Page 57 of The Season of Lady Chastity

As Comstock pushed to his feet, his hand pressed to his nose, Tamblerton helped him toward the side door—the same one he and his mother had entered through only a few moments before.

Murmurs erupted around Bastian, but he was only interested in making certain Lady Chastity was unharmed.

Pivoting, Bastian faced her.

His agitation fled when he took in her widened stare. Bastian had frightened her with his violent outburst. Was she now scared of him, too, putting him in the same category as Comstock and his cronies?

“Lady Chastity…” His words trailed off. No explanation for his behavior seemed to justify his actions. “I could not stand by and allow Comstock to treat you in such a manner. I am immensely sorry for putting you in the middle—”

She held up her hand, her dance card dangling from her wrist, to halt his rationalizations. Bastian was sensible enough to know that was exactly what they were, justifications and rationalizations for his brutish behavior. He was no different than Comstock. His anger had taken over, and he lashed out.

Chastity jiggled her arm before him, her dance card swinging to and fro.

It was time for Bastian’s stare to widen before narrowing on the list of names printed in a flowing script on her card. She hadn’t held up her hand to stop him from speaking. No, she’d been showing him her dance card.

Under Ruthven and Comstock was Bastian’s name.

Lord Mansfield.

Written on all the remaining lines.

“Lord Mansfield.” Her lips turned up in the most enchanting of smiles. An expression he’d quickly come to recognize as implicitly Chastity—diverting and impish—and he couldn’t help but grin. “I do believe you have promised we shall dance together for the remainder of the evening.”

“That is rather scandalous, my lady,” he replied.

“More shocking than thumping a man in the nose in a crowded ballroom?”

“I dare say, yes.” Bastian heard the crowd around them grow louder; however, he was lost in Chastity’s captivating bronze eyes. “Many would think it was I who wrote you the love note of sorts you clung to by the moat.”

Her eyes flared. “That note was not mine, my lord. However, if you were to wax poetic about my beauty, I would not be opposed.”

Bastian’s heart swelled, and he spoke—from his heart. “I would rather write of your wit and intellect.”

Chastity’s soft blush pulled at his heart. How could that rakehell, Comstock, ever think the woman before him was prudish and plain? Lady Chastity was anything but.

The musicians struck a chord to gain the attention of the crowd and likely distract them from the spectacle Bastian had created. Glancing toward the dais, Bastian could see Lady Camden attempting to start the dancing once more. Next, it was his mother, frozen in Doc Durpentire’s arms that earned his notice, and he nearly averted his stare to keep from seeing her disappointment. When she nodded at him, Bastian knew she approved…had always approved of him venturing out to find his own path in life.

Thankfully, that journey had led him to Chastity.

“My lord,” Lady Chastity said. “I do believe this dance belongs to me.”

Bastian held out his arm as every set of eyes in the ballroom watched them. Making their way to the dance floor proved simple, each guest stepping to the side to clear a path for Bastian and Chastity.

Lord Hawke and Lord Montrose inclined their heads as Bastian passed.

Their wives reached out to squeeze Chastity’s gloved hand and smiled.

On any other day, Bastian would have shrunk under the scrutiny of so many people. Instead, he held his head high, his grip on Chastity never wavering as they took to the dance floor.

Lady Camden clapped her hands excitedly, and the musicians began.

Not a cotillion or a Scotch reel, but a waltz.

Bastian drew Chastity as close as was appropriate, her floral scent enchanting him as solidly as her smile had only a few moments before.

It was Chastity who spoke first, and Bastian was happy for it. There was much he had to say, and none of it appropriate for a crowded dance floor where their every word was certainly being noted.

“You look dashingly handsome this evening, Bastian,” she said, her skirts flaring around her legs as they were both swept into the dance. “I had begun to think you’d left Oxburgh Hall without saying goodbye.”