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“Look,” she said, pointing to the right.

During the last few minutes, the music had ended, and couples were leaving the dance floor. Mr. and Mrs. Markham walked by. Henry had not seen them since the birth of their son six months previous. They were followed by aging Lord Bolton with newly out Miss Brownlow. Then came Lord Culham, a gentleman whose reputation as a gambler was superseded only by his notoriety as a philanderer. And on his arm was Miss Norton.

Henry stared. Tiny white pearls winked from within the dark curls piled on her head. Ringlets fell to her shoulders. Her gown, a cream-colored creation that floated with her every move was somehow both striking and unpretentious. She was, in a word, stunning. And she was being escorted across the room on the arm of the very worst kind of man.

“Why is she dancing with Culham?” Henry’s question was remarkably audible given his clenched teeth.

“Because he asked her. As did Mr. Poltock, Mr. Morris, Lord Atwood, and Colonel Eastberry before him.” She eyed him meaningfully. “You were not here.”

At some point during this exchange, Henry had fisted his hands. Now he made a conscious effort to uncurl his fingers. Aunt Millward was right. He could not blame Culham or any of those other gentlemen for asking Miss Norton to dance. Nor could he fault her for agreeing. But what he could do was influence her next choice of partner.

“If you will excuse me, Aunt Millward,” he said, “it seems that I have inadvertently neglected Miss Norton and must set things right immediately.”

Above the top of her fan, his aunt’s eyes crinkled. “You are excused.”

Culham appeared to be taking his time returning Miss Norton to the edge of the dance floor. He was also standing too close to her for Henry’s liking. Setting his jaw, Henry closed the distance between them with long, deliberate strides. There were undoubtedly other gentlemen planning to ask Miss Norton to dance as soon as Culham stepped aside. Henry would simply have to act before that occurred.

“Good evening, Miss Norton.” Henry circled Culham, coming to a stop before the couple. Miss Norton’s forward momentum faltered. Out of the corner of his eye, Henry caught Culham’s frown, but his attention was on the young lady. He bowed, and she offered him a warm smile.

“Mr. Buckland. How lovely to see you!”

Lud. It was no wonder the gentlemen at this assembly were clamoring to dance with her. A smile like that was enough to make a man’s knees weak.

“I did not realize you were acquainted with Miss Norton, Buckland.” There was no mistaking Culham’s irritation. Henry ignored it.

“We met before she came to London,” Henry said. It was stretching the truth a little, but they had at least spoken to one another. And claiming a prior acquaintanceship with the young lady felt necessary in the face of Culham’s obvious interest in Miss Norton. “Indeed, if she would do me the honor, I would like to request the pleasure of the next dance.”

Culham raised an eyebrow, eyeing the short distance between them and the edge of the dance floor. If the gentleman truly cared about propriety, Henry might have felt a pang of remorse for taking Miss Norton from him before he returned her to her place among the other ladies. As it was, Henry knew that Culham had about as much respect for etiquette as an untrained puppy and was considerably more designing. The sooner Miss Norton was removed from him, the better.

“I would be delighted, Mr. Buckland,” Miss Norton said.

With a poorly disguised glare directed at Henry, Culham inclined his head toward Miss Norton. “It seems that my time with you has been cut short, Miss Norton. But never fear, I shall seek you out again.” He raised her hand to his lips.

“You are very kind, sir.”

Culham had yet to release her hand. A small line appeared along Miss Norton’s forehead, and then she tugged her hand free. Henry immediately stepped forward to offer her his arm. Relieved when she took it, he paused only long enough for Miss Norton to bob a brief curtsy to Culham before leading her away.

Chapter 9

Emily suppressed a shudder. Lord Culham had been all politeness and charm. Too much politeness and charm, in fact. Somehow, she’d managed to match his banal pleasantries and ignore his excessive compliments for the duration of the minuet, but when the music had ended and she had no longer needed to focus on the dance steps, both had become significantly harder to endure. He reminded her of the shiny apples that fell to the ground in the orchard at Dunsbourne Manor. It was only when one picked them up and turned them over that the seemingly appetizing fruit revealed its hollow interior and maybe even a maggot or two.

“Are you well, Miss Norton?”

Mr. Buckland’s concerned voice shook her from her unpleasant thoughts. “Forgive me. Yes.” She tightened her hold on his arm. “I have yet to thank you.”

“If I have done anything worthy of your thanks, I am grateful, although I cannot think what it could possibly be.”

It was probably very bad form to tell him he had saved her from spending any more time with a maggoty apple. But it was disturbingly tempting. She glanced at him, and he raised a quizzical eyebrow, the corner of his lips pulling up into a half smile.

“Are you not going to tell me? In truth, since Aunt Millward has already reproved me for being negligent this evening, I could use a feather in my cap—no matter how small or bedraggled.”

She laughed and felt the tension ease from her shoulders. Here, at last, was a gentleman she could converse with about something more than the weather or the size of the assembly.

“It would have to be a rather spectacular feather to outdo the ones Lady Finchley is wearing tonight,” she said.

He looked intrigued. “Is that so? What is so remarkable about Lady Finchley’s headwear?”

“Aunt Millward tells me they are ostrich feathers,” she said, unable to hide her wonder. “I’ve never seen feathers so large. Not even Aunt Millward’s peacock feathers can compare.”