Greys placed his now empty glass on a side table. “I have it on excellent authority that my Butler is proficient enough at the waltz to step in. Ah, there you are, Violet.” His cousin returned alone, looking disappointed.
“Mr. Cockfield is going to act as third partner this afternoon,” Chase offered.
Violet, who was not quite a year younger than himself, glanced toward Posy and then over at Blackheart suspiciously. “If you are quite certain, Greys.”
Although Violet’s coloring was the same as Posy’s, their similarities ended there. Greys’ niece was petite and curvy and had the unruliest curls he’d ever encountered on a woman, whereas his cousin was taller and slimmer. The last time he’d seen Violet with even a single strand of hair out of place, the two of them had been eleven or twelve and gotten themselves into trouble for sneaking outside to hide in the garden rather than playing quietly in the nursery as they’d been told.
A very long time ago. Why did he suddenly feel so ancient?
“Greys?” Violet’s prompt pulled him out of the unexpected memory.
“Even with only one good arm, Mr. Cockfield will suffice as a partner.”
Blackheart stepped forward and offered the noblest of legs to Posy. Meanwhile, Miss Collette had drawn her brother onto the floor, leaving Greys to dance with Miss Diana.
She slid him a sideways glance in what appeared to be something of a dare.
Impudent chit.
He removed his gloves from where he kept them tucked in the band of his breeches and very deliberately slid them over his fingers.
With more of a flourish than even Blackheart could execute, Greys turned to the energetic young woman and bowed low, sweeping an arm toward the floor as he bent over his stockinged leg and polished shoes.
As Greys waited, he felt her staring down at him.
He glanced up to see she had her hands positioned behind her back. “Your hand, my lady?” He resisted the urge to scowl at her blatant disregard for propriety.
She smoothed her palms along her skirts and then grudgingly presented her hand as he’d requested.
Her bare hand.
“I’ve misplaced my gloves,” she muttered defensively.
Although slight and feminine, her hands were not as soft or fragile as most ladies’. Greys was vaguely aware of Violet’s gaze on them. The other couples were already standing in their proper position, waiting.
“May I have this dance, Miss Diana?”
“Why, of course, my lord.” She curtseyed so deeply that he had no doubt she was mocking him. Not so deeply, however, that the others might think she was exhibiting anything other than outrageous decorum.
Upon rising, she allowed Greys to take her arm and lead her to where the others awaited.
“Don’t count us down, Auntie,” Posy instructed from where she stood, one hand on Blackheart’s shoulder, the other in his grasp. “There won’t be anyone to do that at an actual ball, and I don’t want to require it.” Silly of his niece, because any gentleman partnering her would guide her into the dance at the appropriate time. No man worth his salt would fail to do otherwise.
Greys positioned Miss Diana’s palm in one hand and placed his other on the small of her back. Her skin was warm beneath her gown from her earlier exertions, and this close, the mingled scent of her soap and perfume teased him. Brilliant blue eyes stared up at him, and her cheeks glowed a delicate pink.
Recognizing the tune, Greys stepped forward, leading her with long strides along the length of the floor. She held her frame straight and firm, and yet she also moved with unusual grace, naturally lifting herself onto the balls of her feet so that he barely had to exert any direction when he turned her in a spin and then steered them around Chaswick and her sister.
“I do believe, my lord, that the lace at your cuff is more elaborate than the lace on my finest gown. And this color—” her gaze danced with mischief as it flicked to his satin waistcoat, a shimmery grey material more subdued than what he typically wore “—is the same color as your eyes.”
Was she flirting with him? But she was not. She wasmockinghim.
Good Lord, couldn’t she pretend for a few moments to be an actual lady?
“We cannot all have eyes that perfectly match the color of the sea on a summer day.” Greys stared down at her with narrowed eyes, and as he suspected she would, she nervously glanced away.
When she plucked the courage to look up at him again, she grimaced. “If that is a compliment, then I thank you.”
“It was,” Greys answered honestly. If one looked hard enough at any one person, ninety-nine percent of the time, one could find something to compliment.
