“Staring daggers at your wife is not going to change the factyoustill don’t know your steps,” Wellesley remarked. “Besides, is that not Kilpert, your protégé of a tutor, leading your wife about the floor? I assume he’s on your ‘acceptable’ list.”
“He will be stricken from said list for this display,” Milton ground out.
“In that case, mind if I ask your Baroness next?”
Milton finally tore his eyes away. “Yes, go rescue Lizzie from Kilpert.” He hated how Wells always cut to the chase. “He’s filled her head with enough literary claptrap for one night, I’m sure.”
“You might whisper similar claptrap, friend, if your wife is a true bluestocking.” He paused. “Oh ho, make that aredstocking instead!” Wells was positively jolly. “I say, Jasper, is Lady Milton wearing my wedding gift to you?”
Milton caught the color of Elizabeth’s ankle at her hem. “Wells…” he growled.
The Duke was still chuckling when their former shipmate Banks, now CaptainBanks, ambled up, stuffed into an unbecoming suit.
“This is the last goddamned fancy dance I attend with you dandies.” He yanked the cravat at his neck before his eyeschanced upon the belle of the ball. “And who, lads, is that fine morsel?”
“My wife’s cousin.” Wellesley’s tone bit. “You may dance with anyone but Miss Pendrake, Banks.”
“Christ, Wells, I merely looked…”
“In fact, go dance with Jasper’s wife.” The Duke caught Milton’s eye. “Since he cannotsatisfyhis lady in this regard.”
Banks grinned his pearly whites in his rotten, thieving face. “I’m off to seduce your wife then, Jasp.”
Ingrates.Milton wished to throttle both his so-called friends when Wellesley stiffened noticeably beside him.
“Is that…?” The Duke’s face crumpled. “Jasper, tell me Hieronymus bloody Finch is not at this bloody ball.”
Milton tore his eyes from his wife to follow Wellesley’s gaze squarely to Ronny Finch, holding Annabelle Winthrop in his greedy, meaty paws.
“How the deuce did he get in?” Wells blurted.
Rage, swift and bitter, filled Milton’s veins, but before he could yank Bella from that vile man’s clutches, Arty swooped in.
***
Harris spotted Finch with Miss Winthrop just as their dance wound down. Too angry for words, he made straight for Annabelle, snatched her from Finch’s grasp, and promptly dragged her off, leaving the cur to fume and sputter upon the floor.
Harris swore under his breath as the music forced his feet into triplets. He waltzed Bella into the swirling fray, grateful to past lovers who’d taught him how to dance; actresses always knew the latest steps.
“Miss,” he hissed, “did Finch say or do anything this night to indicate he might?—”
The pain in her eyes almost made him miss his step; he kept them in ever closer, tight formations. “Bella, did he?—”
“Forgive me.” She blinked back tears. “His hands, Arthur…” The poor girl shivered in his arms. “He took such liberties while dancing that I?—”
And that did it. Harris harshly stepped on her hem, neatly tearing her dress before he tripped her straight into his arms and swept her off the floor to announce to all and sundry that Miss Winthrop had twisted her ankle, he’d see her to safety, no need to halt the dance.
And indeed the waltz carried on with barely a hiccough, the musicians not missing a beat, couples’ footwork unimpeded. Harris carried Annabelle out of the ballroom into a nearby parlor where he settled her onto a chaise and swiftly shut the door.
“Mr. Harris!” The lady’s outrage rattled. “We must leave at once! At once, I say!”
He approached her panic with calm.Best do this quick.
“Now, miss?—”
“You cannot bring me unchaperoned to an empty room, sir. Why, you tripped me quite on purpose!”
“O’ course I tripped you, woman. How else was I t’ bloody ferret you out o’ that blasted ballroom an’ away from Finch’s grasping hands?”
