could descend into vulgarity.”
Vanessa froze at the tangible tension between the men, like wild animals warily circling before the battle.
“Oooo! Then it is a dance I should like to see,” Paulette said eagerly, gliding over to Mr. Talverton and placing her hand on his arm. She was oblivious to the crackling tension. “You will demonstrate to me one day, yes?”
“Paulette!” Vanessa interrupted. She did not know who to believe regarding the waltz. Still, she decided it would be safer to avoid further discussion, especially as it was a subject to arouse enmity between the gentlemen before they had even formally met. What would her father say if he knew they met in discord through her?
“Where are our manners? We have not even introduced these gentlemen!” she said in a rush, tittering a falsetto laugh. “Mr. Wilmot,” she began again, a bright strained smile on her lips, “this is Mr. Hugh Talverton. He is the gentleman Mr. Danielson spoke of last evening.” She clasped her hands tightly before her and chewed anxiously on her soft inner lip.
