Page 106 of Courting the Country Miss

At the far end of the room, a radiant, smiling Leticia danced with—Tristan ground his teeth—the Duke of Suttenberg. Perfect. Another paragon for competition. In the same circle danced Lord Bradbury and Captain Kensington. Tristan almost cursed. Hours after telling Tristan he was an unforgivable rake, Leticia danced with his main competitors, none of whom had behaved in a rakish manner in their entire lives.

Of course, Kensington hadn’t been a saint in his younger years, but his exploits never labeled him a rake. He’d come home from the war decidedly subdued, so of course the ton viewed him as a mysterious and well-mannered war hero. At least Tristan didn’t have to compete with him any longer. Practically tapping his toes in impatience, he waited until the set ended. Before Suttenberg returned Leticia to her aunt, Tristan stepped up. He gave Suttenberg a polite if curt nod and focused on Leticia.

Tristan held out a hand and gave her his most disarming smile. “Dance with me, I beg you, or I might expire on the spot.”

Suttenberg chuckled and faded into the background.

Leticia’s expression turned from startled to amused. “You needn’t be so theatrical, you know.”

He grinned. “Sometimes I cannot help myself.”

Returning his smile, she looked into his eyes. “It pains me to tell you this, but the next one is the supper dance, and I’ve promised it to Lord Bradbury.”

Bradbury! Tristan faltered. If he’d found her sooner, but no, he’d been walking the streets of London, almost succumbing to the lure of his old ways before he came to his senses. Then he’d had to change into his evening attire and dancing shoes before he dared appear at the ball. To top it off, he’d had difficulty finding her in this crush.

“I see,” he managed.

The image of Leticia waltzing with Bradbury, in such an intimate position, and then bathing him with her smiles and favoring him with her company and her rich laughter all through dinner made him want to hunt down Bradbury and challenge the man for a fisticuffs match. As satisfying as that sounded, such measures would not win Leticia’s favor. A more subtle approach, then.

Her smile faded. “I’m sorry, Tristan.”

He drew a steadying breath and focused on everything he loved about her, which made it easy to smile at her with sincerity. “The last dance of the evening, then. Or I really will expire on the spot.”

She seemed breathless and she looked down. “Of course—for the sake of your life.”

Bradbury arrived then, slipping in between them and taking her hand. He cast a dismissive glance at Tristan. “Barrett.” Then he turned his back on Tristan and held out his hand as the first notes of a waltz filled the ballroom.

The proverbial gauntlet landed at his feet. Tristan said under his breath, “May the best man win.”

With his brows raised, Bradbury glanced over his shoulder at him. Tristan stared back, all boldness. After a startled pause, Bradbury swept Leticia into his arms in waltz position though the music had yet to start. Grinding his teeth, Tristan moved back to Elizabeth standing in the company of several ladies. Tristan singled out the shy young Miss Seton, offered a proper bow, and invited her to dance. As they waltzed, he teased a smile out of her by making wild claims of their winnings at whist and becoming a formidable partnership. It helped him to keep from staring at Leticia as she waltzed and later dined with another man.

After supper, Miss Seton thanked him for being her dining companion, adding, “I know you would rather have been with someone else, but you were kind to spend this time with me.”

As he tried to deny it, Miss Seton added, “You’re a fine gentleman, Mr. Barrett. I hope you get your heart’s desire.”

Sheepish, Tristan took his leave of her. Back in the ballroom, he sought out the hostess and begged a favor. With a smile, and a wink, she agreed. Tristan danced every set with wallflowers and each time placed himself near enough to dance with Leticia as the formation moved. Once, Henrietta caught his eye, and she gave him a puzzled, hurt frown. He did his best to avoid looking at her.

At last, the final dance began. A waltz. Tristan grinned at the hostess for agreeing to his wish. He wound through the crowd to Leticia. Bradbury stood next to her, close and possessive. That must be Tristan’s cue.

Tristan tugged at the end of his waistcoat, and stepped up to her. “I believe this last one is ours.” He held out a hand.

With an apologetic glance at Bradbury, she put her hand in Tristan’s. As the music began, she lifted her brows. “Another waltz?”

“How fortunate for us,” he murmured.

She cocked her head to the side. “Did you arrange that?”

“Of course I did. I refused to be robbed of an opportunity to waltz with you.”

“And why is that so important?”

“A chance to hold you close.” He held her gaze, willing her to see the truth.

Her eyes widened. She took a step back, but he caught her hand and led her to the floor, drawing her into waltz position. Her breathing quickened as they danced. He held her no closer than he ought, no closer than strictly proper, but every breath, every rustle of her skirt, every motion, heightened his senses until he expected to shatter into a hundred pieces.

“Come riding with me tomorrow, Tish. Early in the morning.”

“I-I can’t. I have calls to make.”