“That is not—”
“Miss Corbet?” Lord Oliver’stonish drawl cut through Nick’s more belligerent one. “I believe this is my set.”
She gave him a blinding smile. “It is indeed, my lord.” And just in time. She’d been about ready to kick Nick Beresford, and that would have brought down someone’s wrath on her, or broken her toe, maybe both. “Lord Beresford”—she curtseyed—“please excuse me.”
Nick didn’t say a word, but his sharp brown gaze followed her to the dance floor.
“Who is that fellow?” Lord Oliver bowed before taking her hand.
Was that suspicion in his tone, and for what reason? Silvia’s temper hung by a thread, and she wasn’t about to put up with another difficult man this evening. She looked straight into Lord Oliver’s eyes, challenging him. “Someone I know from my home county. Why?”
“No reason.” His tone was softer now, placating. “I thought for a moment he meant something to you.”
“Not at all.” Less than nothing. A mere thorn in her side. They took their places in the line. “I wish to enjoy the dance and not think about him.”
“Your wish is my command.” Lord Oliver smiled, but it didn’t touch his eyes.
They went through the complicated movements of the cotillion. She really had to get ahold of her temper around Nick. Why did he infuriate her so? Every time he was present, it was as if all her nerves were being rubbed raw. Not only that, he was the only person she had trouble being civil to, and he wasn’t even the most irritating person she knew.
She glanced at Lord Oliver. He was handsome, sophisticated, charming, and completely false. It had taken her a while to put her finger on exactly what it was that was off about him. He laughed, flirted, and smiled, all without any emotion. She would prefer Nick to Lord Oliver.
Good God, what was she thinking? Nick was the last gentleman she wanted to be with.
The back of her neck itched. As she made the next turn, Silvia glanced around. She should have known. Nick. Lounging against one of the many columns separating the ballroom from the deep alcoves where the older ladies sat. With him was a man she’d never seen before. Nick stared back at her, and she looked away. It wouldn’t do at all for her to allow Nick Beresford to think he had anything other than her disdain.
“You’re staring at her again,” Hawksworth commented.
“I’m just making sure nothing happens to her.” Nick dragged his gaze away from Silvia Corbet. Damned chit. Ever since she had turned sixteen, he had not been able to get her out of his head. They had talked of marriage, yet now he was expected to try to wed Vivian Beresford. Although there probably wasn’t much chance of that happening, she was doing an excellent job avoiding him. What the devil was he supposed to do?
“And what, exactly, do you expect to happen to your young lady on Lady Framingham’s ballroom floor?”
Blast Hawksworth. Nick growled. “She is notmyyoung lady.”
“So you say, but whoever she is, what do you think will happen to her?”
His eyes had strayed to Silvia again. “I don’t trust Lord Oliver.”
“Well, you have a point there.” Hawksworth finished off his wine and gave the glass to a footman. “He’s said to be playing deep recently.”
That didn’t bode well for Silvia. “Is he into the money-lenders?”
Hawksworth made a point of inspecting his glove. “I don’t know, but I could find out. If it’s important to you, that is.”
“No one else seems to be watching out for her, so I suppose I’d better do it. Where the hell is her chaperone?” Nick pretended to study the room, but Silvia was the only one who commanded his attention.
“Over in the northeast quadrant of the ballroom speaking with Lady Bellamny.” Hawksworth shuddered.
“Isn’t she your godmother? I wish you would stop acting like a blasted fop.”
“Not a fop, dear one.” Hawksworth flicked an imaginary piece of lint from his jacket. “I have decided to be an Original. I’ll take part in all the sports, but at the same time dress as well as the Dandies. My valet agrees I shall be able to replace Brummell.”
Nick started to scowl, but laughter shot out. “You’re as bored as I am.”
“Much, much more so.” Hawksworth lowered his quizzer. “At least you have your estate to keep you busy, while I’m supposed to pretend to love the Season.”
“I’m surprised the duke isn’t trying to get you married.”
“You really do not have a wonderful grasp of my family.” Hawksworth raised a sardonic brow. “Now that I have proved my ability to lead men, I am supposed to dance to my father’s tune. An heir is the last thing he is concerned about. Did you know he began naming the boys in Latin numbers because there are so many? Aside from that, I have always had the feeling he does not care for me as much as he does for my brothers and sisters.”
