Too late he realized his mistake. Lady Tesh’s too-knowing eyes narrowed on him. “Fine manners are all well and good, Peter. But it is the things that lie deeper in a man’s heart that determine a true gentleman.”
He couldn’t help the question that tumbled from his lips. “Such as?”
“Such as a man who would make it a point to put a young woman at ease and take lemonade instead of tea. Or a man who would wander over hill and dale just because a sentimental old woman wishes it. Or an even greater example, a man who would run out into a storm to save a young woman’s life with no care or concern for his own.”
Heat suffused his face, his gaze sliding away. “You read too much into small things.”
She was silent for some time. “No,” she murmured, “I don’t think I do.”
The music ended then, the wave of bodies exiting the floor preventing him from making a response. Which was just as well, for he hadn’t a clue what to say.
Lenora, Redburn, and Margery returned to their side. “I vow,” Redburn said with a jovial smile, “I have not had so much fun in longer than I care to remember. The idea to come to this subscription ball was genius, Lady Tesh.”
She chuckled. “Coming from such a worldly man, who has seen his fair share of elegant London balls and soirees, I shall take that as the highest compliment.”
Lenora, Peter noticed, was silent throughout the playful exchange. She seemed to watch them happily enough, a small smile curving her lips. Yet there was something off about it. She looked like a china doll, with nothing behind the cheerful expression.
“Miss Hartley,” he said, taking a step closer, just stopping himself from reaching out for her arm, “do you require a beverage?”
She blinked, appearing as if she were awakening from a dream. She flushed, her smile faltering. “I’m well, thank you,” she murmured, not looking at him.
Her dismissal shouldn’t sting, yet it did. But if it was space she wanted from him, he would give it to her. Clenching his hands into fists, he retreated a step. Redburn’s attention, however, had been snagged by their quiet exchange. “I do think Ashford is right, my dear. Allow me to fetch you some punch.”
Before she could reply, he was off, threading through the crowd.
Peter stared after the man, a haze of red obscuring his vision for a moment.My dear?When the blazes had that started? A moment later, he dragged in a deep, steadying breath. They were to marry. What was it to him what the man called her?
Redburn returned in short order, carrying not only the promised cup of punch, but matching cups for Margery and Lady Tesh as well.Of course he would.
The four of them talked and laughed, while Peter did his best to ignore them. Soon a new set began to form. Redburn held out his arm to Lenora. “Shall we, my dear?”
“Of course.” She smiled, placing her fingers on Redburn’s arm, and he made to lead her away.
“Just a moment there, Lord Redburn,” Lady Tesh called before they had taken even a step. “You cannot mean to dance again with our Lenora.”
He smiled that sickeningly cheerful smile at the viscountess. “How can I not, when Miss Hartley looks so fetching tonight? She quite outshines the rest—”
“Yes, yes,” Lady Tesh interrupted, waving her hand in the air. “But that is neither here nor there. The fact of the matter is, you cannot monopolize her time all evening long. It isn’t done. Even in such a small place as the Isle.”
Peter’s smug satisfaction was cut short as she turned her sharp eyes on him. “You can take her out, Peter.”
Peter gaped at her before looking at Lenora. She was staring back at him, her expression a mirror of the horror that was coursing through him. And in a flash, he remembered a dark ballroom, her hand in his, the feel of her waist as he guided her to unheard music. And then her mouth hot under his, her soft gasps echoing in the cavernous room.
“No.” The word came out harsh and desperate. “That is,” he continued in a much more controlled tone, “I don’t plan to dance at all this evening.”
“Nonsense,” Lady Tesh scoffed. “I’ve seen you dance before. There’s no earthly reason why you cannot do so again.”
“I cannot.”
“Why?”
“Because…” His gaze flew about, searching for a reason, any reason, he could give. Finally he settled on, “I injured my shin. Against a low table.”
The viscountess pursed her lips. “I don’t recall hearing about such an injury.”
“I didn’t wish to worry you. It’s minor, after all. But,” he said, a tad louder as the older woman opened her mouth to argue again, “it’s enough to prevent me from dancing.”
Margery intervened, giving him an apologetic smile before looking at the viscountess with mild reproach. “Gran, don’t force the man to dance if it pains him.”
