“So smile. Come on. The second set is beginning.”
Iseabail took the advice to heart. She put on her brightest smile and gave her dance partner her exclusive attention. She tried not to count dances. She didn’t want to think,Three more dances until he didn’t show up.Two more dances until he wasn’t here. One more dance to go. And yet it was in her mind despite her best efforts.
So it was with some surprise that when she finished that last dance, she turned to find Sadie grinning at her from the edge of the dance floor. Two gentlemen towered above her. On one side stood one of Sadie’s regular waltz partners—a second son with a long nose, a booming laugh, and exquisite dancing skills. That man was glaring fiercely at Mr. Reuban Bates on the opposite side.
“Mr. Bates,” Iseabail said as she approached the three. “You’ve arrived.”
Lord Arlo sniffed audibly. “Do you know this man?” He might as well have asked,Did she know this rancid bit of meat?
“I do, my lord,” she returned sweetly. “He saved my life once.”
Mr. Bates grinned. “So I did. And all I asked was for a waltz in return.”
“Not so, sir,” she returned. “You asked for nothing as you were already paid for that task. This dance is for something else entirely.”
She was being testy with him, and she wasn’t sure why. Maybe because she was risking things by dancing with him. Or because her cheeks burned at the memory of him bowing to her last night. Or maybe he set her out of sorts because she never knew exactly how she was supposed to act around him and that made her feel unsafe.
Either way, he didn’t seem to mind her mood. His grin widened at her curt words, and he held out his hand to hers.
“This dance is the culmination of years of planning,” he said. “And I couldn’t ask for a more beautiful partner.”
Years of planning? How ridiculous. But there was nothing silly in the way he looked at her. His gaze was frank as he took in her gown, her form, and most likely the hot pink spots of color in her cheeks. Damn her red coloring for showing everything. And damn him for being where no man ought to have been last night. He looked at her now as he likely had last night, seeing her at her most vulnerable, and she didn’t know how to fight that. Especially when she found her hand in his without her even willing it.
If she weren’t the daughter of a witch, she would have claimed he’d bespelled her. But of course, she knew that such things didn’t actually happen.
Meanwhile, Lord Arlo still tried to interfere. “Miss Spalding, you know you shouldn’t dance with just anyone.”
“She’s not,” Sadie interrupted. “She’s dancing with the rogue who saved her life. Mine, too, if we’re honest. Now are you going to waltz with me or not? Because—ooh!”
Out of the corner of her eye, Iseabail saw Sadie get jerked onto the dancefloor. Whatever Lord Arlo’s thoughts on Mr. Reuben, it was clear he wanted his dance and Sadie’s giggle told everyone she was happy to oblige.
And that was the last moment she thought about Sadie.
Mr. Bates absorbed all of her attention without even saying a word. He raised their joined hands and led her onto the floor. Amazing how secure her fingers felt in his. They were both wearing gloves and she was not a small woman, but his hand engulfed hers and his grip was strong enough that it would be hard for her to escape should she want to.
That was as thrilling as it was frightening.
“You are looking very well dressed this evening,” she said. Unlike herself last night. “I can hardly believe you are the same man.” He certainly didn’t seem the same as the one who had watched her from the street. That man had been brash and rough. This one seemed refined and courteous, though both men sported roguish mischief in their eyes.
“I hope my efforts are pleasing?”
“And here I thought only braggart Scotsmen fished for compliments.”
He chuckled. “Braggart Scotsmen declare their beauty and pray you disagree so they can fight you.”
“You speak true there,” she said.
“I merely wish to not offend you with my coarse manners.”
He didn’t. His manners were perfect. And as for his attire, every stitch, every thread exuded elegance. Every inch conformed to his very muscular frame. His cravat was an exquisite cascade of brilliant white folds, his points stretched rakishly high, and his hair waved a la Brutus in a dashing spectacle. And that was nothing compared to the way his trousers hugged his lower half, thick muscles encased in black. Most women claimed to admire shiny Hessian boots. Not her. She couldn’t care less about the footwear. She swooned after the corded breadth of his thighs and the power in his every step.
What she wouldn’t give to see this man in a kilt.
He caught her around the waist but didn’t pull her indecently close. Too bad. She wanted to feel more of his strength when they danced about the room, but she knew better than to allow it. Already she could hear whispers and see fans pointed in their direction.
“Do they know who you are?” she asked, her voice needlessly breathless. The music hadn’t even started yet.
“Some.”
