He threaded through the crowd to Esme and her suitor.
Up close, she was even more arresting.The dark green silk fit well.A curl had slipped free at her temple, and her eyes held sharp intelligence.Her fan lay closed against her wrist.
"...and my steward has often remarked upon the clarity of my accounts," Watford was saying."A firm hand with ledgers reflects a firm hand in the household, Lady Esme."
"An admirable philosophy," James said, stepping into the circle."Without ledgers, where would we be?Forced to enjoy ourselves, I suppose."
Several heads turned.Watford's jaw tightened.
"Lord Redford," he said."I was not aware you'd arrived."
"My apologies, Watford.I feared the room might sink under the weight of so much respectability without my corrupting influence."Redford turned to Esme."Lady Esme, you are the only person in this ballroom who looks as though she has retained possession of her soul."
Her lashes flickered."Do I look so very mutinous, my lord?"
"Only to those acquainted with mutiny."
A spark lit in her eyes—amusement, relief, diversion.
"Lord Watford was explaining," she said, "that proper penmanship is the foundation of domestic harmony."
"Indeed?"James adopted an expression of grave interest."Then I have underestimated the power of ink.The tragedies I have witnessed in gentlemen's clubs over smudged totals would move you to tears."
A breath of laughter escaped her.
Woodmere's gaze sharpened."Redford, my sister promised Lord Watford the next dance."
Watford flushed.“If…if Lady Esme is still inclined?—"
James shook his head mournfully."How unfortunate.I have just staked a guinea on your brother being wrong at least once this evening."
Esme's brows rose."You have made a wager on my brother's infallibility?"
"On its absence," James corrected."He assured me your card would be too full to allow a single dance with someone as disreputable as myself.I, naturally, could not let such a challenge stand."
"That is not what I said," Woodmere snapped.
"In effect," James said cheerfully."And what is friendship, if not a series of opportunities to prove one another mistaken?"
Esme's gaze flicked between them.
"I should hate," she said slowly, "to be the cause of your losing a wager, Lord Redford."
"Then perhaps," he said, offering his arm, "you will save me."
Watford looked stricken.Woodmere looked murderous.Esme looked, for the first time that evening, alive.
She placed her hand on James's sleeve.
"I suppose," she said, "one dance in defense of a gentleman's purse may be excused."
James's smile turned wicked."You are all generosity, Lady Esme."
As they moved into the forming set, the orchestra slid into a graceful figure.Taking her hand for the opening, he felt the strength in her grip.Not a woman who floated, but one who landed.
"Is this a habit of yours?"she asked, voice low."Inserting yourself into perfectly dull conversations and leaving chaos behind?"
"Not habit," he said."Calling."
