“Is that sarcasm, my lord?”
“Yes. Now, if you were a marquis with a sizeable fortune and tolerable looks, you would have reason to complain. I am a hunted species, Miss Whitlow.”
She made a little mewling noise that he didn’t think held any sympathy.
“How perfectly horrible for you, my lord. To have women throwing themselves at your large feet.”
“But is it not the same for you? Didn’t you just tell me men throw themselves at your large feet constantly?”
“My feet are not large, and it is not the same at all.” Her eyes were narrowed as she glared up at him. “Men can be old and unwed, women cannot. Therefore, at the ripe old age of twenty-seven years, I should be firmly on the shelf. Frustratingly, I am not.”
“Frustratingly?”
“I have no wish to wed and have a man control me, and I want to be on the shelf. My dowry is the stumbling block to achieving that blissful state. It is extremely vexing.”
He laughed, quite simply because he could not stop himself. Had he known what a delight she was to converse with before now, he’d have taken the steps to apologize sooner. She was not the type to back down, instead meeting him head-on.
“And that is the last time I speak of anything personal with you.”
Leo sobered instantly. “No, please forgive me. It is just so ridiculous that someone as beautiful and intelligent as you could even consider themselves on the shelf.”
She looked up at him. “I have agreed to this, my lord, there is no need to speak falsehoods to achieve my consent.”
“Falsehoods? You think I would lie about something as important as beauty?”
She snorted.
“You are beautiful, Elizabeth, but as that makes you uncomfortable I shall move on to, why have you not married one of the many suitors you have undoubtedly had? Surely not all of them were offensive to you?”
She stiffened again; it was only brief, but Leo felt it. Her sigh was small, and brushed his neck again. He was not affected by that at all. He’d just shivered because a cool breeze had swept through the ballroom.
“Because every man who has approached Nick is a fool, and because I made the decision many years ago not to wed.”
“You cannot honestly expect me to believe that?” Leo felt it necessary to defend his fellow man, and doubt her words. “Why would you choose not to marry at a young age?”
And just like that she shut herself away from him. Gone was the fire, and in its place was the emotionless Miss Whitlow.
“That is my decision, and one I have no wish to discuss further.”
Leo knew she regretted mentioning it.
“The dance is finished, and quite soon it will be everywhere that we are to wed, and that it must be so because I have just danced my first waltz ever with you.”
“Why do you not waltz?”
“I have my reasons.”
“Which are?”
“Mine.”
That was frustrating, Leo thought. He did not like mysteries. Most young ladies loved to waltz. He had a feeling there was a great deal behind Miss Whitlow’s reasoning, but as she was unlikely to tell him, he did not pursue the matter.
“As the dance has finished I think it may be time to face my cousin, who is standing at the edge of the floor looking like a large avenging angel.”
Leo threw his friend a look, and wondered if they would still be close after the conversation they were about to share.
