Chapter Six
Ramsey resisted the urge to crack his knuckles as the quadrille began. Even though just a spectator, he watched each step carefully as if performing it himself.
He was on edge, restless and practically itching. Something bad was going to happen, he could feel it in his bones.
And damn it all, he had the sickening suspicion it was going to all center on Miss Grace Morgan.
He’d almost choked when he first saw her. In a word, she was transformed. He’d already noticed her beauty the night he’d first met her, but he was more distracted by her frank and fresh manner than her appearance.
Not so this evening.
If anything, it was the complete opposite.
Which didn’t settle well. He didn’t have time for women, or at least women of gentle breeding. He took a tumble now and then with one of the more discerning demimonde, but that was a business transaction, calculated and without attachments.
As soon as interest, affection, and emotions started coming into play, women became as distracting and disastrous as a hurricane in the Caribbean.
But his understanding of the trouble women caused didn’t stop him from appreciating the view of Miss Grace. Once Heathcliff had begun the introductions, gentlemen had lined up to meet the fresh face of the ton. It hadn’t taken more than a quarter hour for her dance card to be utterly filled. Even now as she lined up for the quadrille, he wondered if she were already speculating on who her suitors would be.
Women always did; it was in their nature to hedge their bets.
While men did it in the gentlemen clubs, women did it in the ballroom.
A wink here, a look over there—they were all methods of placing bets on different games, all hedging the prospect of gaining a husband, the wealthier the better.
It made him of the persuasion that gentlemen’s gambling was nobler than the games played by the women. At least at the faro table, you always knew what you were betting and the rules of said game.
Yet even as he considered the moral aspects of it all, his eyes never left the form of Miss Grace. He bit back a smile as she nearly stepped on another gentleman’s toes while turning a little too quickly. It was ironic for her to boast a namesake that didn’t apply to her in any sort of fashion. It was clear that she wasn’t graceful, and rather than find it offensive, he rather liked it. It added to her character.
Not that it was important to approve of her.
It was of no consequence.
He turned his attention to the ballroom, studying those in attendance. The party was well attended, with most of the more elite ton assembled in the stuffy ballroom. He resisted the urge to tug on his cravat, and glanced longingly toward a hall that ended in a path that led toward a small garden. He remembered that garden from a party nearly two years ago.
The garden kept its secrets well.
He could easily quit the party and head to Temptations, or even Whites. But he felt somewhat obligated to attend, loyalty to Heathcliff and all that. Bloody inconvenient.
The music for the quadrille ended and Ramsey turned back to watch the dancers abandon the center of the room. It wasn’t hard to spot Miss Grace; with her bright red hair, she would be impossible to miss. Lord Mackey escorted her to the edge of the ballroom, depositing her back at Heathcliff’s side without incident.
Ramsey frowned. Perhaps he was overreacting.
Then again, the nightwasyoung.
Damn it, he was going to be there for a while.
As the music started up for a Scottish reel, Ramsey watched as another gentleman collected Miss Grace for his reserved dance.
Good Lord, this is what people did all night, and on purpose. He couldn’t imagine anything duller.
Seeking distraction, he noted a lady with a tall feather in her turban. She walked by him, catching his eye. There was a provocative sway to her hips and a welcoming smile on her lips that was a tempting diversion. He dipped his head, acknowledging her. When she smiled, he returned the gesture, only to have a gentleman come up beside her and gesture for her to precede him in the crowd.
Married.
That was a scandal and disaster waiting to happen. Hell, it could even end in a duel, something in which he had no inclination to participate.
Ramsey took a mental step back and turned instead to the dance floor.
