But the question gave Greys pause. Was he? He’d made love to her. He’d obtained permission from her brother to ask for her hand—even if that had been a miscalculation on his part. But, for now, he simply needed her to hear him out.
Greys nodded because he was, in fact, courting Diana Jones. Her illegitimacy no longer seemed to matter. When had that happened?
“And I’m the fecking King of England.” Gilcrest’s nostrils flared, but he took a step backward. “Best of luck to you then, Greystone.”
The soldier’s words were nearly enough to earn him a pummeling. If not for the fact that Greys had far more important concerns to attend to, he would have grabbed the blighter by the scruff and dragged him outside.
The man’s intentions toward Diana hadn’t come close to being honorable. Greys sobered to realize that his own hadn’t always been honorable either.
But now—Grey’s clenched his fists at his side—they were.
He strode across the room, his gaze drinking in the way she tilted her head as she spoke, the set of her shoulders, the delicate arch of her back—all of her. He only slowed when he’d arrived at her side.
“My set, I believe.” He touched his fingertips to her elbow. “Miss Diana.”
“Lord Greystone,” Lady Chaswick pinned her gaze on him with a hint of disapproval.
“Ladies, Violet, Posy.” Greys bent forward, executed his formal bow, and then rose.
Diana turned her head to stare up at him with narrowed eyes. “I’m afraid you are mistaken. Captain Gilcrest has reserved this set.”
“Captain Gilcrest is indisposed.” Greys was not one to bluff, but in this case, the risk was necessary. She would have denied him if only her sister and Lady Chaswick had been present. But with his cousins and other genteel ladies looking on curiously, to refuse to dance with him would invite scandal. Of which, no doubt, Diana wouldn’t have minded so much for herself but would not wish for Lady Chaswick and her brother. The one thing she cared about more than her independence was her family.
It was something he comprehended all too well.
He stroked his finger over the skin inside her arm, satisfied at the tremor that ran through her.
“How delightful,” Violet commented, earning a look of gratitude from Greys. “I’ve never witnessed the waltz performed more beautifully than when the two of you danced it in the ballroom at Knight House.”
“How kind of you to say, Miss Faraday. Very well.” Diana didn’t resist when he tucked her hand into his winged arm. She then effortlessly matched her stride to his and allowed him to escort her to the center of the dance floor,
It was effortless because she fit.
They fit.
As other couples took their position, she turned and placed a hand on his shoulder, presenting the other for him to clasp.
But she did not look up into his eyes even after the music began and when he steered her into the steps.
“Is my cravat so very fascinating that you must study it throughout the entirety of the dance?”
“Your cravat did not break a promise.”
Greys nearly laughed at her response. He shouldn’t be goading her right now. He should take this opportunity to make his apology—to begin to make amends.
“You haven’t always refused to meet my eyes.” He reminded her.
With any luck, he could have her forgiveness before the set was halfway over.
“I thought you were a different person than you’ve proven to be.” He barely heard her softly spoken words.
How had he not considered her stubbornness?
“I should not have gone to Chaswick against your wishes.” Rather than explain the urgency he’d felt that morning, he would begin his apology now.
“And yet, you did.” She stared over his shoulder now, her lovely lips set in an obstinate line.
“Won’t you please forgive me?” Greys dipped his chin, seeking to capture her gaze. “Please?”
