“Ashton.”
Michael bowed from the waist. “Embleton.”
The duke glanced at Clara but spoke to Michael. “Behaving yourself?”
“Above reproach, Your Grace.”
“Hm.”
The second and third couples took their spots, with Michael and Clara taking position as fourth couple, which would give them a few moments to get their bearings. The music, a spritely tune led by the violins, lifted into the air, the partners bowed to each other, and the first lady stepped off, reaching for the hand of the second gentleman opposite her.
Her slippers pinched, but Clara found herself moving through the steps with more ease than she had expected. The bouncy steps, in-and-out and circles, the star shape left her a bit breathless but exhilarated. Each “return to partner” meant a tight grip from Michael’s hand and a gleam in his eye as he focused on her face. He was a better dancer than he had led her to believe, his steps light and sure.
But as the dance ended, Clara saw the duke—who had seemed to favor his left arm during the dance—lean over and whisper something to Michael, whose face brightened with a smile. He gave the duke a sharp nod, and she saw his lips form the words “Monday” and “thank you” as he reached for her again. But her delight began to wane as he escorted her from the floor, dissipating entirely as her mother met them at the edge.
Honora glared at Michael but turned a quiet wrath on Clara, her words so low that even Clara barely heard them. But her expression left nothing to the imagination. “I spoke to you about this.”
“Mother, I—”
“Release him.”
Clara looked up at Michael, whose face had turned placid, immobile. “Michael—”
He slipped his arm away, took her hand, and kissed the tips of her fingers as he bowed to both of them. “Thank you, Lady Clara, for the dance. Lady Durham.” He stepped backward and turned, disappearing into a cluster of gentlemen, most of whom greeted him with pleasant nods.
Honora gripped Clara’s forearm with an unexpected force, leaning forward to whisper, “I told you to stay away from him!”
Clara jerked away. “Am I to disrespect the son of a duke on the ballroom floor?”
“You could have declined the dance. You have certainly done it before.”
The reference to Hadleyton felt like slap. “And you know how that turned out.”
“Wykeham is watching you.”
“He has been on the terrace for the past three dances, Mother. He’s conducting business and taking stock of the other women he is courting. He could not care less about me dancing with another man.”
“He certainly will care about you dancing with Michael Ashton. He told you to stay away from him.” Honora paused and some of the color drained from her cheeks. “What other women?”
“You know he warned me to stay away from Lord Michael but not that he is courting more than one woman? It was all part of the same conversation.”
Honora stared at her daughter. “What other women?”
“I was trying to find out when Lord Michael asked me to dance. That is why I know the duke is still on the terrace.” She lifted her dance card and turned it toward her mother. “Wykeham claimed his two dances—”
“It would be improper for him to claim more.”
“So I planned to see who else he danced twice with. I did not expect Lord Michael to be here, much less ask me to dance. No one else has, for which I am grateful.”
Honora frowned. “Why are you grateful?”
“Because these slippers are pure misery.”
“Small feet are more attractive.”
“Small shoes on large feet are agony. I will not do this again.”
“You will if he asks it of you.”
