“A charity dance?” Baron Dankworth, an old schoolmate, quipped when their paths crossed.
“Not sure what you mean,” Max answered on the way back. Even before inheriting, Archibald Beasley had been more pretentious than even Winterhope.
Max hadn’t cared for him then and cared even less now.
The steps brought everyone back to their original partner and Max grasped Lady Caroline’s outstretched hand. Her smile faltered, though. Of course, she’d overheard the bastard.
Without considering why, he squeezed her fingers before they separated again. She wasn’t the most tactful lady, and she may have been far too bold with her opinions, but she didn’t deserve to be treated so poorly.
For the most part, Lady Caroline ignored the cold stares. And she seemed to enjoy herself.
By the time the set came to an end, everyone was breathless and grateful for the intermission as they made their way toward the massive dining room where supper would be served.
“You don’t need to accompany me any longer, really,” she told him. “I know your mother pressed you to ask me.”
“That was not a charity dance,” Max insisted.
“Surely you don’t want to be seen with someone like me, a countrified girl who also happens to be Lord Standish’s sister?”
“Not in the least.”
Shooting him the side eye, she exhaled. “If you say so.”
Max shuffled his feet and then gestured in the opposite direction. “Would you prefer to walk outside?” He had little interest in conversing with the other guests. It would be boring, as usual, and he’d found himself thinking of specific questions to ask this young woman.
She had studied the Gazette quite diligently, after all.
HE’S AN EARL!
Caroline held one hand flat on her belly, still trying to catch her breath from the furious steps of the reel.
But also from having danced it with the most handsome gentleman in the room.
He was an earl! And for reasons beyond her comprehension, he wasn’t prepared to abandon her to her own company quite yet.
“Actually, a walk outside sounds lovely,” she answered.
Although he looked considerably more put-together this evening, with his inky hair slicked back with pomade and the perfect fit of his tailored ensemble, there was no mistaking he was the same man she’d met in the park.
The same man she’d insulted for his choice of reading material.
Tonight, he wore a black woolen jacket, a navy waistcoat, and gleaming hessians. Tonight, he appeared one hundred percent aristocratic.
He looked magnificent.
And she ought to be intimidated. Perhaps having met him under less pretentious circumstances, looking unkempt, but also wearing spectacles, subdued her nerves.
He’d accompanied a dog wearing a pink bow, after all.
As he led her through the French doors leading to the verandah, her heartbeat slowed. Normally, the terrace would be populated with couples seeking romance or gentlemen smoking cheroots. With the midnight meal being served, however, it had emptied.
And that permitted Caroline to drop her smile and breathe normally. For a few minutes, anyway, she wouldn’t have to pretend the cool glances didn’t bother her. Because, although she could almost convince herself they didn’t matter, the blank stares sent her way still sliced through her indifference.
They called it “the cut” with good reason.
“This is just what I needed,” she admitted, happy to forgo a few bites of food if it meant she could escape the incessant censure.
“Bloody hot in there,” he said. Without asking, he led her to a flagstone path that promised to meander through their hosts’ garden.
