Their whispers billowed up behind her like the dust of a racing coach but she remained stoic and her step never faltered. The music resumed and everyone scurried to take up their places on the dance floor or resume the best vantage points in which to view the goings on.
She sat then in the style of a queen taking her throne and looked around the room.
Oh, bravo, Countess.
He stood then at her shoulder for a few minutes, counting familiar faces and their varying expressions. They were all watching intently on what might happen next. He had to admit, he was too.
Later, they took a few turns around the room in which she asked him general questions regarding those who were new to her. She seemed intently interested in the standing of several gentlemen but paid surprisingly little attention to the women.
“What, no snippy comments about the dampness of the debutantes’ gowns, Countess? What about the latest hair styles or the ridiculous amount of feathers protruding from their heads?”
She gave him an annoyed look but said nothing.
“I agree,” he went on. “There must be bald ostriches all over Africa. What a sight that must be.” He could have sworn he’d seen her lips twitch slightly at the edges.
When he returned her to her seat, she took out a small notebook from her reticule and began scribbling down a list.
“Taking notes, I see,” Oliver said, handing her a glass of champagne.
“Yes.”
“Notes on?”
“None of your business.” She closed the notebook, returned it to her reticule, and resumed her study of the ballroom and its occupants.
“You cannot write a list in front of me and then not tell me the nature of the list. You are a cruel tease.”
“You expect me simply to hand over my private thoughts?”
Well, no, he supposed. Still… it was damn annoying. Now he was going to have to steal it from her, read it, and decide whether it was worth worrying about. He just hoped it wasn’t a list of,ways to kill Bellamy, slowly and painfully.
The strains of a waltz started. This would be the perfect time to take care of his wager. He’d snag her little notebook later. He hadn’t spent nearly a decade as a soldier and code breaker and learnt nothing useful. “The pleasure of a dance, Countess?”
“No, thank you.” She turned her eyes back to the dancers, her hands folded in her lap.
“Perhaps later then. Let me put it on your card.” He went to take up her dance card.
“I do not enjoy dancing, Bellamy.”
“Never say such a thing,” he joked. “Next you will be admitting you don’t like kittens.”
She turned towards him then and regarded him with thinly veiled irritation. “Would you like me to confess to such a crime,Bellamy? Would you like me to embellish further by adding that I detest flowers, spring rain, and chubby-cheeked children?”
He chuckled. “It is just a dance, Countess. It is not like I am asking you to hitch up your skirt and do a jig while balancing two mugs of ale.”
She rolled her eyes. “Your imagination is immeasurable. One would think you had actually witnessed such a scene.”
He took the seat next to her. “Yes, once, in Germany. They are very skilled and well balanced dancers in Germany, you know.”
“So it seems,” she said flatly. She looked around and then took a sip of her drink he had fetched off the refreshment table for her earlier.
He figured he’d lost her somewhere between skilled and Germany. It was actually a most amusing story but certainly not one for ladies’ ears, even the Black Raven’s, so it was probably just as well.
He realized she had neatly ended the subject of dancing, with her, at least. Still, he could wait. He imagined dancing with the infamous Black Raven was going to be a most interesting and entertaining business—eventually.
*
Lisbeth decided shedisliked him immensely. It mattered not that Bellamy was as handsome as any man in the room. He was acting like a love-smitten pup. A hand on her waist here, a brush of his fingers on her shoulder there, a faint breath near her ear. What game did he think he was playing? It was… ridiculous. She wanted to smack him with her fan. Hard.
