Thus, after he’d greeted her mother, when Purity’s glance met his over her gloved knuckles, she said, “You ought to have allowed us the option of presenting you with our hand. We might not have wished contact.”
“Don’t you?” he asked, still holding her hand and looking at her, his face inches away.
“Don’t I?” she whispered, forgetting the thread of their conversation as her head filled with his delectable cologne.
Then her mother cleared her throat, and Purity recalled where she was and who had hold of her. She snatched back her hand so quickly, she well-nigh left her glove in his grasp.
“May I have the honor of a dance?” he asked.
“Nicely requested,” her mother said.
“You may,” Purity agreed. And examined her card.
“Is the dance before dinner still free?” Foxford was practically cross-eyed trying to read her card upside down.
“There is no dinner tonight,” she informed him. “Only dancing and light refreshment.”
His face soured.
“In any case,” Purity said, “as I told you before, you ought to be dining with a lady whom you wish to court.”
He sighed. “Very well, but will you allow me to bring you a glass of their nasty warm lemonade or watery wine, at the very least?”
“So graciously put,” Lady Diamond quipped.
“If we see you during the interlude, then we would appreciate a glass of whatever you can procure,” Purity told him. “I’ve put you down for the seventh dance.”
“And?” he asked.
“And what?”
“A second dance is permissible. You told me that, I believe.”
She glanced at her lovely, redheaded mother who raised a perfect eyebrow and, as usual, left the decision up to Purity.
“Later in the evening, then,” she said, penciling in another dance and showing him.
“I will see you soon,” he promised, bowing smartly and leaving them.
Sadly, the other gentlemen who filled in her card seemed tepid in comparison. Not mollycoddles, precisely, but without the Fox’s dash-fire. She found herself looking forward to their dance instead of enjoying her partners and hoping to find a match. Moreover, she couldn’t help watching to see with whom Foxford was dancing. To her surprise, she never saw him on the floor.
By the fourth dance, she started to fret that he was engaging in a light dalliance in the dimly lit garden. By the sixth dance, she wondered if he was having a tryst in one of the private rooms. When she stood with her mother before the seventh dance, she was in high dudgeon.
“Are you ready?” Foxford asked, startling her when he appeared from the side while she’d been scouting the crowded room.
She hesitated a moment too long, examining him for signs of indecorous behavior.
“For our dance,” he reminded her, snagging the card dangling from her wrist. “It’s time for the seventh.”
“Yes,” she hissed, snatching it back. “I am aware.”
He bowed to her mother, then held out his hand, which Purity took. As they strolled to the dance floor, he asked, “Are you well? You seem out of sorts. Not another megrim, I hope.”
“You shouldn’t remark on a lady’s health if you think it might not be at its pinnacle. But I am fine. My head does not ache in the least.”
Her feet, however, were starting to throb a little, and she was glad she’d had the foresight not to assign another partner until after the interlude.
Then, against all her upbringing and besides knowing better, she asked, “Where have you been thus far?”
