What was she to say, then? She couldn’t invent something— not with those clever blue eyes on her, assessing her every move.
That left nothing but the truth. Or a partial truth, at any rate. “I suppose Harriett is right, my lord. I don’t care for people staring at me.”
And they would, if she took to the dance floor at Lady Upton’s ball. They’d stare and smirk themselves into a frenzy, and it would be worse than it had been at Lord Powell’s ball last night.
Lord Fairmont wouldn’t understand it, of course. He’d laugh at her now, or scoff at her for being such a coward, and perhaps it was nothing less than she deserved, but somehow, she couldn’t bear to look into his eyes when he did it.
She dropped her gaze to the book in her lap and waited.
But the mockery never came.
“I’m not surprised at it, Miss Templeton. My aunt tells me thetonhas been unkind to the Templetons since your family’s scandal, but I confess I didn’t realize how bad it was until last night.”
She jerked her head up, her breath catching hard in her throat.
She’d heard Lord Fairmont speak condescendingly, and she’d heard him speak mockingly. She’d heard his voice heavy with arrogance, sarcasm, or irritability. She’d heard him bark orders in a tone that sent the servants scurrying.
But never, not once, had she ever heard him speakgentlybefore. Yet there was no other way to describe that soft inflection in his voice, that hint of compassion.
It was… dear God, he could coax the very birds from the trees with that voice.
“But it’s been six years since then, Euphemia,” he went on. “Six years is a long time to hide.” He hesitated but then reached out, and laid his hand over hers. “Allow me to teach you to waltz. Dance with me at Lady Upton’s ball, and show thetonyou’re no longer afraid of them.”
She wanted to. Oh, yes, there was a part of her that wanted to show them she didn’t care a fig for their sneers and smirks, to show them that they couldn’t cow her, but the truth was, shewasafraid of them. Six years was a long time, just as he’d said.
So long, she could no longer remember how to be brave.
Slowly, she drew her hand out from under his. “You’re very kind, Lord Fairmont, but I-I can’t.”
She stilled, waiting for his reply, but he said nothing for some time.
Then he rose without a word and made his way to the door.
But just as she was drawing a relieved breath, he stopped on the threshold.
“I’ll return tomorrow, and ask you again, and then again, the day after that. I’ll keep coming, Euphemia, and I’ll keep asking until you give me the answer I want.”
And then he was gone, closing the door quietly behind him.
Phee spentthe rest of the day fretting about… well, everything.
Arrogant earls, Lady Upton, theton, the waltz. She was so distracted that evenThe Devil’s Elixircouldn’t hold her attention.
It was an excessively long day, but by the time she retired to her bedchamber that evening, she’d mostly convinced herself that Lord Fairmont would grow bored with his game, and give up this nonsense about teaching her to waltz.
But alas, Lord Fairmont turned out to be as good as his word.
He appeared the following morning, and then again the morning after that. On the third day, she’d taken a breakfast tray in her room in order to avoid him, but when she’d emerged, she’d found him lounging against the wall across from her bedchamber, a smirk on his lips.
Every day, he asked again if he might teach her to waltz, and every day, she refused him.
On the sixth morning after Lord Powell’s ball, she woke very early and sneaked off to Lady Fosberry’s private parlor for her breakfast, but before she’d managed to take a single sip of tea, he appeared in the doorway, that same maddening grin twitching at his lips.
“Ah, here you are, Miss Templeton.” He dropped onto a settee, crossed one long leg over the other knee, and turned that penetrating blue gaze on her. “If I didn’t know it to be impossible, I might suspect you of hiding from me.”
“It hasn’t done me any good so far, has it?” No matter what corner she attempted to duck into, or what hallways she scurried down, he always seemed to find her.
He was nothing, if not utterly determined.
