Lady Kensington’s shoulders seemed to relax ever so slightly upon Stephen’s jab at Flave.
She tipped her chin down in as regal a nod as Stephen would expect from a queen. “Very well, it’s settled then. We’re certainly not lacking in rooms. Stay as long as you like.”
As couples moved toward the dance floor to take up the next set, Lady Nottingham’s friend, Miss Babineaux, let out a wistful sigh. Flave obviously took this as his cue for escape.
“My dear Miss Babineaux,” Flave said, bowing in the chit’s direction, “I’d wager such a sorrowful sigh is indicative that no gentleman has yet claimed your hand for this dance? May I have the honor? And, Stephen, you may partner Cecily.” Then, looking at Miss Babineaux again, he added, “I beg your pardon. That is, if you arenotalready promised for this set?” Even though the young woman was the countess’ friend, Stephen watched as Flavion’s charm bowled her over.
She blushed slightly and placed her hand on Flave’s arm. Flavion had always been able to get exactly what he wanted from women. This was nothing new. But as Stephen turned toward the countess, he caught sight of her rolling her eyes heavenward. She did not appear to be disappointed in her friend; rather, exasperated at Flavion’s unwavering charisma. She’d most likely experienced it herself, only to be treacherously disappointed.
Stephen took a step closer to the countess and spoke near her ear. “My lady?” Would she dance with him? He was caught unawares by the heightened awareness he suddenly had of her as a woman, as a very feminine creature that he might hold in his arms.
An almost unnoticeable tremor shook her at his words.
Lady Kensington regarded him warily. It would be the height of rudeness for her to reject him. He looked back at her innocently, daring her to make an excuse. He stood considerably taller than she, and his proximity made it necessary for her to tilt her head back in order to look him in the eyes.
“We are not a happily married couple, you know,” she said. She seemed to struggle with her words.
Stephen wondered if the champagne she’d consumed had caused this, or the notion itself.
He took the drink from her hand and set it on a nearby pedestal. Without waiting for an answer, he led her onto the dance floor. The positioning of the other dancers signified a waltz.
Stephen hadn’t danced the intimate steps since he’d left London.
He took one of her hands in his and placed his other on the small of her back. For all her anger, for all her resentment, she seemed amazingly complacent now.
Until the music began.
Stephen felt Lady Kensington stiffen. Her breathing quickened, and her hand grasped his so tightly that her knuckles turned white. At first, he wondered if she did not know the steps to the dance. But of course, she would! What debutante would not? Was she merely being perverse? Would she set out to embarrass him, to get back at Flavion somehow?
For her legs moved woodenly, showing no grace or skill whatsoever.
But then he saw her face. Her bottom lip trembled, and her eyes were pinched shut.
This had nothing to do with anger, or revenge. She was terrified of something. Of him? He didn’t think so.
Of enjoying herself? Of allowing her anger to desert her for even a moment? Of surrendering herself to even a dance? Instinctively, he pulled her closer to him.
He could not help but smile down at her. He shrugged. “It’s only a dance, my lady.” At that, she let out a deep breath.
“Of course,” she said.
And then she finally relaxed into him so that he could get her feet moving synchronously with his.
The tops of his thighs brushed against hers. He breathed in and caught the freshness of her soap and perfume — citrus and something floral. He could not quite identify it. She looked up at him, and in her gaze, he saw a multitude of emotion.
Flave was in big trouble.
He’d swindled one of England’s most powerful men and then gone on to cause deep hurt to the man’s daughter. She’d been a trusting innocent, and Flave… well, Flave had been a bastard. Which ought not to surprise Stephen. Flave could be merciless when he wanted something. Stephen knew this first hand.
Releasing his hold only slightly, Stephen allowed a little more space to open up between himself and his cousin’s wife. He needed her to be comfortable. He needed her to trust him. Surely, she had sent word of Flave’s villainy to her father. Flave would need her to recant her complaints to avoid Thomas Findlay’s wrath.
Stephen twirled her around a few times, not too much though. For he’d wager that the glass of champagne he’d removed from her hand had not been her first. Once confident she would not stumble, he spoke again.
“Flave’s a lucky man,” he said.
At this, she looked up at him and rolled her eyes again. Oh, hell, but she was a delight.
She would not be susceptible to flattery. Clever girl. Even three sheets to the wind, she’d learned her lesson well with Flave.
