“He and I moved to London three years ago,” Mrs. Hewitt explained while James tried to figure out whohewas. Ah yes, her husband. “We wanted our daughter, Cynthia, to have a proper coming out, you see, and since neither Mr. Hewitt nor I have any other relations here in Town with whom Cynthia could visit, we relocated.”
“Your daughter is most fortunate to have such considerate parents,” James said. He added a smile and instantly felt his heart soar in response to the blush creeping into Mrs. Hewitt’s cheeks.
Careful now, you old dog. Don’t let yourself get carried away.
“She married Mr. and Mrs. Clive Petersen’s son, Henry, a little over six months ago. We’re both extremely happy on her behalf.”
“A fine match indeed,” Pennington said. “Mr. Petersen’s success within the shipping industry does demand a great deal of respect.”
James nodded. “My felicitations to you and your family, Mrs. Hewitt.”
She met his gaze, the warmth he found there holding him captive. “Thank you, Mr. Dale.”
Pennington cleared his throat. “I’d hoped to introduce Mr. Dale to your husband, Mrs. Hewitt, but I fear it will have to wait. Apparently, the set I’m meant to dance with my wife is about to begin.” He gave her a studious look. “Would you excuse me?”
His tone struck James as slightly odd. It was almost as though he worried he’d made a mistake when he’d chosen to introduce her to James.
If she noticed, she showed no sign of it. “Of course.”
Pennington awarded her with a soft smile. “It’s always a pleasure to see you, Mrs. Hewitt.” Straightening, he offered James a more thoughtful look, which again struck James as odd. “I trust we’ll have a chance to talk more later. If not, I hope it won’t be one more year before our paths cross again.”
“I’ll try to make more of an effort to stay in touch,” James promised.
The viscount gave him a solid slap on the back and went to collect his wife, leaving James alone with the delectable Mrs. Hewitt. Or as alone as a man could be with a woman while still surrounded by dozens of people. He glanced toward the dance floor where a quadrille was starting up. How long had it been since he’d last enjoyed such activity? He honestly couldn’t recall.
For a fleeting second he contemplated inviting Mrs. Hewitt to partner with him for the next set, then dismissed the notion since it would probably be inappropriate in light of the heated effect she was having on him. And yet, he desperately wanted her touch, if only in the most innocent manner allowed. So he offered his arm. “Would you care to take a turn of the room with me?”
Pleasure filled every aspect of her expression. “I’d be delighted to, Mr. Dale. Especially if we can head toward the refreshment table since dancing has left me quite parched.”
“But of course. I find I could do with a cool drink myself.”
Her lips quirked as if she struggled to keep vast amounts of humor at bay. Those dazzling blue eyes of hers sparkled. And then she placed her hand on his forearm and it was as if James’s world burst open and pleasure poured in. He was wearing a jacket for God’s sake, cut from superfine wool. Beneath that, he had on a fine linen shirt. Yet Mrs. Hewitt’s touch singed him all the way to the bone, in spite of her gloves.
He sucked in a breath and tried to dismiss the potent effect she had on him. This was madness. He’d never responded to any woman with such electrifying force before, not even Clara.It’s purely physical, he reminded himself. After all, he barely knew the woman. But devil take it, he wanted to. Desperately.
He cleared his throat and steered her along the edge of the ballroom at a slow pace, determined to savor each second he’d be permitted to spend in her company.
Equally determined not to get carried away on a dangerous dream, he said, “Perhaps we can locate your husband. Pennington says he’s a furniture manufacturer?”
“Yes. He’s rather sought after, so if you’re in the market for a new dining room set, you may have to wait a while.” Amusement and something akin to pride lit up her eyes.
“You must have married at a young age, Mrs. Hewitt, to have a daughter who’s already found a husband,” James told her before he could gauge the wisdom of his words. Ordinarily, he was a man who paid close attention to what he said. His profession demanded he do so. And complimenting a married woman on her looks was probably not good form. In fact, he doubted her husband would approve. Yet James could not seem to stop himself from wanting to make Mrs. Hewitt aware of how attractive he found her. So he’d made an attempt to do so in the most subtle way he knew.
Now that the words were out, however, he realized it sounded as though he was trying to judge her age. Which was something he ought not have any interest in learning.
Idiot.
But rather than cut him a critical gaze, the lady smiled. “You flatter me, Mr. Dale.”
Did he? It warmed his heart that she thought so.
“Indeed,” she added, “I was but eighteen years old when my daughter was born.”
Which meant she was in her mid to late thirties. “I never would have guessed. I’m sure every bachelor here will be disappointed to learn that you’re not one of the debutantes.”
What the hell was he doing?
A delightful flush colored her cheeks. “If I may be equally bold, I’m certain the young ladies looking to marry will fix their eyes upon you, Mr. Dale. Unless you’re already wed?”
