Page 54 of The Dangerous Lord

Felicity checked her dance card. “Oh, yes, I forgot. I promised him a waltz.” Thank goodness she’d been practicing with James. She’d begun the practices under the pretense of preparing James for adult life, but in truth, her lack of ability in that area galled her. It was one of many inadequacies in her character, skills, and appearance that tormented her of late. Ever since she’d met a certain viscount, to be honest.

“Lord Masefield seems enamored of you,” Sara commented. “He rarely dances twice with anyone.”

Felicity waved a hand dismissively, her gaze still on her dance card. “He likes to talk, that’s all, and I’m a good listener. It’s my profession, you know.”

In a strained tone, Sara said, “Ian seems to be coming this way as well.”

Felicity’s head shot up. Only a few paces behind Lord Masefield, he barreled toward them looking inexplicably grim. For a second, she hoped Miss Trent had said something to annoy him. Then she chastised herself for the thought. She wanted Ian to marry, so she could put him from her mind once and for all.

Lord Masefield reached them moments later. With a courtly bow, the handsome earl offered his hand to Felicity. “I believe this dance is ours, is it not, Miss Taylor?”

She cast him a smile that broadened as she saw Ian approach. “Indeed it is, my lord,” she said sweetly.

Taking his hand, she stepped forward, but Ian moved to block their path. “I’d like to claim the dance after this one, Miss Taylor, if you’re free.”

Drat the man! Not since their one waltz had he requested a dance, yet he expected her to fall down at his feet because he asked her now. Well, he could forget it. “I’m sorry, but my card is full. Now, if you’ll excuse us, Lord Masefield has this dance.”

Though Ian’s eyes blazed, he stepped aside with utmost politeness to let them pass. “I beg your pardon,” he said in a perfectly even tone, but she felt his gaze boring into her back as they moved away.

Indeed, Ian wanted to strangle her as he watched young Masefield and Felicity face each other for the waltz. Bloody idiot, that Masefield, a veritable copy of his idiot father. Neither of them knew enough to come in out of the rain. Masefield didn’t deserve to dance with her, and certainly not twice.

Sara approached to stand beside him. “Was that wise?” she asked in an undertone. “Asking her to dance when you’ve done so well to date?”

“Have I? I’ve stood up with more women than I can count, and I’ve yet to see her show any sign of caring.”

Sara arched an eyebrow. “I thought you were so sure of her.”

“I was. I am.” He speared his long fingers through his hair. “Bloody hell, I don’t know anymore. All I know is I couldn’t bear not touching her another minute, especially when that fool Masefield headed toward her. What is she doing with a full dance card anyway? I thought she was here to gather material for her damned columns?”

“That’s how she does it sometimes. You men always assume that only women gossip. But nothing is further from the truth.”

Masefield drew Felicity closer in the turn, and Ian scowled blackly. “Well, Masefield isn’t gossiping, is he? He’s got his hands all over her. You should warn her away from him. He’s only toying with her. His father wants him to marry an heiress, and he has the title to do so. Besides, he’s fresh from the schoolroom, barely more than a boy. He wouldn’t even know what to say to her if he got her alone.”

“Are you so sure?” Sara asked in a deceptively innocent voice.

He glared at her. She was laughing at him, the brazen chit, enjoying his fit of temper. The woman probably thought it meant something. What it meant was that he needed to bed Felicity Taylor before he exploded with need.

A need that had grown to mammoth proportions the minute he’d seen her enter tonight, wearing a most enticing scrap of fashion. With that gauzy material, it would take only a few tugs in the right place to render her naked. The sleeves clung to her shoulders for dear life, and the seductively draped bodice slipped down whenever she bowed to reveal a generous amount of golden bosom. It was a miracle the bloody thing stayed up. Every man in the place probably waited to see when it would fall. “Why don’t you caution her against wearing those flimsy gowns? She’s making a fool of herself.”

“I’ve seen no one laughing at her. And her gown is no more flimsy than mine.” Sara hid her face with her fan, but he knew she was smiling behind it.

“You’re a married woman—you can get away with it. But she’s unattached, and it isn’t the same. You should speak to her about that gown. It shows entirely too much of her figure. She’ll ruin her reputation.”

“As I recall, the only thing ruining her reputation so far is her association with you.”

Her tart words didn’t sit any easier on him for being true. “Well, I intend to remedy that by making her my very respectable wife. I’m tired of this game, Sara. It’s not working. I need a new strategy.”

Sara’s expression softened. “Ah, but it is working. She hides it, but she’s as jealous as you are. You should have heard her criticism of the incomparable Miss Trent.”

Her words mollified his temper only a little. “I can’t go on this way, paying court to women I don’t wish to marry. I long ago rejected half of them as possibilities, and the other half have fathers who’d never countenance my suit, even if I wanted the daughters. Which I don’t. She’s the one I want.”

“You must be patient⁠—”

“I can’t.” He had no time for patience. He must have a wife, and soon. And it must, it would be Felicity. “Surely there’s another way to secure her. I need time alone with her. A moment on the balcony in this crush will do me no good, even if I could get her out there. No, I need more time, enough to convince her she’s wrong about me.”

“Or enough to seduce her?”

He met Sara’s questioning gaze and considered lying. But Sara could detect that sort of lie from twenty paces. “If necessary.” He should have seduced her the last time he’d had her alone instead of taking a more subtle approach. Subtlety didn’t work on Felicity Taylor any better than threats. Or jealousy.