He stopped and conversed with Lord Griffith, then made his way farther across the room. That was his tactic. Talk—take another step. Talk—move a little closer. Until finally, he stood beside Lord Wood, Lady Wood, and Miss Morgan.
“Ah, Your Grace.” Lord Wood gave a small bow, quickly followed by Lady Wood’s and Miss Morgan’s curtsies. Lord Wood straightened. “A rather interesting discussion in the House of Lords yesterday.”
Thankful for a topic he knew, Robert spoke with Lord Wood for some time before a pause in conversation allowed a natural break for him to give his attention to Miss Morgan.
The young woman did not blush or dip her head as the newest debutantes did. While this was at least her fifth season, that had never been her way. He had danced with her the year of her coming out, and she had behaved just as she did now. Confident and comfortable.
“Miss Morgan, do you have any dances available?”
She smiled. The action was full of all sorts of things and Robert drank them in like a man parched for water. It was not a smile to indicate politeness. Rather, it was as if she was sharing a joke with herself and laughing without ever saying the words aloud.
“Your Grace, as a woman who has been out for five years, you can rest assured that many are left. Pick whichever you desire.”
Lord Wood sighed, drawing Robert’s attention just in time to see the exasperated roll of his eyes. “Just say yes, Louisa,” Wood begged.
“And where would the fun in that be?” Her grin turned wicked as she held the card out to Robert.
His eyes danced across the lines. She was correct. Only two names were currently written on the card while the other lines remained vacant. He wrote his name beside the cotillion—a safe dance as it did not require constant closeness as the waltz did, while not as energetic or ridiculous as a reel.
“Thank you, Miss Morgan. I look forward to it.” He was just about to step away when she spoke again.
“Look forward to it as one looks forward to the opera, or look forward to it as one politely says when receiving an unwanteddinner invitation?” Her eyes slid up from his chest until they met his. She raised a brow as her grin tucked itself in the corner of her mouth—as if she were trying her best not to give in to it but could not help herself.
He stilled. Lord Wood raked a hand over his face as Robert tried to decide which course of action he should take. How was he to answer her question? Knowing he did not have the luxury of an hour to dissect all his choices, he said the first thing that came to mind. “I do not enjoy the opera.” There. A simple fact.
If you do not have the benefit of time in a conversation, then go with the honest answer. It does not require thought and cannot be brought against you later as a falsehood.
Miss Morgan narrowed her eyes, her grin widening ever so slightly. “I suppose I have not given you much choice in the matter then, have I? You are released from a need to reply.”
Rather than say something that might be misconstrued, Robert dipped his head in farewell and slowly made his way back whence he came. Whispered words teased his ears as he walked away, but he did not give them his attention. Instead, he began his process all over again. Walk, stop, talk. Until finally, he was right where he started. As far away from Miss Morgan as possible.
Unfortunately, Robert was forced by a nosey and pushy mother to ask for another young lady’s hand in a dance before the one with Miss Morgan. In fact, he was up to a total of three sets for the evening. Which, in his opinion, was three too many. But when the cotillion began, his feet seemed to move to claim his partner with a bit more speed than with the others.
Miss Morgan’s mesmerizing eyes gave him a quick perusal as he strode toward her, making his self-consciousness grow tenfold.
But he did not let it show.
“Are you ready?” he asked, holding his hand out to her.
She grinned. “I am ready. But the better question is, are you?”
He swallowed his nerves, gathering himself. “Yes. I am very capable of performing the necessary steps.”
She turned her head to look at him, chuckling. “Well, I rather hope the dance will be more enjoyable than mere mechanics. Has the infamous Duke of Boroux not mastered the art of flirtation whilst dancing?”
No. He had not mastered that particular art. In fact, it sounded rather loathsome to even attempt. He pressed his finger into his leg to keep it from pattering away. “I do not believe that is a skill I have or shall ever acquire.”
“A pity.” She kept his gaze as the steps to the cotillion began, all the while wearing a secretive smile.
His skin felt too hot, and he found it difficult to keep eye contact. She seemed so comfortable, so at ease. Her movements were graceful and fluid, and while his were correct, they lacked the nuance of anything beyond competence.
“Do you believe you can add conversation to your precise dance steps?” Miss Morgan asked as she slid behind and around him.
Words stuck to Robert’s tongue as his mind searched for an answer. The cravat around his neck suddenly felt too tight, and the room grew even warmer than usual.
“Do not worry yourself,” she continued. “I see it would be too much of a burden. I shall not ask it of you.”
He mulled over his options before opening his lips to speak. “I fear whatever I would have to say would hold no enjoyment for a lady such as yourself.”
