McCormick bowed his tall body, while Wolfe favored the three ladies with a stiff nod.
Caro returned their greetings with a brief nod of her own. She could play the haughty duchess when it pleased her, Eamon saw. He only wished she weren’t pleased to do it now.
“Lady Heyford and Princess Josephine of Osagard.” Caro indicated the dark-haired lady and then the princess in turn with a flick of her fan in an elegantly gloved hand.
The two ladies made brief curtsies, and the gentlemen bowed once more. How agreeable they all were.
Eamon cleared his throat, unnerved at its dryness. “And how is His Grace?” he asked Caro. “Did Leo find anything intriguing while burrowing through the books?”
Caro became still more frosty. “My son expected you at every moment, all through the morning and the afternoon. Was most unhappy when you did not appear.”
A look into Caro’s eyes told Eamon she did not mean she had been waiting anxiously for him all day. She spoke the truth that it was Leo who’d been upset, which suddenly explained her unforgiving demeanor.
“Damn it all,” Eamon said with feeling. As Caro’s friends fluttered fans and his companions stared at him, he went on quickly, “Cheswell promised he’d send you word. He packed me off on another mission which took all blasted day. Please send His Grace my abject apologies.”
Caro drew back slightly at the explanation, as though she wanted to soften, but she held steady. “Leo made you his knight.”
“He did. I should have made certain Leo knew of my detainment today and never left it to Cheswell.” Cheswell had obviously not thought sending a message to Caro important. “I do most humbly apologize, Duchess—I mean, Your Grace.”
The other two ladies listened to the exchange with interest, and Eamon felt the same from his friends, even Wolfe.
“Well.” Caro’s wall of ice thawed slightly but not completely. “I suppose you could make it up to him.”
“I will, indeed. Please tell me what I can do.”
Eamon had mouthed such words before, especially in his school days when he sought to lighten punishment from his tutors. Against the pain and anger in Caro’s eyes tonight, Eamon’s offer was the most sincere it had ever been.
Before Caro could answer, the princess spoke up.
“You can request a dance, Mr. Stone,” the golden-haired woman said. “There is a set forming even now.”
Chapter 11
Caro bit back her dismay. Easier to trust herself around Eamon if she kept him at a distance, more difficult if they were gliding together, hand-in-hand, up and down the ballroom. She wanted to remain angry at him for Leo’s disappointment, and she feared he’d charm her into forgiveness too rapidly.
“An excellent suggestion, Your Highness,” Eamon stated, as though Jo was the most brilliant woman he’d ever met. “Your Grace? I have some small skill in dancing. Perhaps I can entertain you for a moment or two.”
He held out a hand, strong in a fine glove.
The quartet around them had no qualms about staring, waiting to see how Caro would respond. Even the aloof Lord Dominic regarded Caro with interest.
Whatever Caro’s feelings about the matter, Jo had put her on the spot. Acceptance would imply some forgiveness for Eamon, and refusing might send him away forever. How would Leo feel about that? Fleeing the ballroom was tempting but would provide even greater fodder for gossip.
Scandalmongers watched the tableau, some of whom already believed Caro wasn’t lofty enough to be friends with ladies like Jo and Louise. The matrons of the ton mistook Caro’s shyness for coolness and labeled her a haughty chit who’d married above her station.
Rebuffing Eamon might imply to the gossips that Caro would only dance with dukes. The disapproving matrons would enjoy such a thing.
Caro drew a breath for courage and made her decision. “Of course, Mr. Stone.” She laid her hand in Eamon’s.
Eamon’s eyes held understanding, as though he’d followed her inner debate. He closed strong fingers over hers and pulled her hand to the crook of his arm.
“I am enchanted, Duchess. I will endeavor not to tread on your toes.”
Caro could think of nothing in reply. She tried not to enjoy the sensation of Eamon’s hard arm under her fingers, his coat’s thin cashmere letting her feel his strength. He led her out, Jo watching them go with glee.
A line of ladies and gentlemen had formed in the center of the ballroom, the first set of the evening. Eamon ushered Caro to a spot in the middle of the line, gliding into place opposite her.
The gentleman next to him glanced at them, and his eyes widened. “Captain Stone? Is it you?”
