“Would you honor me with the supper waltz?” he asked, his blue eyes regarding her eagerly.
Grace silently groaned, but she gave a bright smile and nodded. “Of course.”
“Then I shall be back a little later to collect on that dance,” he remarked, then with a swift bow and a lingering look, he turned and left.
Grace watched his departure with interest, regarding the way that several ladies followed him with their gazes, and noting the way he cut a fine figure in his evening kit.
“So, I’m assuming that the reason you found the prospect of this ball more promising just walked away,” Samantha remarked quietly, her voice soft to keep from eavesdroppers.
Grace gave a slow nod, not quite ready to cease watching his departure. When he was hidden from view behind several people, she finally turned to face Samantha.
“Is he not charming?” Grace asked.
Samantha gave an amused grin. “He is indeed. His name sounds familiar, but I cannot place it,” she added thoughtfully. “Once the viscount ends his conversation and returns, I’ll have to inquire about him.”
After a moment’s pause, Grace watched while Samantha took a breath, then paused, her expression full of a question. “A waltz,” she simply stated.
Grace nodded slowly, understanding all the implications beneath the simple statement. “A waltz,” she repeated.
Samantha looked as if she wished to say something more, but then thought better of it and simply reached over and patted Grace’s shoulder. “It will be just fine.”
Grace gave her a rueful smile. “Oh, I know I’ll be fine. I rarely step on my own toes; it’s his toes for which I’m concerned.”
Samantha covered her lips with her gloved fingers to stifle a laugh. “You’ve improved.”
“Not nearly enough to cease being a danger,” Grace mumbled softly, then glanced back to where Lord Westhouse had disappeared. Just over the crowd, she could see a profile of his face before he turned to face the other direction.
Dear lord, he was handsome.
The next few dances began, and Grace was engaged for each by a different partner. Each dance left her with more nervous energy than when she had begun, and as the supper waltz music began, her hands were perspiring under her gloves.
Lord Westhouse approached as she waited with the viscount and Samantha. The viscount had just returned to their party, and as such, Samantha hadn’t the opportunity to ask him about Lord Westhouse. However, it was made abundantly clear that the viscount knew of Westhouse. As the gentleman in question closed the distance, the viscount swore quietly, his voice carrying a venom Grace had seldom heard. Her senses tingled, and she wondered what the next few moments would hold.
“Viscount Kilpatrick.” Lord Westhouse bowed respectfully, offering a gracious smile.
“Westhouse,” the viscount returned, his expression stoically void of emotion.
“It’s good to see you again. I haven’t seen much of your society of late,” Lord Westhouse said by way of conversation.
“I’m sure I was sorely missed,” the viscount returned.
Grace’s gaze shot to Samantha, who was also watching the interchange with great interest.
“I requested this dance with your lovely ward, if I may?” While the words were framed to be a question, Lord Westhouse reached his arm out to Grace, not waiting for an answer from her guardian.
Grace deliberated for a moment, but as they had gained the attention of those around them, she decided that it would be best to simply smooth things out.
Lord Westhouse bestowed upon her the most charming smile and led her away, clearly not interested in the viscount’s response.
Not that the viscount ever gave one.
It was strange, and a shiver of trepidation tickled her back as Westhouse led her onto the ballroom floor.
As he held her in the frame of the waltz and led her into the swirling dancers, he spoke. “Please forgive me. There was one time that I called Kilpatrick a friend, but there was a . . . situation . . . that was misunderstood and I’m afraid we haven’t gotten past it as of yet. It is hard for me to be at such odds with a great man such as he, but I confess, I haven’t made efforts to mend the rift either,” he sighed, his gaze open and honest.
Grace felt her lips twitch in a sympathetic smile. “That must be very difficult. I did sense some . . . tension.. . . It’s good to know that you don’t bear him any ill will. He is truly a wonderful man and kind guardian.”
“He would be the best of guardians, I’m sure,” Westhouse replied, and to his credit, didn’t wince when she stepped on his toe.
