Dear Captain,
I believe it is. That must mark some kind of milestone.
P.S. I am right, as you will discover in a year.
Chapter Ten
“But don’t you think that if the world was truly round, Australia would simply fall off? That proves the Earth is flat, don’t you think?” Peter waited for Lady Anabelle’s response, hoping for a roll of the eye, or a wince of awkwardness, before she told him he was wrong and explained the concept of gravity.
Instead, she fluttered her fan and gave him a winsome smile. “You may well be correct, Your Grace. I wouldn’t know. They did not cover such subject matters at school.”
He didn’t know which would be worse—that she knew the science but refused to correct him or that schools allowed their charges to go out into the world without the smallest understanding of how it worked.
She brushed a nonexistent hair from her face, her dance card dangling in full view. It was one of the more subtle ways he’d been prodded to ask a woman to dance tonight. The moment Winnie had revealed that her brother would welcome her friends’ conversations, he’d lost the carefully cultivated air that had made him unapproachable. And because of the blasted agreement he’d struck, he could no longer give curt, one-word answers to drive people away. He was forced to smile when he usually wouldn’t.
Now pushy mamas asked him outright, loudly, if he was dancing and wouldn’t he just love to take their daughters for a waltz? Which was how, despite his desire to conduct his search with the most discretion possible, he’d ended up dancing two quadrilles and a polka under rabid scrutiny.
Committing to the one waltz was his line in the sand. There was not a single woman whose close contact he could stand for a full five minutes. Besides, whoever he gave that spot to might well pee on his leg.
The last strains of Lumbye’s “Juleballet” sounded. There would be a final, brief moment of vulnerability as dancers found their partners for the waltz, and then he could stop dodging the question.
Lady Anabelle looked at him with hopeful expectation. From the corner of his eye, he saw Lady Cecilia marching in his direction. He’d avoided her for the past few weeks, but if the determined set of her jaw was any indication, he was unlikely to escape this time.
Peter backed away. “It has been a pleasure talking with you, Lady Isabelle.”
There was flash of frustration as she flicked her fan. “Annabelle, Your Grace, and there’s no need for the pleasure to end. They’re playing a waltz next.”
Peter swallowed and gave her an awkward nod. “I am aware, and I do hope you enjoy it. The orchestra is excellent.” Ignoring her crestfallen look, he backed away. Perhaps he could outrun Lady Cecilia. But it was a crush. Partygoers stood shoulder-to-shoulder and a man his size couldn’t maneuver through them easily. Certainly not as easily as she could. She threaded her way through the crowd with a smile and small nudges. Her perfectly polite persona didn’t crack for a second. It wouldn’t, not while she knew he was watching.
He was pushed and might have stumbled if the crowd hadn’t kept him upright. “Oh, I’m sorry.” A woman grasped his arm. “That was awfully clumsy of—Peter!” Eleanor grinned. She looked genuinely pleased to see him, which meant she hadn’t discovered who he was.
His shoulders loosened, his heartbeat slowed, and the corners of his lips tugged upward.
Her cheeks were flushed and her green eyes shone. Her hand rested on her chest, her fingertips getting lost in the violet ruffles of her neckline. She was breathtaking. “How lovely to see you,” she said.
Lovely, like the way his chest fizzed. Her affection was real. She didn’t know who he was, or that he had influence worth angling for. She was simply glad that he, Peter, was there.
“Good evening, Eleanor,” he replied, resisting the urge to brush a hand across her cheek. “We seem to be making a habit out of this.”
“Coming across each other in zoos, you mean?” The lemonade in her glass threatened to spill over as she gestured at the crowd.
“Something like that.”
She nodded toward the canary-yellow handkerchief his valet had purchased that week—the one he’d asked for in a fit of madness. It didn’t quite match a sunrise, but it was close.
“That’s pretty,” she said.
He flushed. “Thank you.” He’d been anxious when he’d gone downstairs wearing it, but none of his sisters had mentioned the sudden color, nor had anyone at tonight’s ball. Knowing that at least one person had noticed the change and didn’t find him silly felt reassuring.
There was a sharpahem, and Eleanor’s eyes widened asshe glanced over his shoulder. By instinct, he reached out to stop her from drawing back. Sparks snapped at his fingertips as he grasped her wrist. He couldn’t, didn’t, release her as he turned.
“Lady Cecilia,” he said before the huntress could open her mouth. “Your timing is exquisite.” He took the lemonade from Eleanor. “Would you mind holding this? I promised Miss Wright a dance.”
Before either woman could protest, he pressed the glass into Cecilia’s hand and whisked Eleanor onto the dance floor, just as the first strains of the waltz started. Her eyes flared with panic.
“What is it?” he asked, half expecting to see a spider or bee behind him, as illogical as that might be.
“I don’t know how to waltz,” she whispered. As the couples around them launched into movement, her feet remained frozen.
