“Miss Atwater,” he heard himself say.
Diana flinched. “What? Who? I haven’t heard of her.”
As if hearing her own name called – which she hadn’t, of course, Alexander knew that she could likely hear nothing above the din of the ballroom – Miss Atwater turned to face him. Their eyes met.
Now or never,he thought, and lifted a hand to greet her. She lifted her own, hesitantly, half glancing over her shoulder as if unsure whether he was waving to someone behind here. Alexander strode forward.
Graham was still ensnared in the crowd around the refreshment table.
Better move quick.
“Miss Atwater, are you not dancing?” Alexander managed, breathless. Diana had not, to his relief, followed him. She wasn’t quite foolish enough to shoulder her way into a conversation where she hadn’t been introduced to everybody.
“I… not this time,” the girl stammered, eyes large. “I do have a number of engagements to dance, though. Look.”
She lifted her wrist, dangling her dance card in front of his face.
“Abigail, whatareyou doing?”
At the sound of her aunt’s voice, Abigail snatched down her arm, red-faced.
Lady Caldecott materialized from the crowd behind her niece, fixing Alexander with a steely glare.
I thought we had an understanding,that look said.Why are you back here?
He glanced over his own shoulder, hoping that Lady Caldecott would see Diana and understand. The wretched woman had gone, though. There was no Diana to be seen.
It changed nothing, though. Alexander had told Diana that he was going to dance, and so he had to dance. Abigail was eyeing him curiously, standing entirely too close. No doubt it was just the crush of the crowd, but itdidmake him feel uncomfortable.
Not a bad sort of uncomfortable, to his horror, but a prickling sort of attraction, something that made him want to reach out and put his hand on the smooth, pale green satin of Abigail’s evening gloves.
Stop it!
Ignoring Lady Caldecott’s glare boring into his head, Alexander addressed himself to Abigail.
“Care to dance, Miss Atwater?”
Something crossed her face. Surprise, perhaps? Excitement? It wasn’t as if she could refuse him, not without giving up the opportunity to dance for the rest of the evening.
“Of course,” Abigail managed, a bit too late. She didn’t, he noticed, look at her aunt at all. “Here is my dance card, and…”
Alexander waved the thing away. “I thought we dance right now. For the set which is just starting.”
She blinked. “Right. Well, if you’ll just write your name…”
“No time,” he said abruptly, well aware that he was not acting like a proper gentleman but not able to summon up the energy to care. With poor Lady Caldecott’s eyes almost popping out of her head, Alexander snatched Miss Atwater’s silken glove and towed her away towards the dance floor.
Just in time. They’d only just taken up their places when the music began in earnest, and the dance began.
A waltz, Alexander realized with a sinking heart. He cleared his throat, glancing down at his partner.
Abigail was looking up at him with that curious, intent look on her face again.
“It’s a waltz,” he said.
“Yes, I know.”
“Do… do you have permission to dance the waltz?”
