She drew back and gazed at him with startled eyes.
He held out his hand. “Your dance card.”
With that request, those who were close enough to hear began to twitter behind fans. He could not make out what they were saying but could surmise. Not since Lady Johanna and his assistance to his friend Peter Storm had he asked anyone to dance this Season.
Lady Penelope continued to stare into his eyes as he waited.
Would she rebuke him in front of some of the most prolific gossips of the ton?
He assumed that she would not want her name on the lips of everyone. At least, he counted on that fact, but perhaps he was wrong.
Slowly she lifted her hand and placed the card in his, never breaking eye contact. Henry grasped it and only looked to see what was available.
“The supper dance is mine.” He handed her the card, gave a nod, turned and marched away.
It wasn’t until he was lifting another glass of wine from a tray that he realized that this may be the first time that Lady Penelope had nothing to say to him.
Penelope’s heart pounded as Eldridge strode away. He had not penciled in his name but informed her which dance would be his.
She did not appreciate being ordered, yet…Did she dare defy him?
She wanted to simply on principle.
Except, she also wanted to waltz with His Grace again, when she shouldn’t. The last time had left her unsettled. Not in an unpleasant way but she also wondered if it had been an anomaly. Part of her wanted to know for certain but another part was afraid to find out.
If it happened again, what did that mean?
Besides the worry about the waltz, it was also the supper dance and she would be required to dine with him. After she’d yelled at him earlier, he likely had a few words for her as well. He had not requested the dance as someone who was desirous of her company but demanded it.
Perhaps she should not have turned her back on him earlier, except she had still been upset and when she saw him…well…Penelope blew out a heavy sigh.
No doubt he had interpreted her actions as a cut direct, which really had not been her intention, and being he was a duke, had taken issue.
Why were men so easily offended?
She nearly snorted. “And gentlemen claim that women are the most sensitive of the sexes,” she whispered to herself.
As much as she did not want to have another argument with Eldridge, it was best to share the dance, then supper, and perhaps they could settle into…what…become friends?
That was not likely to happen. He did not approve of her, but he needed her, or his cousins did, and she would just need to remind him of that fact.
All of that was well and good but as the evening continued, and Penelope visited with friends and acquaintances, her nerves mounted until Eldridge approached to claim her for the waltz.
He said nothing as he led her to the floor, bowed then took her hand, placed his on her back and stepped.
His blue eyes darkened with each step and there was a firm set to his lips as if he were doing his best to hold in his animosity for her.
Why had he asked her to dance to begin with if there was going to be no chastisement or even conversation?
They stepped and turned and much to her irritation, her pulse raced as her body heated. His hand burned through the silk of her gown and she wondered what it would be like for his hand to touch her skin.
Such a thought caused her face to burn and Penelope dearly hoped that anyone who may witness her blush would assume that it was caused by the exertion of the dance and the heat in the room.
By the time the waltz had come to an end, she was nearly breathless, parched and in need of cool air.
Eldridge took her hand and placed it on his arm, then led her to a refreshment table, retrieved two glasses of wine before he led her out onto the terrace as the other guests went into dine.
As he had not spoken a word, neither did she. For all she cared, they could enjoy the cool breezes, sip their wine and bask in the silence.
