He spoke in a cultured English accent. Not from Edinburgh, then, Emilia realized, as she would have when he first spoke, had she not been fixated on Dunreid. She didn’t have much experience with Englishmen, but he displayed more temper than one expected of them.
“Thwart me?” Dunreid snorted. “As if you could. Put us before a hundred women, and I’ll be chosen over you a hundred times. Why do you set yourself a challenge you will surely lose?”
Emilia could hear the Englishman grind his teeth. “I will not win or lose, merely safeguard this young woman from your advances.”
Dunreid raised his thick brows. “We shall see about that.” He held out a hand to Emilia. “Miss Glasbarr, come dance with me.”
She shook her head. “I will not. Not now, not ever.”
Though she expected anger, Dunreid appeared amused. “So you say, but you’ll soon realize that a man with my class and title can offer you so much more than the likes of Mister Banbrook here. More than you ever dreamed of while whiling away nights in your maidenly bower.” He dropped his gaze to her décolletage.
Emilia brought a hand to her chest and suddenly wished her gown had a higher neckline. Her face burned hot, but she kept her chin up. “I said never, my lord, and I mean never.”
Dunreid shrugged. He dropped his hand and turned his amused look back on Mister Banbrook. “Good luck with this one. She’s got even more fire than Cinthia. Too much spirit for the likes of you.” His grin turned malicious. “Be a good chap and keep her entertained until I’m ready for her—just as you did Cinthia. You’re practiced at that.” He turned and strolled away.
Emilia stared after him. What did his vicious words mean? If she recalled properly, Lady Cinthia was the viscount’s wife. Did this Mister Banbrook know her?
Emilia turned to her savior to ask him, but one glimpse stopped her words. He stood taut as a bowstring, hands balled into fists. His expression was murderous as he watched Dunreid’s retreating form. Though rather handsome, Mister Banbrook was also more than a touch frightening.
She looked around. With the viscount’s exit, they were alone in the ornately paneled foyer, save for the inscrutable servants. Maybe Sir Stirling would still come. Maybe she needed to be saved from two men, for Mister Banbrook looked near violence.
“Shall we consider that a formal introduction, then?” Mister Banbrook asked in a neutral tone.
Emilia shifted her attention back to him. Candlelight flickered across a strong jaw. The eyes regarding her were deep grey, and calm. She blinked, almost convinced she’d imagined his rage of moments ago.
He offered a rueful smile. “I apologize for letting Dunreid aggravate me. I don’t suppose unbridled hatred makes for the best first impression.” He bowed, movements smoothly elegant. “I’m Banbrook. A mutual friend sent me to look after you at this dance, and the next two, if you’ll still have me.”
“Sir—” She broke off and cast a quick look around. The servants hadn’t stood up for her against Dunreid, but that didn’t mean they hadn’t heart, and wouldn’t gossip. “That is, he is no’ coming? He sent you?” Though she’d never met Sir Stirling, she felt oddly bereft.
Mister Banbrook gestured in the direction of the ballroom. “A schoolgirl dance isn’t the sort of place you’re likely to find him.”
“Is it the sort of place I’m likely to find you, Mister Banbrook?”
A startled look crossed his face. He chuckled and the final vestiges of coldness melted from his features. “No, not especially, Miss Glasbarr, but I’m here now, and I would be honored to take a turn about the room with you and introduce you to any gentlemen here I know. That is, the respectable ones.” He offered his arm.
As she had no better option, Emilia lightly rested her hand on his coat sleeve, aware of the hard strength beneath the soft fabric. Sir Stirling hadn’t come, or even sent her a man to marry. Instead, he’d sent Mister Banbrook, who seemed to have his own, quite antagonistic, relationship with Viscount Dunreid. Was Mister Banbrook even there to help her, or had he arrived with his own agenda?
As they walked together down the short corridor, she tried to stifle her unease. Though the expression felt a bit strained, she maintained a polite smile when they entered the ballroom. Heads turned. Men and women alike whispered behind gloved hands and lace fans. Emilia had no notion if the murmurs were directed at her or Mister Banbrook. He showed no concerned, and angled them toward the center of the vast chamber, where a dance had just ended. Couples left the dancefloor, the women a bouquet of pastels, the men a montage from gaudy to drab. New couples surged forward to fill the space.
“Perhaps, to set the example, I should dance with you before we take a turn about the room?” Mister Banbrook asked with casual politeness.
“I should enjoy that,” Emilia replied, her stomach a nervousness knot.
He gave a sharp nod and escorted her to her place in line, then took up the position opposite her. The musicians struck the first notes to an adapted country reel. Emilia’s smile widened into real happiness. The dance was one she knew well, and enjoyed. Much livelier than most choices, the variation was also considerably more fun, and offered no time for chatter. Given the tall, foreboding form across from her, Emilia felt not talking might be a good circumstance.
When the musicians struck the proper note, she skipped forward in time to the beat. She and Mister Banbrook met in the center and clasped hands. They executed a turn, giving her just enough time to notice his strong grip, not limpid like some gentlemen’s, and returned to their corners to permit the next couple to pass. Emilia linked arms with the man to her left. He spun her about slightly out of time, the over-long tails of his mustard-colored coat trailing along behind him.
The next gentleman who took her arm wore a more somber green, and a slightly leering expression, though his step was surer. She was relieved the dance took her back to Mister Banbrook for another turn in the center, between the rows of dancers. His smile was cheerful. His gaze never once dropped below her face.
Several more turns switched up the roles, so she met the leering green-clad gentleman in the center, and linked arms with Mister Banbrook in the line. He swung her about with such vigor she would have laughed had she not just completed finishing school. Ladies did not laugh in public.
She wished she might, though. She thoroughly enjoyed the delightful partner Mister Banbrook made. As the dance progressed, Emilia couldn’t help but admire the fine form he cut. Tall, upright and lean, his superbly tailored black a sharp contrast to other men’s popinjay ensembles. He was a skilled dancer, and even seemed to be enjoying himself, if his expression could be believed.
Too soon, the obligations of the set freed them. Emilia took Mister Banbrook’s proffered arm and permitted him to escorted her to the fringes of the crowd. With a sharp turn, he began their circuit about the crowded ballroom. Emilia glanced at him askance, and found his expression once again serious. She couldn’t help but miss the joy the dance had called forth.
“It will help, I believe, if you tell me what you desire in a gentleman,” Mister Banbrook murmured in a low tone. “That is, assuming you know?”
“Oh, aye. I know quite well.” But to tell him, a man and a new acquaintance, seemed odd. Still, long-held dreams of the perfect gentleman filled her thoughts, and his request was reasonable under the circumstances. “I shouldn’t care overly about his looks, or his income, really.” She offered an apologetic look. “I realize that does little to narrow the field.”
