Page 17 of 10 Things I Hate About the Earl

Ainsley slowly cocked his head. “Isn’t that the desired outcome of an invitation to dance?”

“Of course it is, jingle-brain. But when have you ever known your sister to be that gracious to me? She only agreed to stand up with me last night because of that stupid wager.”

“She told you about that?” With his mouth hanging open, Ainsley reminded Marcus of a gargoyle at Notre Dame.

“No, on-dit this morning from Aunt Alexandra. So I have you to thank for her ill-will toward me last night?” Marcus would’ve been sterner, but Miss Locke’s startling acceptance had him baffled.

“Guilty.” Ainsley shrugged. “You can’t blame me for trying.”

“Oh, yes, I can, and will, should your sister lay some devious trap to expose me to society while retaining her reputation.”

Miss Locke continued to smile and sway a bit to the music, as if anticipating the dance. If he hadn’t known her so well, he would’ve thought that was true. What the devil was she plotting?

“Well, you have no time to think about your next move as you are being called to a quadrille.” Ainsley gestured toward the floor then toward Marcus’s partner, still standing and smiling. Not impatient, not angry, not even a frown to mar her pretty face.

“Is that indeed your sister? I’d lay a wager she was not, but of course, I am out of funds.”

“It’s just as well you did not wager, as you would only have lost again.” His friend laughed and clamped his hand on Marcus’s shoulder. “She is my sister, and I made no threat nor bargain with her.” They walked back toward the entrancing figure in blue, still gazing over the sea of people with bright eyes. “Perhaps she has at last succumbed to your dash and charm.”

“Hah.” Marcus contemplated a disparaging comment, thought better of it, and turned his full attention back to Miss Locke, who stared up at him as though he were her North Star. Damn it. Someone was having him on, and he’d better find out soon if Miss Locke had laid a plan to make a fool of him, or if Ainsley had made this all up as some heinous jest. It had to be one or the other, considering he knew exactly what she thought of him. He stepped before his adversary and presented his arm. “I believe this dance is mine, Miss Locke.”

“Indeed it is, Lord Haversham. I was beginning to lose hope of you.” Words that normally would’ve been sharp with criticism held only a lilt of amusement. What was she really plotting for the evening with that engagingly sincere smile on her face? The woman was undoubtedly about to roast him like a tailor’s goose, and there was nothing he could do but try to deflect her barbs as best he could. Meanwhile, he would pray.

* * * *

Kate had dressed in her finest new gown, suffered Clarke’s ministrations over her toilette for almost two hours, endured her brother’s threats about her behavior on the carriage ride to the ball, and finally stood amidst the candlelight and sweating bodies with a pleasant smile plastered on her face. Her cheeks ached abominably after just ten minutes. A lot of pain and suffering to withstand; however, the object for whom they had been undertaken, Lord Finley, was indeed present. She’d glimpsed him when she and Nathan had entered the cramped townhouse. Now to attract his attention and hopefully gain a dance or two herself.

To her dismay, her conference with Celinda had been less than helpful. In the throes of ecstasy over a bouquet of flowers Lord Finley had sent her, her cousin had given her no assistance whatsoever with discerning three more traits she could dislike about Lord Haversham. And truth be told, she scarcely wished to continue the wager. But Nathan would make her pay the forfeit if she did not finish it, so she’d begged another day to complete the list and hoped to be able to discover something about the earl tonight she could add to it.

So Kate had surveyed the ballroom as soon as they’d managed to shoulder their way to an unoccupied spot out of the great crush. Really, Lady Carrolton should not have invited quite so many people. The crowd was monstrous. Shaking off that thought, she snapped her fan open and perused the gentlemen—plentiful for once, it seemed. Who could she signal to approach so they might ask for the first dance?

“Did you wish me to lead you in this set?” Nathan had returned from speaking to Lord Carrolton.

“I believe I can find a partner on my own merits, dear brother.” She smirked at him then tried to catch the eye of the very attractive Lord Merriweather. The young earl, however, seemed not to see her interest. Drat. She needed a handsome man for the first dance, one she could laugh and flirt with, and thereby draw Lord Finley’s attention. If she was vivacious enough, surely he would ask her for a dance? And not just any dance, but the supper dance. The main idea was to spend as much time as possible with his lordship.

“Suit yourself.” Nathan turned his back and began speaking to Lady Alice Braeton.

Kate looked about once more. Who was available? Almost immediately, she spied Lord Haversham and sighed a little guiltily. Thank goodness he had no idea of the disparaging thoughts she’d had about him all afternoon. Even in his ignorance, she doubted he’d ask her for another dance after her rude behavior last night. Not that he didn’t deserve some censure for treating his sister so callously, but stamping on his foot might’ve been taking things too far. Still, it was a pity he wouldn’t approach her. Even though she could not abide him, she had to admit he was a fine-looking gentleman. Dark hair, surprisingly bright eyes, and a striking profile made him one who would catch the eye of others when they paraded around the ballroom together.

Of course, there was Bertie, although he certainly wouldn’t have the same effect. Lord Somersby was dashing enough, but she did not want to get swept up into his tangled web. One dance wouldn’t hurt, perhaps.

Lord Camford would not ask her after their loud disagreement last Season, nor Lord Parkington, nor Mr. Reed. How had she come to disagree with so many young men? She turned hopeful eyes to Mr. Turner, with whom she’d danced and flirted quite often in her first Season.

The man stared back at her then raised his quizzing glass and abruptly turned away. Oh, dear. She had set him down rather strongly over his opinions on cattle. He simply had no idea how to discern good horseflesh from bad, and she’d told him so. Was she supposed to feign ignorance? Camford, Parkington, Reed, Turner, and now, likely, Haversham as well disliked her. She had managed to offend all the most eligible partis in the ton. A dreadful sinking feeling hit her stomach, and her mouth tasted metallic. She glanced about the room, where gentlemen were busily requesting dances of every young lady present. Save her.

She closed her eyes, suddenly weary. Her abominable tongue might just have doomed her to a life of spinsterhood.

“Miss Locke, delighted to see you.”

Kate jumped, and her eyes flew open.

Lord Haversham stepped from behind her where he’d apparently been speaking to her brother.

“And you as well, my lord.” She fought to regain her composure. Heat coursed through her body, and she plied her fan to cool her cheeks. Had he come to devil her some more? But no, even his greeting seemed mild-mannered enough tonight, no hint of sarcasm in his voice. So far. Of course, if she disparaged Lord Haversham again, Nathan might actually make good on his threat to leave her at home. Or worse, insist on that outing with Haversham whether she managed to complete her list or not. Perhaps she should try honey instead of vinegar to get a partner.

“The room is very warm, wouldn’t you say?” She fluttered her fan delicately. “I hope it will not be too warm, for I had so set my heart on dancing each dance tonight.”

“Miss Locke, I may not have acquitted myself very well as your dance partner last evening, but I beg you to give me one more chance to prove myself able.”