“Well, yes.”
“I see,” she said, her heart dropping to her stomach.
He tried again to guide her into an unnecessary twirl, but her feet refused to cooperate, tangling.
“I’m not certain you do,” he protested.
“You asked me to dance as a favor to your sister—a kindness to the wallflower she met earlier.”
“Is that what you think?”
“It is the truth. You said as much yourself.”
Lord Sinclair’s chuckle was low. Despite her disappointment, the sound warmed Eliza’s chest. “You’ve missed the beginning in your summary.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You’ve left out the part of the story where I pestered my sister into facilitating an introduction with the striking young lady across the ballroom who hadn’t so much as spared me a glance.” He punctuated the speech with another spin, this one setting Eliza’s belly aflutter.
“You jest,” she accused, forcing herself back to reality.
“You may ask her yourself, if you wish. Bella merely confirmed that you would be an engaging partner.”
If he was lying, she couldn’t make out his tell. Eliza wanted to believe him; her chest ached to do so. But her head remained cautious. “How disappointed you must be.”
“Only that your smile has gone.”
Her traitorous heart skipped to the music, along with her feet, even as she fought back a scoff. “Thatwas an impressive line.”
“It was not a line.”
Eliza decided then that his motive did not matter. Whether he asked her as a favor to his sister or because he was so struck by the sight of her that he was desperate to be near her—the fact was, she was in the arms of the most handsome gentleman she’dever seen. She could fret and frown, or she could enjoy herself. And the latter was so much more appealing.
“Does that truly impress the ladies?”
“You would have to be the one to tell me. Did it impress you? You are the only one to receive the words.”
“Not in the slightest,” she lied, fighting the upward curve of her lips.
“I shall have to try harder.”
“See that you do.” She raised an imperious eyebrow.
“I have not impressed you with my footwork or wit. Have you a preference as to what other method I may employ?” Lord Sinclair asked, a hint of gravel in the query.
A hint of the tension in her spine loosened. “Where is this wit you speak of?”
His answering laugh was bright, and she had to battle back a smile. “I seem to have misplaced it. Do be sure to let me know if you stumble upon it.”
“Are you certain it will be recognizable as such?” It was freeing to flirt in such an unrestrained manner.
“Until this moment, I would have insisted on it. Now… Well, I’ve seen the face of wit, and her eyes are dark and discerning.”
She rolled her eyes. “Flattery is for the dull.”
“You’ve left me no other option, Miss Wayland,” his voice dropped half an octave as he pulled her closer. The new distance between them kissed the edge of scandal but did not cross it. Nor did his hand as it slid lower along the curve of her waist. The pewter silk of her gown contrasted beautifully with the gold undertones of his skin when she glanced down at it with a gasp she couldn’t hide. “Impropriety is all that remains to me.”
“Lord Sinclair…” she warned half-heartedly.
