Hoping her vexation didn’t extend to him, Jasper offered a deep bow and his arm. “My lady, I believe I requested this dance.”
She inclined her head and placed slender fingers lightly upon his sleeve.
He realized he’d yet to hear her voice, the lack an open void in his heart. “This is your first ball?” he asked as he led her to the dancefloor, painfully aware of the buzz of condemnation his attention to her evoked from the assemblage.
“Yes,” she said, without a glance his way.
Did she know already? New to society, yet ready to condemn him as they all did? Was her beauty not coupled with a kindness of heart? “And what is your first impression, my lady?”
“It seems a bit ridiculous,” she murmured. “The men are like peacocks, strutting about, attempting to stare one another down so they might acquire the best hens. Certainly, there must be a better way to select a mate, and a better use of time and funds.”
Jasper nearly tripped. Eminently true, her words were those never uttered. Their very society would crumble should others take up her view.
She darted a glance his way. “I shouldn’t have spoken with honesty. My aunt warned me not to.”
Jasper walked her to the assembling row of ladies. “I’m partial to honesty,” he said before stepping back to fall in line with the other gentlemen. Her gray eyes contemplated him across the void, giving away little.
The lines of gentlemen and ladies exchanged bows. The musicians launched into a quadrille and the dancers sprang to life. Jasper could hardly say what other ladies and gentlemen surrounded him, his attention was so fixed on Lady Madelina. They skipped, kicked, met in the middle, and spun, the dance the same as always. Jasper had executed the combinations a thousand times, but never with such a partner.
Madelina flowed. She glided. When that long, graceful form leapt, she seemed almost to soar.
Once, at a particularly extravagant private party, his host had imported a troop of dancers from the far reaches of the continent. One of the women, as the finale to their performance, had beguiled with a swirling, scandalous dance involving gauzy scarves and a gilded figure. Until that moment, she was the most graceful dancer Jasper had ever set eyes on. Memory of that dark-haired beauty paled before the grace of Madelina’s lithe form.
He was aware of the covetous looks of other men, of their stares, and of a rising, almost angry, pulse within him. Jealousy, he realized. An emotion he’d felt for but one woman before. Jasper could only be glad he’d already spoken for the dinner dance.
The quadrille ended, leaving many other dancers panting from their exertions. Women flipped open and employed lace trimmed fans as couples began taking their place for the second dance of the set. Jasper proffered his arm to lead Madelina to hers.
“I’d enjoy hearing more of your radical views on the marriage mart,” he murmured as they waited for the other dancers to assemble.
Lady Madelina issued a light, airy laugh. “Oh, I was being fanciful. I thumbed through one of my aunt’s bluestocking pamphlets over tea this afternoon.”
He cocked an eyebrow, intrigued by the sincerity she projected while making that statement, for he felt certain she regretted her admission and lied to cover it.
“I’d much rather learn more about the topic you broached with my brother,” she added.
Jasper shook his head. “It’s unfit for a lady’s ears.”
“Yet, Lady Westlock seemed to comprehend your reference and felt the issue of grave importance. Should I not attend to it, as well? Perhaps I have something to offer to your cause.”
“It’s not my place to expose you to the sordid side of London.” Or to even acknowledge that such a side existed. “You shall have to take the matter up with your brother.” Jasper forwent adding that an unwedded miss had nothing to offer to any cause unless part of her allowance was spent on charity. He suspected, for all her poise, that Lady Madelina didn’t enjoy being reminded of the restrictive nature of a titled young lady’s life.
She frowned slightly. Her lips parted, as if she were about to say more. A gasp rippled through the room. Discordant notes jarred loose from several instruments. Lady Madelina closed her mouth as she looked past him, in the direction of the ballroom’s entrance. Jasper turned.
Gowned in sparkling-violet, dampened silk, her auburn tresses falling scandalously loose, Miss Clementine White stood framed in the ballroom’s grand entrance. Their hostess’s anxious footmen hovered to each side, arms extended to block Clementine’s path without touching her. It was obvious they knew she shouldn’t be permitted to enter, and equally obvious that they were unsure if putting hands on her was acceptable. Clementine raised a long, white, glove-encased arm, palm up. She met Jasper’s gaze and beckoned him, expectant.
Jasper stifled a curse. Though obviously pleased with the opportunity to scandalize theton, Clementine wouldn’t be there without good reason. Much as he loathed to, Jasper must leave.
He turned to Madelina with a bow. “My deepest apologies, my lady.” He worked to keep his voice light. “I must beg off our second set, and my commitment to Miss Birkchester. My—” He caught back his words. “That is, my business associate requires me.”
Madelina’s eyebrows winged upward. “Business associate?”
Jasper nodded. Business associate…and mistress. “Shall I escort you back to your brother?”
“He remains where we left him, just over there. He’s watching us even now,” she said, her cool alto giving no indication of her thoughts regarding Jasper’s sudden need to depart. “I daresay, I’ll be able to make it to his side on my own and unscathed.”
Jasper couldn’t ascertain if she meant her words to be amusing or biting. He bowed again. “I reiterate, I am very sorry. I’d looked forward to dining with you.”
She inclined her head, expression unreadable, then turned away.
