That evening, he was determined to claim a dance with Lady Delia despite their group being thrown in with the many visitors to Bath and with other gentlemen vying for her attention.
To that end, while he didn’t ride in the same carriage as Lady Delia and Mrs. Stallwell, he kept his eyes open for their arrival. Before any other swells could push in, he approached.
Lady Delia wore a pale-blue silk gown, and in a word, she was breathtaking. Unexpectedly so. As usual, her dark curls were only partly tamed, tonight by a blue feather aigrette, while the rest were piled on top of her head and springing down her neck.
The effect was enchanting, almost as if she’d flown in from some fairyland or, more banally, been recently rolling around in bed, mussing her hair.
Pushing aside that unexpectedly arousing image, he greeted the ladies with a bow. Lady Delia, whose attention was fixed upon the polished floor at her feet, startled.
“Good evening to you both,” he said wishing she would look at him.
“Good evening, my lord,” Mrs. Stallwell replied, adding a friendly smile.
“Good evening,” Lady Delia answered quietly. Oddly, she didn’t make eye contact. In fact, she was waving her fan so fast, she looked like a hummingbird.
“Are you well?” he asked.
Mrs. Stallwell answered for her. “My cousin is a little warm.”
Lady Delia sent her a sharp look.
“May I have the honor of the first dance?” Rupert asked.
Again, Mrs. Stallwell replied, “My cousin is happy to oblige.”
This earned her another quick glance from Lady Delia before she turned her gaze to him. He would swear she appeared queasy.
After licking her lips, causing him another rush of arousal, she finally spoke.
“I am not the finest dancer, I confess.” Her voice all but faded away.
“As long as we stay upright,” he joked to ease her mind, “we shall muddle through.”
By her expression, he wondered if even that was too much for her.
“Water,” she suddenly croaked, “or wine or lemonade, please.”
She seemed to be asking the world in general. Before he could react, Mrs. Stallwell said, “I shall go find something.”
“Not mineral water,” Lady Delia called after her. “Noxious stuff. Perhaps I have torn my hem,” she said.
He wasn’t sure she was speaking to him.
“I might be able to hide in the retiring room all evening.”
Now he knew she wasn’t.
Finally understanding the depth of her nervousness, Rupert withdrew his flask of brandy, refilled an hour earlier by Lady Osbourne’s accommodating butler.
“While you wait for whatever beverage Mrs. Stallwell obtains, would you care for a sip of—”
Snatching it from his hand, Lady Delia gulped it down.
“I wouldn’t advise too much,” he cautioned.
Too late!Her brown eyes bulged, and then she began to cough.
“It’s smooth,” he quipped, “when sipped properly.”
