“An observer’s eye!”
“I would rather play,” said Lucy. “And Caroline can dance.”
“Nonsense,” said Jack. “It’s you who needs to learn.” He grinned, a dazzling one, harsh and bright as gas lights. “Or is this marriage of yours just an attempt to join the old matrons at the side of the room and bypass your dancing years altogether?”
He got up, not waiting for an answer to his teasing, but she answered seriously, addressing his broad shoulders as he crossed to where Caroline stood. It was the best case for marriage anyone had yet made. “I would not mind it.”
“The world would.” His grin and his wink were directed at the others. “The world would mourn. Besides”—this last was aimed at George—“you’ll have an engagement ball, I’m sure.”
“Oh!” She shot a startled look at George, who pulled an uncertain face.
“Your mother will insist, George,” Jack told him. “You know it as well as I.”
“It’s true,” George conceded with an apologetic look at Lucy. “We’ll not be allowed to do the thing quietly.”
“I should think not,” said Jack emphatically as George came over and offered his arm to Lucy. She stood on uncertain knees, all her muscles reluctant. “One of London’s plumpest bachelors, picked at last. And by a notable heiress too. It’ll be the talk of the season.”
He walked to the door before any more protests could be made. “Your instrument is in the dining room, isn’t it?” he asked Caroline.
“Yes, and I’ve already asked William to move the table and chairs to the side. Though you ought to be warned, it’s only an old harpsichord and barely in tune.”
“You will make it sing,” Jack told her with a flashing smile before leading the way from the room.
They found William still in action, assisted by a red-faced, grumbling cook, his dignity very offended at being made to move furniture.
The two gentlemen stepped in to help, ushering the cook back to his rightful domain. As she watched Jack remove his coat and set to work, Lucy couldn’t help but wonder how this modest, homely affair compared to his usual evenings. But Jack had always been able to find amusement anywhere. A sleeting wet afternoon at Orton House might have made him grumble for a moment, but it was only a matter of time before he’d invented some madcap game or scheme to keep them all laughing. Frivolous he might be, even vain, but he had no real conceit.
“There, Bill,” he said, clapping a hand on the manservant’s shoulder once the centre of the room was cleared and the rug rolled away. “What a ballroom we’ve made, eh?”
William left, shaking his head but smiling, and Caroline sat down at the instrument, rummaging through sheaves of music. “A reel? I have a dozen or more.”
“We can hardly dance a cotillion with one couple,” said Jack. He smiled at Lucy. “Much to your relief, I’m sure. And we won’t even mention the wordquadrille, lest you run out the door. A simple country dance.” He turned back to Caroline. “You’ll havemorethan a dozen ofthose.”
“The leading lady ought to call it,” said George, rebuttoning his coat as he came to stand beside Lucy. “You’re in charge now, my dear.”
Jack was putting on his coat again too, drawing the sleeve up his arm as he grinned at her. He was absurdly handsome in evening dress, especially in this slight state of déshabillé, the sleeves of his shirt very white, making his hair look darker, that lock of it across his forehead itching to be tugged. Perhaps that would wipe the smile off his face.
A starburst of heat shot through her. Embarrassment and something else too. Anger. It was anger as she remembered the last time she’d danced and exactly whose fault it had been. She lifted her chin, resolute.
“Then, if I am in charge, I request you and Lord Orton dance this first dance together whileIam the one to sit and observe!”
George and Caroline burst out laughing.
“Served with your own sauce, Jack,” said George, still laughing as he took his position and bowed very elegantly at his unimpressed friend.
Jack was motionless, scowling, his fingers stilled upon his coat buttons. Lucy, heart racing like a rabbit, flounced past him, feigning a smile, chin still held high. His admonishing glare glanced off her cheek, and she took her seat, shaking slightly, as he finished fastening his coat and firmly tugged it straight.
“Very well.” He flashed her a sickeningly sweet smile over his shoulder, his eyes promising all manner of revenge, then turned back to George, stepping opposite him. “A pleasure, George, and scarcely the first time. Though I’m usually far more brimful of wine.”
“And insisting on dancing some sailor’s jig or other.”
“The hornpipe is a venerable dance,” he pronounced, miming a very pretty curtsy that had the two ladies giggling. “And much trickier than it looks.”
“That’ll explain why you ended up in that horse trough.”
“A deliberate move to restore my wits.”
“If only you’d done so half an hour earlier.”
