“Because I wrote my name right there.” He pointed to it.
“Why?” she persisted.
“Why not?” he countered. “This is a ball, after all.”
“Why me?” Adelia didn’t want him to dance with her for pity’s sake. He had no idea how much happier she was when not leaving her safe place by the wall.Except she couldn’t deny the tremor of excitement.What’s more, she didn’t want to be disappointed a second time that night.
At her persistent questioning, he blew out an exasperated breath. “You are jesting, surely. I wouldn’t think you one to fish for compliments, my lady.”
She lifted her chin. Certainly, she wasn’tfishing, as he put it.
When she said nothing, he added, “I wish to dance with you because I have already made a promise to do so.”
She dismissed that with a wave of her hand. She would like to tell him what he could do with his promise. They were both being entirely impolite and breaking the rules of a ball. He should not press the issue if she didn’t wish to dance with him, and she…well, she was supposed to either let him down easily with the whitest of lies or accept her fate and dance with him.
“And because, truly, there is no one else I have any desire to dance with,” he added. “You are easily the loveliest, most interesting woman in the room.”
She inclined her head at his words.Why would he say such things?
“You have a very calming way about you, my lady. Composed and beautiful. I confess, I am intrigued.”
Her? Intriguing? Gracious, what nonsense!Inside, though, a trickle of pleasure slivered through her. Most people thought her awkward and strange. Intriguing and composed sounded better.
“More than that,” he added. “I’m terribly sorry for missing our dance earlier. I hope you will accept my apology and dance with me.”
“All right,” she agreed.
He leaned forward. “Pardon me, did you say yes?”
Adelia nodded, and his face split briefly into a satisfied smile, making him more breath-stealingly handsome, if possible. The smile disappeared as quickly as it had arrived, replaced by a far more reserved expression befitting a man in mourning. At any rate, she allowed him to take her gloved hand and lead her toward the dance floor as the previous dance ended. Theirs was to be a waltz, which she enjoyed. At least, it was a dance she most liked watching. Fortunately, she could perform it adequately, as well.
He bowed, she curtsied, and he took her into his arms, his black mourning gloves somehow having survived fisticuffs in the garden and still looked pristine.
The moment their bodies were close and his hands were upon her, her heart began to gallop. It had happened previously when they’d danced, but she’d ignored it as merely the reaction to being close to a man. Since that time, she’d discovered it only happened whenhewas the man to whom she was close.
Nevertheless, it wouldn’t do to get overly sentimental about the viscount. He was the infamous Lord Burnley, admirer of many women, some said lover of many, too. Some went so far as to call him a rake.
“Wehavedanced before,” he recalled as they began to turn. “I remember now.”
“A quadrille.”
“Not much talking during one of those,” he pointed out.
“And a Lancier,” she added. Adelia remembered each second of being in his arms, although, at the time, she could tell he had hardly noticed with whom he’d danced.
“That dance is also not conducive to atête-a-tête. So, we have danced twice at least,” he said, and then twirled her expertly around the end of the dance floor before they started up the other side.
She knew he was trying to determine why he didn’t recall a flirty conversation during their dances, nor over lemonade or champagne afterward. She never lingered with a partner for either if she could help it. And her partners always seemed only too glad to get rid of her, particularly if she pretended her ugly laugh.
Without warning, a longing to converse with Lord Burnley arose in her.Perhaps a little light banter?If only she was confident she wouldn’t stutter from sheer nervousness. Yet, she wasn’t sure, and thus, she simply sent him a wistful glance from under her lashes.
He saw it, and his hand tightened upon her waist. Moreover, he leaned close and said something. Unluckily, it was toward her bad ear, and she couldn’t imagine what he might have said.
She offered him a small, noncommittal smile. Whatever he’d said, he didn’t seem bothered by her lack of response. Hopefully, it hadn’t been about a bug in her hair or something in her teeth.
After their waltz, feeling exhilarated—ready to return to her post by the draperies and muse on how wonderful their dance had been—she almost forgot to take his arm. At the last moment, he made an awkward grab for her hand and placed it on his forearm.
“This way, Lady Adelia, to the lemonade and champagne,” he offered.
