She fumbled for her card. “Oh here, yes, I apologize. You’re Mr. Seton-Mowbray.” She glanced around. “The son of our host?”
“I have that honour, yes.” He held out his hand. “Come dance with me. I will tell you all about my family while you pretend to listen.”
She bristled, but took his hand, allowing him to lead her to the floor.
The first bars of a waltz drifted over the ballroom and she looked up at her partner. “Firstly, sir, I never pretend to listen. I either do or I don’t. So what you say will determine which it shall be. Secondly…I’m not very proficient at the waltz.”
He grinned, a relaxation of his features that rendered him even more handsome, if such a thing were possible. “Then we are well suited, Miss Ridlington. Because I’m very good at it. Very good indeed.”
In that, he had not lied. Letitia found herself whirling around the floor in a smooth rhythm, guided by the expert pressure on her back from his strong arm.
It was a most enjoyable sensation, and she found herself laughing up at him in delight. “This is so pleasurable, sir. Thank you.”
“The dance has just begun. Why are you thanking me now?”
“In case I forget later,” she chuckled. “Being quite swept away by the honour of dancing with such an expert.”
“I can see that happening, yes.” His grey-blue eyes betrayed the humour of his comment.
They traversed the room and turned to reverse their progress. “So, sir,” said Letitia. “You have yet to bore me…”
“I try not to bore beautiful women, whenever I can avoid it,” he quipped.
She sighed. “And now you’ve begun.”
“You don’t care for compliments, Miss Ridlington?”
“Not particularly. I have a mirror. This evening I have achieved a level of appearance I consider acceptable. I’m far more interested in my surroundings, the guests, even yourself, sir.”
“You consider me of interest?”
Letitia raised an eyebrow as he guided her through a turn. “Along with ninety-nine percent of the rest of the female guests, yes. Of course. And you must have a mirror too, so please don’t try and persuade me that you’re not aware of it.”
“I might have a wife, you know.”
“You might. But you don’t.”
This time it was his eyebrow that rose. “And you base that assumption on…what, if I may inquire?”
“The fact she doesn’t have you chained to a wall in a dungeon, sir. I can assure you that most women, should they wed a man of your bearing, would be most unlikely to let him loose in a London ballroom.”
This time, he laughed aloud, turning heads in their vicinity. “Well done, Miss Ridlington.” He leaned toward her as the waltz neared its end. “But it’s possible I might haveherchained in the dungeon…”
His expression and his sensual tone sent an odd shiver down Letitia’s spine. She dismissed it as merely a consequence of being held in the arms of a very attractive and delightful dance partner.
So she merely smiled, curtseyed as the music ended, and allowed him to lead her back to Aunt Venie’s chair. Where he looked at Kitty for a long moment. “Miss Ridlington,” he said, bowing. “A free dance perhaps?” He touched her card.
Kitty’s chin went up. “I believe I shall have to disappoint you, Mr. Seton-Mowbray.”
“I doubt that, my dear.” His gaze lingered on her face. “I doubt that very much indeed.”
Curious as to the interchange, Letitia opened her mouth to ask a question, but a touch on her shoulder distracted her.
She turned—and there he was. Smiling at her, warmth in his eyes, looking so pleased to see her, she didn’t have the heart to turn and walk away. Which she should have done, of course.
“My dance, Letitia.” James bowed politely.
“I don’t think…” She reached for her card.
