Sitting at her vanity, his mama took his tribute gingerly, her face as cool and beautiful as the diamonds glittering at her ears and throat.How… singular,she’d said in her cultured tones.Is that mud on your hands? You’d best go clean it off.She’d turned back to the mirror.
Later that day, he saw the daffodils again. Ragged and wilted, they lay discarded on a tray that his mama’s maid was removing from her room.
He shoved aside the memory. Why would he think of such stupid things now? Violet didn’t have anything to do with his mother. Hell, she was unlike any other female he’d met.
Given how different she was, he thought with sudden insight, perhaps he should… set aside his preconceived notions? Lord knew his assumptions about women hadn’t helped him thus far. Instead, he could try to discover whatVioletwanted—and use that to win her over.
Strategy in place, he made his way to her side with a determined stride, swatting other would-be beaux out of his way like the annoying gnats they were. When he reached Violet and her sister, he bowed.
“Your Grace. Miss Kent,” he said.
“Good evening, Lord Carlisle.” The duchess’ greeting was warmer than he expected. “Are you enjoying the ball?”
“Yes, thank you.” Clearing his throat, he said to Violet, “That’s a pretty frock.”
Her chestnut curls, pinned in glossy bunches over her ears, tipped to one side. “You like it, my lord?”
“Indeed. It’s very… yellow.” God, he sounded like an idiot.
“I believe the proper term for it is saffron, my lord.”
Her tawny eyes were sparkling, and he thought she might be teasing him.
“Are you perchance making fun of me, Miss Kent?” he said slowly.
“Perhaps a little?”
“Then in return I believe I shall claim a dance,” he heard himself say. “With your permission, Your Grace?”
The duchess smiled. “Enjoy yourselves. I do believe the next one’s going to be a waltz.”
To his everlasting luck, it was.
He tucked Violet’s hand into the crook of his arm. Her gloved fingers were slender, dainty, and fit perfectly there. He escorted her toward the dance floor, proud as if he’d accomplished a monumental feat. Maybe he was better at this courtship business than he gave himself credit for.
“Why are you smiling in that odd manner?” Violet eyed him speculatively.
“No reason. I’m just, er, honored that you agreed to this dance.”
“Oh.” Her lush sable lashes veiled her gaze. “It was, um, nice of you to ask.”
Was she blushing? It gave him the courage to admit, “I’ve always wanted to.”
She wrinkled her nose. “What a bouncer. A few days ago, you couldn’t stand the sight of me.”
“That’s not true.” He led her onto the crowded dance floor. Carving out a space just for the two of them, he said, “Even when you infuriated me, I still liked looking at you, lass.”
Her cheeks turned pinker. By Jove, if she liked his straight talking, he might have a decent shot at this after all. His confidence grew.
“So, um, I still haven’t seen Wick,” she said. “Have you?”
Richard had spent the last eighteen hours worrying and searching frantically for his brother. Suddenly, he wanted a few minutes for himself. The respite of a single dance. Was that too much to ask?
He uttered words he’d never said before. “Wick can wait.”
He positioned a hand above her waist, felt hers alight on his shoulder. Their free hands met and held in the air. Despite what they’d done in the dark, holding hands in the light filled him with sizzling awareness.
From the way she shivered, he knew she felt it too.
