No, Vanessa thought. He's not.
The question was whether those teeth would ever be turned in her direction, and whether she would welcome it if they were.
***
Martin approached her between sets.
The crowd parted for him as it had before that subtle, unconscious deference that seemed to follow him everywhere. People stepped aside, angled their bodies and created space for him to pass. A few called greetings, which he acknowledged with nods and brief smiles, but he did not stop. His trajectory was fixed, his destination clear.
He was coming for her.
Vanessa's heart began to pound. She watched him approach, unable to look away, barely aware of Helena's amused commentary beside her.
"Lady Vanessa." He bowed with perfect propriety, but his eyes were anything but proper. They swept over her gown, her hair, her face, with an intensity that made her skin warm. "You look well this evening."
"Thank you, Your Grace."
"Your ankle has recovered, I trust?"
"Completely."
“It gives me sincere pleasure to hear you say so.” He produced a small pencil from his waistcoat pocket and reached for her dance card, which hung from her wrist on a silk ribbon. "Then you'll have no objection to a waltz."
He was already writing his name before she could respond in the slot reserved for the supper waltz, she noticed. The most significant dance of the evening. The dance that would require him to escort her to supper afterward, to sit beside her, to devote his attention to her for the better part of an hour.
It was a statement. A declaration. Everyone who saw her card would know that the Duke of Montehood had claimed the most important dance of the night.
"You might have asked," she said.
"I might have." He returned the card, his fingers brushing hers in a touch that sent a spark through her entire body. "But we both know what your answer would have been."
She should be offended by his presumption. A gentleman did not simply claim a lady's dance; he requested the honour and awaited her acceptance. What Martin had done was proprietary. Arrogant.
She was not offended. She was thrilled.
"Lord Deane has already claimed the supper dance," she said, not because she wanted to dance with Lord Deane, but because she wanted to see how Martin would react.
Something flickered in his expression, a tightening of his jaw, a hardening of his eyes. "Has he."
"He was very eager."
"I'm sure he was." Martin's tone was clipped. "Unfortunately for Lord Deane, he'll find that my name is now in that slot. He's welcome to take the quadrille instead."
"That's rather high-handed of you."
"Yes." He did not seem remotely apologetic. "It is."
Lord Deane was watching them from across the room, Vanessa noticed. His expression was troubled. He had seen Martin claim her card. He understood what it meant.
"You've upset my suitor," she said.
"Have I?" Martin's tone was utterly indifferent. "How unfortunate."
"He spoke to my father today."
That got a reaction. Martin went very still, his expression hardening into something she couldn't quite read.
"Did he."
