‘My lord, I declare, what could you have said to put my unflappable cousin to the blush? She is long past maidenly confusion.’
‘You ought to have brought me hot milk, not champagne,’ murmured Sophy. ‘And where did I leave my ear trumpet?’
Lord Rothley’s lips twitched. Susan responded as if she had made the sally.
‘It is unkind of you to unsettle her. I think the least you can do is leave her in peace and partner me for the next dance. Sir Julius Wragby was my last partner, and he was not nearly so good a dancer as you are, my lord.’
Sophy, knowing the strength of her mother’s objection to Lord Rothley, felt both guilty and in a predicament. She could not suddenly be aloof and cold with him after the last few minutes. The only answer that came to her mind was not what she would wish, but her only solution.
‘But cousin, Lord Rothley has just solicited my aged hand for the next dance, presumably before I am reduced to so geriatric a state that anything beyond creeping slowly across the floor is beyond me. Please hold my champagne for me.’
Lord Rothley did not, by so much as a muscle, indicate surprise at the lie. Susan looked thwarted, but not vanquished, and took the glass automatically.
‘Then, sir, I hope my cousin does not tread upon your toes so much that you cannot lead me out for the following dance. I know it is rather forward of me to ask you, but you are so obliging I am sure you will take pity upon me.’ She gave him a look which was an odd mixture of butter would not melt in her mouth and clumsy adolescent coquetry. He was not sure why he gave in to it, but there was something about Miss Tyneham that drew him to her.
‘Pity was never such pleasure, Miss Tyneham. I would be delighted if you would honour me with the next available dance. Now, Lady Sophy, if you lean upon my arm, we might make it to the floor before the set finishes forming up, do you not think?’
He smiled at her and offered his arm. He said nothing until facing away from Miss Tyneham.
‘So, are you going to tell me why you cut your cousin out? I would swear you had no inclination for dancing until the irrepressible little madam treated us to a performance.’ His lips twitched.
‘I had as well ask you, sir, why you let her have her way?’ Sophy could not give him a logical answer.
‘To tell you the truth, I am not entirely sure. There is something bizarrely attractive about such repellent behaviour, perhaps.’
‘So you do not intend to become one of her acolytes, Lord Rothley?’
‘Me? No. Was that your fear? Are you dancing with me to “protect” your cousin? That makes me wonder how I have been portrayed to you, ma’am? As a wolf that preys upon little lambs, even bold ones?’ A frown crossed his features.
Sophy was glad the dance parted them before she had to answer. It gave her a chance to formulate a response.
‘I have not heard such a calumny, my lord.’
‘There is that large, silent “but” again, ma’am.’
‘I … I was trying to prevent her foisting herself upon you.’
‘By “foisting” yourself in her stead? That does not ring quite true.’
‘She can be very trying.’ Sophy did not look him in the eye.
‘Oh, I have little doubt of that, but, you know, I do not think I look the sort of man that could not handle a minx like Miss Tyneham. Do I?’
‘No.’ She could not add to the lies.
‘Which leads us back to my first question, not that I think you wish to answer it. I wish I knew why.’
She looked at him then, and the perplexity on his face seemed so very genuine, as though he really did regret that she did not trust him enough to tell the truth.
‘I am glad to dance with you, you know. Your cousin makes it a pantomime; you make it as natural as breathing.’ He smiled.
She blushed at words and tone combined.
‘Yet you accepted the pantomime.’
‘Yes. You might thank me too, for if I had refused, how long would you have had her complaints ringing in your ears that you had “stolen” her partner?’
‘I am developing a thick skin when it comes to my cousin.’
