Juliet’s hand jumped to her mouth.
“In the interest of education?” asked Ravensworth, utterly committed tothe absurdity.
“Of course.”
Juliet’s gaze shifted and found Rory’s eye. He lifted a single eyebrow. A sudden giggle rose up, and she was powerless against it. Rory’s face lit up in a smile, and he gave a loud guffaw. Juliet found Delilah observing her as if she’d committed a grave betrayal. Still, Delilah must’ve seen the humor in the exchange.
Perhaps not the part about the Duke of Ravensworth delivering a firm smack to her bottom.
Juliet coughed and cleared her throat. “Must’ve been something I ate.”
“That gave you a laughing fit?” asked Quincy, observing her as if she were the silliest woman alive and was, in fact, making his case for him that women were brainless creatures.
As galling as that was, Juliet had no intention of disabusing him of the notion. “It happens on occasion.”
She couldn’t allow herself to meet Rory’s gaze again.
They could now communicate without words.
That was new.
She didn’t dislike it.
The string quartet who had been brought in all the way from Edinburgh—apparently Ravensworth’s generous gift to the village tonight—chose that moment to strike up a waltz. A frisson of excitement sizzled through the air.
At the very same moment, Ravensworth and Quincy took a step forward, each holding out a white-gloved hand, and opened their mouths to say, “Lady Delilah, if you?—”
But it was Quincy alone who finished the question. “Will do me the honor of this dance?”
Ravensworth’s mouth snapped shut, looking as if he’d just bitten into an apple and found half a worm.
Delilah glanced back and forth between the two men, a mean, little smile playing about her mouth. “With each of you being men ofsuch important distinction, how could I possibly choose between you?”
Ravensworth’s face looked like thunder. Quincy, well, he remained utterly like Quincy. In fact, his chest might’ve puffed out.
Delilah tapped a contemplative finger to her mouth before stabbing it into the air. “Oh, I have the very answer.”
Ravensworth had the good sense to look wary. Quincy, possessing not a lick of good sense to begin with, didn’t. A note of hope hung about him. Juliet could almost feel pity for him…if it weren’t for the fact that he was utterly unpitiable.
“Since you both wish to dance so badly, perhaps you could dance with one another.”
And with that, Delilah whirled around—she’d ever been fond of a dramatic exit—and marched toward the ladies’ retiring room.
Ravensworth pivoted and strode away in the opposite direction. Quincy gave his cravat a slight adjustment and made his way toward a group of men who had been particularly vocal about Parliament’s recent passage of the Cruel Treatment of Cattle Act and how it would affect farmers.
Juliet found herself alone with Rory.
She shifted on her feet, suddenly unsure where to set her gaze. The tops of her slippers seemed the most logical place.
He cleared his throat, forcing her gaze to lift. “Would you do me the honor of this dance, Miss Windermere?” He held out his hand.
Juliet understood two facts at once.
She couldn’t refuse him. Not after Delilah’s little performance. Too many eyes were upon her and making assumptions—likely correct ones.
But even more… She didn’t want to refuse him.
She wanted him to take her into his arms and sweep her across gleaming Scottish pine and not stop until the slippers had been dancedoff her feet.
