Guy thought her too silly for marriage, but he wouldn’t dream of saying so.
“I’m playing it down,” John said. “If I endorse him, she may think I’m manipulating her and dig in her toes.”
“Are you two talking about me?” Georgina hurried in, tucking a scrap of lace into her reticule.
“Yes, in endless fascination,” John said, cocking a brow.
She giggled. Her maid hurried in with her evening cloak. “Shall we go?” She slipped an arm through Guy’s and fluttered her lashes at him.
“You shall have all the male guests at your feet tonight,” Guy said.
“And will that be you, too, Guy?”
He laughed. “What is this occasion?”
“Beatrice Taylor’s eighteenth birthday ball, of course.” She rolled her eyes at him as if he should have known.
“But of course. How did I come to overlook it?” Guy grinned at her.
More than half an hour later, they arrived at the mansion in Hampton, the gardens alight with lanterns.
As soon as they were announced and entered the ballroom, a crowd of hopeful young blades came to crowd around Georgina to beg a dance. It was not surprising, for she looked quite lovely in her silky white gauze gown, flowers and ribbons in her dark curls. “Promise me a dance, Guy,” she whispered before a gentleman led her to the dance floor for the quadrille.
Out of respect for Hetty, Guy had decided not to dance. He planned to move amongst the guests to test society’s mood. He steeled himself for variations of the cut direct. Any whiff of scandal and the ruthlesstonwould turn their backs on anyone of whom they disapproved.
Fortunately, no one gazed accusingly at him. A couple of the older gentlemen remembered his father and spoke of the tragedy that befell him with regret. No one even hinted at Guy being a dangerous spy. But then, he shouldn’t be surprised. Spying was a secretive business.
John danced with Lady Sibella Winborne, an enchantingly beautiful dark-haired young woman, daughter of the Marquess of Brandreth. How interesting that the few times he’d seen Strathairn enter a dance floor it was with Lady Sibella on his arm. They were deep in conversation and smiling at each other. Friends of long standing? From what Guy had come to understand, John sought ladies from lower down the social scale. When they’d talked together in the evenings, nursing brandies by the fireside, he’d insisted he had no intention of marrying for years.
John laughed at something Lady Sibella said and lowered his head to hers. Guy smiled to himself. A lady as lovely, and apparently as amusing as Lady Sibella, might change his friend’s mind.
Guy leaned against a pillar. A man should ask one of the ladies without a partner to dance. But if he did, Georgina would put up a good argument as to why he didn’t dance with her. Hopefully, her dance card was filled.
The dance ended. John was immediately drawn into conversation with someone. Guy was tossing up whether to join them. He was yet to find a comfortable balance in this company and feared he might bede trop.
When a waltz was called, Georgina approached him. “I have kept this dance free,” she said.
Guy groaned inwardly. He should have made himself scarce. He bowed. “May I have the pleasure of this waltz, Lady Georgina?”
“You may, Lord Fortescue.” She smiled and rested her hand on his arm.
As the first notes of a Handel waltz were struck, he swung her into the dance, guiding her over the crowded dance floor.
“You might have danced with any number of eager young bucks,” he said as he reversed her.
“I prefer to dance with you.”
“I don’t see why. My dancing is in no way superior to your last partner. The Duke of Broadstairs, wasn’t it?”
She gave Guy a fierce look. “You are the one of the few men who doesn’t bore me. You are interesting. You have lived!”
“Are you flirting with me, Lady Georgina?”
She flushed and lowered her eyes.
“You do recall that I am betrothed to Miss Cavendish?”
“Of course. I quite like her. But I would make you a better wife.”
