Page 2 of Regency Whispers: Scandalous Matches

Jane’s eyes flicked to her companion, wondering if he would let it slip that she had been fleeing the ballroom.

‘Carelessness on my part, I am afraid, Lady Mountjoy,’ he said, inclining his head in greeting. ‘I wasn’t looking where I was going and barrelled into Miss Ashworth.’ He smiled at her and Jane felt the full force of his charm. ‘A thousand apologies, Miss Ashworth, please forgive me.’

‘Of course,’ Jane murmured.

‘Have you been introduced to Mr Stewart? No?’ Lady Mountjoy beamed, and Jane felt as if a lead weight was sitting in her stomach. ‘Miss Jane Ashworth, this is Mr Stewart. Mr Stewart, this is Miss Ashworth, one of the young ladies who accompanied me to London this year.’

‘Delighted to make your acquaintance.’ Something sparkled in his green-blue eyes as he looked at her and Jane got the impression he found everything in life a little amusing. There was a certain warmth to his smile that sought to draw one in and an air of merriment she hadn’t come across often.

‘We are honoured to have you attend tonight, Mr Stewart, I have not seen you at one of these events for a long time.’

Jane’s curiosity was momentarily piqued, and Lady Mountjoy must have sensed it, for she propelled Jane forward a few steps with a light touch on her lower back.

‘Miss Ashworth is free for the next dance if you would care to take to the dance floor.’

‘Miss Ashworth?’ Mr Stewart murmured, showing no chagrin at having been so deftly manoeuvred into offering a dance.

‘I have somewhere...’ Jane began, choking back the response as Lady Mountjoy elbowed her gently in the ribs. ‘I suppose a dance would be pleasant. Thank you.’

With an amused expression on his face, Mr Stewart held out his hand and led Jane to the dance floor where the other couples were beginning to assemble. As the music began for the dance, Jane sent up a silent prayer of thanks that it wasn’t a waltz. She wasn’t the most skilled at dancing, but the lively steps of a quadrille or cotillion were much more forgiving to disguise the odd misstep or stumble.

‘You are frowning, Miss Ashworth, do you not like the dance?’

Jane looked up and missed a step, grimacing as she planted her foot on Mr Stewart’s toes. He barely reacted, and his face remained impassive, but he couldn’t suppress the flicker of surprise in his eyes.

‘I like the dance,’ she said, focussing on the numbers in her head as she counted her steps.

‘Perhaps it is the company you find taxing?’

She stumbled again and Mr Stewart effortlessly caught her elbow and whisked her into the next turn. A chain of uncharitable thoughts started to run through Jane’s head and she had to swiftly silence them. It wasn’t Mr Stewart’s fault he was attractive, charming and good at dancing. Some people were blessed in the endeavours that society found important, others were not. Usually it did not bother Jane that she found the idle chit-chat at balls difficult to engage in, and that her dancing wouldn’t have anyone madly clamouring to partner her, but today she wished she had just a little more grace.

‘I have to count my steps,’ she said through clenched teeth. ‘And I frown when I concentrate.’

‘Ah. What happens if you don’t count your steps?’

‘I wouldn’t be able to dance.’

‘I don’t believe you.’

‘You think I’m here counting steps and treading on your toes for fun?’

Mr Stewart laughed, throwing his head back and letting the laugh rip through him. Jane looked around uncomfortably. People were beginning to look. Nothing about this evening was going to plan and Mr Stewart was not helping.

‘Come,’ he said, waiting for her to meet his eye once he had stopped laughing. ‘Clear your head of all those numbers and all the nonsense your dance tutors taught you and feel the music. Feel how it flows through you and then put your trust in me.’

‘I barely know you. Why would I trust you?’

‘I am asking you to trust me with a dance, Miss Ashworth, not your life.’

She grumbled under her breath but realised the quickest way to get rid of Mr Stewart and his enthusiasm was to play along. Soon the dance would be finished and, if at that point he realised what a truly terrible dancer she was, she was hopeful he would leave her alone. Then she would find a way to slip away and find some peace in the rest of the house.

‘Fine. My head is clear.’

‘You’re lying.’

Her eyes shot up to meet his and she saw the determination there underneath the sparkle of humour.

Leaning in closer, he spoke quietly, his breath tickling her ear and sending shivers down her spine. ‘I can see your lips moving.’