“F-forgive me, sir,” Olivia stammered. “We’ve not been properly introduced.”
He bowed and clicked his feet together. “Mr. Arnott, at your service. I’ve had the pleasure of being introduced to your brother the duke.” He bowed to Eleanor. “Your Grace, I’d be honored to make your acquaintance. The duke speaks very highly of you, and I now see that his praise of you is vastly underrated.”
“Do you seek to flatter me, Mr. Arnott?” Eleanor said.
He colored, his artlessness not obliterated by age and experience, and Eleanor laughed.
“No matter,” she said. “You’re not the first young man to flatter a duchess, and I doubt you’ll be the last.”
“I-I’m not come here to flatter, Duchess,” he said. “I’m come tobeg His Grace’s sister’s hand for this dance.”
Eleanor tilted her head to one side. “So, you’re here to flatter a duke’s sister?”
“Unashamedly so, Duchess.” He turned his gaze to Olivia. “Dear lady, with your chaperone’s permission and your consent, I’d be honored to partner you.”
His eyes sparkled with a hope that mirrored the hope rising in Olivia’s heart.
“Eleanor, may I?” she asked.
“Of course, Olivia. You’ve no need for my permission.”
Olivia rose and took the proffered hand. “Then it would be my pleasure, sir.”
His smile broadened and her heart fluttered at the expression in his eyes. With perfectly proportioned features, a strong jaw, and a physique that, though slighter than her brother’s, possessed a degree of athleticism that filled out his jacket perfectly, he was one of the handsomest men in the room.
And he’d askedherto dance!
He led her to the dance floor, and Olivia smiled at the young women she passed who eyed him with curiosity and her, envy.
By the time the music began, Olivia had conquered most of her apprehension. Though she’d practiced the steps many times at home under the guidance of a dance teacher Montague had employed, tonight was the first time she’d had the opportunity to perform this particular dance at a real ball, with a real man as opposed to Miss Revell.
She smiled to herself as she recalled her teacher’s words.
One, two, three, one, two, three, forward and back. One, two, three, one, two, three, look straight ahead. One, two, three, one, two, three—andturn!
“I beg your pardon?”
She glanced up from the floor. Curse it! She’d not been looking up—unable as she was to share Miss Revell’s confidence that shewouldn’t trip over her feet if she didn’t stare at the floor for the duration of the dance.
“Forgive me, Mr.…”
Heavens!What was his name again?
“Mr. Arnott,” he said, frowning in an expression of mock hurt. “Lady Olivia, am I so far below you in station that you’ve forgotten my name already?”
“Of course not,” Olivia said, “b-but my name is not…”
But at that moment, they were separated by the steps, and she found herself face to face with Sir Heath Moss. With a sneer, he held out his hand, and she took it, suppressing a shudder as he steered her about in time to the music.
“I say, Miss… What was it?” He shook his head. “Forgive me, I cannot recall your name. You seem extraordinarily accomplished on the dance floor, considering.”
“Considering what?” she said. “The skills of my partner?”
“Tut-tut, would you impugn Mr. Arnott’s talents?”
“I wasn’t referring to Mr. Arnott.”
“Of course,” he said, “when a woman has few offers at a ball, she must accept whichever young men are disposed to dance with her.”
