Meg did her best to keep her eyes on her champagneflute and pretend she didn’t know the two men were making their way toward her from opposite directions in the crowd. She desperately hoped Hart would get there first. She took one rebellious little step in his direction.
She breathed a sigh of relief when Hart appeared at her side. He wore black superfine evening attire with a perfectly starched white shirtfront and cravat. An emerald winked from a pin in his cravat. “Miss Timmons.” He bowed to her. “You look as breathtaking as ever.”
“You don’t have to dance with me tonight, Hart,” Meg said, hoping desperately that he wanted to dance with her regardless.
“Nonsense. I promised you three nights of dancing and I am a gentleman of my word.”
“Sir Winford is on his way over,” Lucy pointed out, sipping from her own champagne flute, probably to hide her catlike smile.
“Sir Winford will have to wait,” Hart ground out. “This dance ismine.”
Meg pressed her lips together to keep from smiling and handed her glass to Lucy, who eagerly took it. “If you insist.”
“I do,” Hart replied, bowing.
Hart offered his arm and they left for the dance floor before Lord Winford made it through the crowd.
A waltz began and Hart pulled Meg into his arms. “Are you disappointed to be dancing with me and not Sir Winford?”
Meg contemplated the question. The Meg of a week ago would have immediately said,No!Blurted it even. This Meg had been in Lucy Hunt’s company for the lastseveral days and knew better than to be so unsophisticated.
“Sir Winford seems quite nice,” she said instead. Her voice was perfectly even and calm, but her mind raced with worry. What if Hart decided Sir Winford was a good choice for her? What if he encouraged the match? Sarah had already done so on numerous occasions. The truth was, under any other circumstances Sir Winfordwouldbe an excellent choice for a husband. He was titled, wealthy, and handsome. Somewhere in his mid-thirties, he was far from an old man. He seemed witty and pleasant. It was a deuced inconvenience, perhaps, that she was madly in love with Hart.
“I don’t know him,” Hart said. Was it her imagination or had he squeezed her hands slightly when he said it?
Meg concentrated on keeping her tone light. “He owns an estate in Devon, a town house on Leicester Square, and a great many horses, from what I understand.”
“Told you all that in a span of a dance, did he?” Hart had the faintest hint of a sneer in his voice.
“No.” Meg shook her head. “Lucy’s been researching him.”
Hart’s brows lifted. “Lucy approves of him, then?”
“She likes that he’s not worried about my lack of dowry.”
“That is commendable.” Hart’s jaw remained tight.
Meg glanced at her slippers. At least she was dancing properly this evening. She had yet to step on his feet. Thank God for small favors. “Hart, I… have you and your friends to thank for my sudden change in circumstance and…”
Hart stared into the crowd over Meg’s head. “Seemsyou have the duchess to thank as well. I imagine your jewels and gowns have something to do with her.”
Meg blushed and hoped neither of the earbobs was missing. “It’s true.”
He lowered his gaze to hers. “You look beautiful, Meg. You should never have had to wear rags.”
A lump formed in Meg’s throat. She tossed her head. Was he remembering that day when she was sixteen and he’d stood up for her as she was? “I resisted Lucy quite a bit before agreeing to wear the gowns she’s had made for me.”
Hart searched her face. “Why?”
“I don’t…” Meg glanced away into the crowd. The lump grew larger. “I’ve never wanted to be pitied.”
“Pitied?” Hart’s brow furrowed. “Is that what you think? Let me assure you, no one is pitying you.”
Meg forced herself to stare at his black-clad shoulder. His familiar scent enveloped her senses. The lump in her throat was so large, she was nearly choking on it. “But no one looked twice at me before I began wearing these gowns, before you danced with me.”
He leaned down slightly to catch her eye. His breath caressed her ear when he spoke. “Sometimes it takes a bit of polish to get fools to see a diamond in the rough.”
Meg pressed her lips together. She met his gaze. “Is that what I am? A diamond in the rough?”
