She reminded Owen of a swan, with her long graceful neck, dipping to communicate, while all the time remaining silent, lovely, and regal.
“Good evening, Lady Adelia. I trust you will not be fainting tonight.”
Her cheeks bloomed with color instantly.
What an idiotic thing to say!It was extremely ungentlemanly and impolite to refer to the spectacle of their last ballroom encounter. He almost slapped his hand to his forehead.
Why did she make him feel awkward?Probably because his usual conquests were chatty ladies who filled in the silences with inane banter, often loud and apt to make grand gestures, waving their gloved hands, swishing their fans, and jiggling the feathers in their hair, along with their cleavage directly under his gaze. They were bright and sparkly, glittering peacocks in comparison to Lady Adelia’s serene swan.
She had a calm stillness about her, and that very quality would make him work harder to impress her.
He reconsidered his thoughts.No!He wasn’t trying to impress her, merely obtain her assistance.
“Forgive me. I should not have brought that up. You look especially lovely tonight,” he added. And she did, in a rich blue satin gown with cream-colored trim and pearl accents.
His flattery, no matter how genuine, did not work its usual magic. She didn’t melt and flutter her eyelashes and make a moue of her lips.Quite full and attractively shaped, he noticed for the first time.
Nor did she shrug suggestively, causing the neckline of her gown to gape and give him a generous view down her décolletage.More’s the pity!
Lady Adelia blinked at him and nodded again.
He leaned forward and spoke into her ear that was toward the wall, away from the crowd of dancers.
“I need to ask you a favor.”
She drew back and shook her head.
“No?” He couldn’t help but smile at her expression as if he’d demanded her last farthing or her firstborn. “But you don’t even know what I am about to ask.”
Leaning forward, she murmured, “Forgive me, my lord. Would you repeat yourself?”
And she turned her head to the wall so he could speak into her other ear.
Strange and stranger.
And all at once, he realized the utter inappropriateness of asking someone he barely knew to gather handkerchiefs from strangers. He couldn’t do it. At least, not without becoming better acquainted with her and forming some modicum of friendship.
“Will you dance with me?”
She turned again, nearly knocking her nose against his. Then, she recoiled like a skittish horse.
He was going about this all wrong. Gesturing to the dance card dangling from her wrist, he asked, “May I?”
Lady Adelia slowly raised her arm, which he could see was trembling. He grasped hold of the small, white card, noticing her gaze had become fixed upon it. Owen drew a pencil out of his pocket, knowing his valet always put one in when he was attending a ball. Swiftly, he scrawled his name upon the first blank line. It wasn’t hard to do since all the lines were blank, and she had no partners for any of the dances.
Frowning, he looked at her lovely face, watching while her glance rose from the card to meet his. Startled again by the rich greenness of her eyes, he was reminded of the hills of south Wales where his family kept their country home. One thing was blatantly clear. If Lady Adelia didn’t insist on being a wallflower, she would have a full dance card. She was as desirable as any woman there. Moreso since she was an earl’s daughter.
Regardless of both those facts, something about her was making his insides sizzle and dance.
Offering her a reassuring smile in the face of her social failure, a smile she did not return, Owen wrote his name again farther down the card. The space of an hour separating their two dances would not draw attention to their having a second one.
“I shall return to collect you when the music starts,” he told her. “It should only be a few more minutes.”
Still, she said nothing, acknowledging his words with another nod. He might as well be talking to the wallpaper behind her.
With a shallow bow, he left to go look for Whitely and found him easily enough, chatting up a young lady. Or rather, listening to her as she talked.
Whitely had the look Owen recognized, one of feigned interest while his friend’s thoughts were obviously elsewhere, perhaps wondering if he would be able to maneuver the woman into a secluded alcove for a tryst. She couldn’t possibly keep on nattering while being kissed.
