“Because I cannot think of another reason why you would be so averse to partner with me.”
She snorted. “Are all Scotsmen so arrogant? Did it never occur to you that it might have nothing to do with you?”
He arched his brows. “Are you hurt in some way? Do your legs pain you? Is your breath short?” He leaned forward, only half-teasing. “Shall I call a doctor?”
“No, you should not! Honestly, if you wish to dance, there are scores of ladies who would love your attention.”
“But I am not interested in them.”
“Then you will respect my wishes and ask me no more about dancing.”
A polite Englishman would accede to her request. A polite Scotsman would too, so he offered her his arm and they began to promenade about the room. But he would not leave off the topic. “You must tell me if you are injured in some way. Truly, I am concerned for your health.”
She shot him a wry glance. “I am not injured.”
“And you are not embarrassed to be seen with me,” he said, “because we are promenading in full view of everyone.” Indeed, every few steps they were stopped as someone greeted them. He fobbed them off and returned immediately to the topic at hand. “If you were offended by my heritage, you would have turned tail the moment I appeared in Hyde Park in my kilt.”
She snorted. “My consequence with thetonincreased after that afternoon. Being in your handsome presence made me interesting by association.”
He snapped his fingers. “That is how much I care about theton’s attention.”
“You are a flirt, my lord. And all flirts care about attention whether it be from thetonor from the lowest scullery maid.”
He slanted her a glance. There was a note of bitterness there which he would need to explore, but he would not be distracted. “I flirt with you, Lady Clara.” Then at her sideways glance, he shrugged. “I endeavor to be amenable with everyone. That is no crime.” Despite the way her tone suggested otherwise.
“I find nothing objectionable in you,” she finally admitted.
“Damned by faint praise.” He gazed hard at her. “So why won’t you dance with me?”
“Nothing objectionable except for your dogged interest in my dancing.”
She scowled at him. He arched his brows back.
“I’m not going to tell you,” she said, her tone dark.
“I’m not going to stop asking.”
“Then I will find you tiresome and leave you to your own amusements.”
Impasse while they were stopped by yet another group of people. It took ten minutes before he could extricate them.
“I find you fascinating,” he said as he finally drew her outside, where the night air cooled his skin. Behind them, the musicians had begun the set and the tromp of feet could be heard louder than the notes. “I want to know every tiny detail about you. That includes your—”
“I’m very bad at it!” she snapped out as she rounded upon him. “There. Are you content now? I’m a horrible dancer. I’m tall, you know, and uncoordinated. My partners shoot me horrible looks when I accidentally bump heads with them. It’s worse when the gentleman is very short. I’m supposed to dance with my knees crooked so as to not tower over him. Have you ever tried to dance for an entire set with your knees bent? It’s awful.”
He nodded slowly. “That sounds awkward and painful. My knees ache just thinking about it.” Especially since most dances were an intricate interchange of partners and steps. She was of a height with most men, but would indeed have to stoop with the short ones.
“I hate it.” She blew out a breath. “Plus, I never remember the steps. I’m stupid like that.”
Laughter burst out of him in a sharp bark. And then he abruptly had to rein it in at her offended expression. My God, she was serious. “Lady Clara, you are the most intelligent woman I’ve ever met.”
“Everyone is stupid about something,” she shot back. “With you, I suspect it’s an inability to stop when told explicitly to do so.”
He acknowledged that with a nod.
“With me,” she continued. “I’m stupid about dancing.”
“Everyone would appear stupid if they had to do it with bent knees.”
