He located Maeve immediately, her hair a striking beacon. Irritatingly, the orchestra queued up a waltz and Dorset stepped up and held out his arm.
The smile Maeve offered up grated over Harlowe like his rusted, unused voice. Dorset swept her out onto the parquet floor, his gait smooth, his smile proper and practiced. They made an annoyingly striking pair. Harlowe hated it. Yet he could not pull his eyes from the rich forest green of her gown, billowing out around her. The soft glow of light gleaned off her slender arms. She wore elbow-length gloves, and it was those gloved fingers on Dorset’s shoulder that sent his blood into a simmering boil. The worst part was that he couldn’t tear his eyes from her sheer gracefulness and amiable allure.
Good God. He needed release. It had been much too long. Talk about unnatural for one’s constitution.
Dorset swung Maeve in another turn. “You dance divinely, Lady Alymer. I’m ashamed that I let you talk me out of the supper dance at Oxford’s ball.”
“As do you, my lord. I’m sure my mother is quite pleased.”
He groaned. “Not exactly the praise I was looking for.” The music stopped. He took her hand, placing it on his arm, and escorted her off the floor.
She laughed, even as an odd awareness lifted the hair at her nape. She stole a look around, then leaned in. “If you wouldn’t mind, my lord, I’m not quite up to my mother’s interrogations. I believe I’d love a visit with my friends, Ladies Kimpton and Brockway. I see their husbands have arrived.”
“Of course, my dear.” In a smooth shift, he diverted their course, depositing her with her friends and bowing over her hand. “Thank you for the dance, Lady Alymer. Until later.”
She shot Dorset a mischievous grin, fully aware of a certain someone spying from his not-so-covertly spot near the terrace windows. She kept her smile firmly in place as Dorset made his way from the ballroom. She turned slowly back to her companions.
“Nice gentleman,” Ginny said.
“Yes. Yes, he is,” Maeve said. Unfortunately, he was no Lord Harlowe, as frustrating as that man continued to be. Hiding on the terrace, no less.
Lorelei leaned in and spoke softly, “Not to put a pin in your balloon, dear, but Lady Ingleby is making a—”
The snap of an ivory fan sounded like a slap. “Lady Kimpton, Lady Brockway. How lovely to see you. Might I steal away my daughter a moment?”
“No, Mother. You may not. They’ve just arrived, and it would be extremely rude of me to desert them now.”
Lady Ingleby cleared her throat. “I see. Howisyour brother, Lady Kimpton?”
“Better, Lady Ingleby. Thank you for asking.” Lorelei was the most gracious person Maeve had ever met. Howdidshe do it?
Lady Ingleby’s sharp gaze scanned the room. “Where is he?”
Lorelei’s smile never wavered, though something about her straightened. “He’s been quite ill, my lady. He thought he might try to make an appearance but perhaps he thought better of it.”
Lady Ingleby swiveled to Maeve. “Well, daughter-dear, I understand you drove out with Dorset yesterday afternoon.”
“Yes, and a pleasant drive it was too, Mother.”
A cat-with-the-canary smile lit up her face. “I’m very proud of you, my dear. By the by, how did your visit with Oxford fare?”
Every muscle in Maeve’s face tightened, though she was able to keep her lips turned up, hoping they didn’t come across as a sneer. “Very well, Mother. I offered up some excellent motherly candidates for his daughter.”
Lady Ingleby’s gasp could be heard across the ballroom. “You didn’t!”
No. Maeve hadn’t, and while she didn’t bother to correct the assumption, she had a feeling Lady Parther had designs on the duke.
Maeve moved her gaze to the terrace window. Harlowe had shifted deeper within the shadows, but she could still see him. She turned her smile up a notch. She made small talk with her friends, resisting the urge to rush out to the terrace to check on Lord Harlowe. The night air was cool, he might take a chill. She was being ridiculous. The man had spent the last couple of nights wandering the streets of London. He wasfine. Still, it was the night air…
This self-perpetuating argument would not quit if she didn’t just see for herself. Anticipation curled through her. “Ladies, Mother, please excuse me a minute. I see someone I need to speak with—”
“Maeve,” her mother started.
Maeve caught sight of Oxford standing by the terrace doors. He was the perfect decoy.
Sixteen
Y
