And in that moment, Jack experienced a miracle. For the span of the dance, he was part of the people in this room. He was not a stranger. Her gift had been to see him included and he was humbled to realize that he wanted that.
He needed it.
In a moment of self-realization, Jack understood that, yes, there were those who considered him a traitor of sorts for adopting another country. However, he had been wearing his decision a bit like an armored breastplate. He had come to London to tell them a thing or two, and they, quite wisely, resented it.
Too soon the dance was over.
The gentlemen bowed to their partners and the ladies curtsied. Jack had only held Lady Charlene’s hand a time or two during the dance.
He wanted more.
She raised blue eyes up to him and he sensed the connection, the desire, the kindred thought to his own.
Neither moved. They stood as if rooted to the floor, Jack almost afraid to breathe lest he destroy the moment—
His brother’s hand clapping his shoulder brought Jack back to where he was.
Gavin smiled. “The two of you were the most remarkable couple on the floor.”
Lady Charlene’s gaze swept down away from Jack as if she, too, had been startled back to reality. “You were watching us, Your Grace?”
“I could not tear my eyes away from you,” Gavin answered, looking intently at her.
She blushed and the rush of molten jealousy that poured into Jack’s being was dangerous. He had no right to feel this way. Women were not his purpose for being in London.
Gavin looked to Jack. “Thank you for taking such good care of my lady while I was called away, my brother, my twin.”
The double name. Was Gavin attuned to Jack’s attraction to Lady Charlene?
Certainly his smile appeared without guile. Jealousy made a man a miserable person, and Jack did not quite know how to cope since he’d rarely experienced it.
Gavin leaned close. “While you have been enjoying yourself on the dance floor, I have been busy on your behalf.”
“Yes?”
“Vetter’s library is down the far hall on the left. Charles Mouton—do you remember him? The Earl of Wellsden? We were in school with him—is waiting for you. He is anxious to discuss the American concerns. He would be instrumental in setting a meeting.”
Now Jack felt like a damn fool. “Thank you,” he said, meaning the words, and silently vowing he would keep his distance from Lady Charlene.
“You still have to sell him but I’ve opened a door. Go on, man. Be the diplomat.” Gavin turned from him and offered his arm to Lady Charlene. “I believe the supper room is open. May I escort you in?”
“Yes, of course,” she said.
Jack watched as his brother and Lady Charlene walked away.Think with your big head, he ordered himself, and went in search of Wellsden.
He remembered Charles the moment he opened the library room door. Wellsden was a short, sandy-haired man whose nose and cheeks had always been ruddy red and were still so today.
Wellsden was sitting before the fire, his feet on a footstool, a glass of brandy in his hand. He waved Jack in. “Lawd, Whitridge, you’ve actually grown bigger. I remember you as a giant back in Eton. I say, don’t they have barbers in America?”
“They do, but I manage to avoid them.”
The earl laughed. “Come in, come in. It is quiet in here and the ladies don’t pester you to dance. Pour yourself a drink and then talk about why Americans shouldn’t be willing to allow our sea captains to search for deserters on your ships? Of course, I will put forth that your captains should willingly turn the buggers over to us. However, Baynton says I should listen to you explain and so I shall.”
This was not the most promising beginning, but Jack believed in the strength of his cause. He did not bother with the drink but sat beside Wellsden and stated his case.
The duke was a considerate escort. He seated Char at a table, offering to prepare a plate for her.
“That would be nice,” she said, uncertain. But then she noticed that other gentlemen were also serving their ladies. Apparently it was the thing to do.
