His feet seemedto recognize the end of the song before his head did—fortunately before they became the subject of ridicule.
Eliza’s lips parted, and the desire to taste them nearly overwhelmed Benedict. Someone knocked into his back in the rush to leave the floor, jolting sense back into him.
He cleared his throat as he glanced around. “Come, I should deliver you to your mother”
“She’ll be near Rose, with my aunt and uncle,” Eliza explained.
Benedict nodded and guided her through the crush when he glimpsed her uncle over the milling heads. He was grateful for the man’s height, and his own. He’d never have located the diminutive Miss Grayson in the crowd, and Eliza’s mother, though taller, was not overly so.
Finally, he reached Eliza’s relations. Forced by propriety to loosen his hold on her hand and then ignore the chill of her absence. Respectfully, he deposited her at her mother’s side—a gentleman in this moment alone.
He greeted Lady Juliet and Grayson before receiving an introduction to Rose’s mother—even shorter than her daughter,but quite as pretty. Her husband’s hand settled possessively at her back, and he gazed at her with a soft expression, unmistakably love. It seemed Bella was correct in that regard—a love match.
“Is anyone in need of refreshment?” he asked, primarily to ward off something daft, like kissing Eliza as he so desperately wanted to. “I ought to ensure that my sister is still keeping the gentlemen at bay with the force of her scowl.”
The comment earned him a chuckle, and Grayson offered himself as a second set of hands.
“I’m given to understand that you’ve reserved a space on my daughter’s dance card,” the man said.
“She has agreed to honor me with a dance, yes.”
“I expect your hands to remain much higher on her waist than they were on my niece’s.”
Benedict forced his eyes to remain forward, instead of tipping toward the sky as he wished. “My arms are not long enough to place them anywhere inappropriate on your daughter.”
Grayson huffed a chuckle. “Yes, Rose is certainly her mother’s daughter. And the world is better for it. Fortunately, my son takes after me with respect to height.”
“I’ve not had the privilege.”
“He is around somewhere. I’ll be sure to make the introduction.”
Benedict nodded.
“And I’ll be certain to mention to my brother just how familiar you were when dancing with his daughter,” he added as they reached the refreshment tables, piled high with pastries
“By all means,” Benedict replied, primarily interested in the eclairs. “With a rake such as I, Wayland would question my interest if I did not take a few liberties.”
Grayson chuckled, an earnest, warm sound. The selection of pastries and the procurement of beverages occupied them before they returned to their ladies.
Benedict caught Bella’s gaze from beside the quartet. There she chatted with some lady or other. She offered him an approving nod, and his stomach soured.
The ugliness hadn’t abated by the time he found Eliza’s side, but he eagerly handed over the entire selection of sweets.
One of the Ainsley girls joined them. The fiery hair marked her so. Benedict couldn’t recall if it was the one he’d met at the club or not. She nodded her thanks for the desserts while he prayed he could avoid addressing her directly.
Pastries were met with cheer, though everyone agreed that the ones at Hudson’s Bakery were much better. Benedict learned that Ainsley’s wife was the owner of the beloved establishment. The intelligence allowed him to assess the Ainsley girls with fresh eyes—no wonder they received such sought-after invitations, even with parents of no notable breeding. Between the club and the bakery, the Ainsleys were nearly as wealthy as Wayland himself.
Three entire conversations swirled around him, one entirely without words, only gestures. The merriment surrounding him was so unlike the stern, silent table of his youth. What would it have been like to be raised with such a raucous company, filled with laughter and smiles?
The noise threatened to overwhelm him. But when Eliza tipped her head up to meet his gaze with a shy smile, the roar dimmed.
She started to speak but was interrupted by a new arrival. Benedict turned to find two men, younger than himself by some years. The first was clearly the future Viscount Grayson, with his father’s stern brow set against dark blue eyes like his mother.The other received the lion’s share of excitement. That man was shorter, with dark hair and eyes.
Benedict quickly gathered that this man’s name was Leo—presumably for Leopold. The informal greeting, even from Eliza, left Benedict slightly on edge. That, and the man’s expression when his eyes landed on Eliza. They trailed down her frame, lingering briefly on her delicate curves. The perusal was quick. Benedict wouldn’t have caught it had he not been so singularly focused on Eliza. But he was, and he did.
Benedict bit his lip through an introduction to the younger Grayson and his friend—everyone’sfriend—Leopold Bennet, Viscount Bellemere. Of course he was a damned viscount. They were growing on the trees outside, apparently. He shook the man’s hand with too much force and was irritated to receive a perfectly respectful, firm but not too firm, shake in return. Christ, the man had to leave him to be petty on his own.
The interloper’s attire was expensive and well-tailored. Benedict watched in annoyance as a lock of Leo’s hair flopped in front of his eye, and he flicked it away with a head tip. It was precisely the same gesture Benedict had employed in his youth when he wanted to appear rakishly handsome to the ladies. If that man leaned against something, Benedict would be forced to call him out.
