After the shock of seeing that this beauty who’d caught his attention was none other than Penelope wore off, Hugh quickly excused himself and strode across the floor. First greeting the Baron and Baroness, Hugh then turned toward Penelope and raised one eyebrow. Remembering Pinkerton’s words from earlier, he dismissed his momentary attraction and leaned close to her ear. “What the hell have you been up to?”
Her head snapped up at his words. “And such a pleasure it is to see you, as well, my lord.”
Oh, hell, he never seemed to exhibit any manners whatsoever around her.
“My apologies,” he said before bowing in her direction. As he did so, Penelope curtsied. He could not remember her ever doing any such thing before.
And as she curtsied, Hugh was given a rather pleasing eyeful of some delightfully plump cleavage. Penelope looked to be fuming when he finally met her eyes.
In that moment, he did not know which of his urges was the strongest. The one to press her body up against his own and deliver her a punishing kiss, or the one to drag her off into some private room and demand an accounting of her actions in up north.
The baron raised his brows at him, apparently sensing Hugh’s conflicting inclinations, whereas, the baroness was looking quite pleased with her daughter, which as far as he could remember, was something of a first.
Hugh cleared his throat. “Miss Crone, will you do me the honor of saving me a dance?”
In an un-Penelope-like demeanor, she dipped her chin in assent. “Of course, my lord” and then lifted her arm.
Hugh pulled a pencil from his pocket and took hold of her dance card. As he did so, he noticed for the first time how delicate her wrist seemed, and as his hand brushed against hers, above her short gloves, how soft and fair her skin was. It was even paler than Miss Louisa Redcliffe’s, only Penelope’s was not flawless. Tiny freckles dotted the back of her arm, as though even her skin wished to mock the dictates of society.
Dismissing his ridiculous musings, he wrote his name next to a waltz. He did not wish to attempt a discussion with her in between circling other partners and across the line.
On impulse, he added his name to a second dance. The supper dance. They had much to discuss.
And then he did something he hadn’t planned. He raised her wrist to his lips and held it there a moment. As he inhaled her fragrance, strange memories troubled him. He’d been close to this clean floral scent before. In fact, he was certain he’d tasted it.
As though burned, he dropped her hand and stepped back. It seemed lately, that whenever he was in Penelope’s presence, he felt like he was losing his mind. “I’m looking forward to our dance,” he managed, before turning away from her and returning to Miss Redcliffe and her aunt.
“Who is that, my lord? I haven’t yet met that lady, and I’ve met hundreds of people since I arrived in London!” Miss Redcliffe placed her hand upon his arm. She had an amazing grip for such a petite little thing.
“She is the Baroness of Riverton, there with her husband and unmarried daughter.” Miss Redcliffe had sharp nails. It was a good thing the fabric of his jacket was a sturdy wool, or it was quite possible she would have drawn blood.
“It was most generous of you to single the daughter out. I noticed you placed your name upon her dance card. A spinster of such advanced age most likely had all of her dances to choose from. You did remember which ones you’ve promised me, I hope, my lord?”
He was beginning to feel more than a little annoyed at her possessiveness. “How could I forget, Miss Redcliffe? I have claimed a waltz with Miss Crone.” He smiled at her but did not allow it to reach his eyes. Her grip loosened somewhat. “And the supper dance,” he added.
The woman must have realized she had overstepped her claim to him and so she once again became the timid London miss. Summoning an attractive pout, she looked up at him from under her eyelashes. “You are such a kind gentleman. If I were in her position, I would be so very grateful to not be a wallflower for the entire night.” And then she giggled into her hand. “It’s a good thing you claimed your dances with me when you did, my lord, since my dance card is nearly full!”
Hugh made a tight smile and was relieved to see they’d reached the receiving line. Lord Helmer shook his hand jovially and welcomed him. Lady Helmer used her fan to chastise him for being absent from her ball last season. The elderly couple were close acquaintances of his mother’s. He knew that his appearance with Miss Redcliffe would be duly relayed.
After the majordomo announced them, Hugh, promising he’d return in time for the first dance, made a vague excuse and escaped the suddenly cloying company he’d found himself in. He wished he could escape altogether, but that would not do. And if he did that, he would miss his opportunity to interrogate Penelope.
Where was that minx, anyhow?
“Danbury!” He turned at the sound of his name. It was Garrett Castleton, the Earl of Hawthorne. Up until last summer, the Earl had been considered something of a rake and womanizer. But Hawthorne had surprised everybody after the death of his father and become quite respectable, marrying one of theton’smost sought after debutantes, Lady Natalie Spencer.
At the time, Hugh had been a bit put out. When Lady Natalie had jilted her fiancé, the Duke of Cortland, he’d thought for a time he’d set his cap for her himself.
“Hawthorne,” Hugh returned. “How fares married life?”
At his question, the formerly brooding gentleman grinned. “Well, very well indeed. I hear you’re considering taking the leap yourself. Word is you are days away from offering for Miss Louisa Redcliffe.”
Hugh decided he might become the brooding type himself. He’d been careless. Best to step back from Mrs. Merriman and her niece, lest he truly was ready to make an offer.
He shuttered.
“Rumors, my friend, mere rumors. How is the countess?” he asked, happy to change the subject.
Again, that grin. “Natalie is in her element. Construction is well under way at Maple Hall, and she has taken responsibility for details I hadn’t even considered.”
