His smile sharpened. “And does His Grace permit all gentlemen to be so thoroughly chastened by you?”
The words were spoken lightly, but too lightly. Frances felt their impropriety at once. They suggested what they did not dare say. They presumed upon her situation, her marriage, the rumors which had attended it, and the curiosity that still clung to her name like burrs to a hem.
She opened her mouth. She had a reply ready… a very good one at that, but it never left her.
Warmth settled at her waist. Andrew had stepped beside her so smoothly that Frances had not heard him approach. His hand rested against the silk at her side, and with the smallest pressure he drew her nearer, as though the space at his side had always belonged to her and he had only just remembered to claim it.
Frances’s breath caught. Andrew did not look at Mr. Langley first. He looked at her.
“Will you dance with me?” His voice was low and perfectly calm.
Frances ought to have been annoyed. She had been ready to defend herself, and she did not enjoy being rescued from a battle she had not yet lost. But his hand was still at her waist, and there was something in his expression that softened the sharpest edge of her pride.
“Yes,” she said without thinking.
Only then did Andrew turn to the young gentleman. “Excuse us.”
It was politeness stripped to a blade.
Mr. Langley bowed. “Of course, Your Grace.”
Andrew led Frances away.
“You interrupted me,” she murmured as they joined the forming set.
“I did.”
“I had an answer prepared.”
“I have no doubt of it.”
She glanced at him. “Then why interfere?”
The music began before he could reply. They moved into the dance, and Frances was obliged to wait. That, she decided, was the chief inconvenience of dancing: it imposed delays precisely when one wished to argue. They parted, turned, crossed, and came together again with all the graceful tyranny of the figures. Every time Andrew’s hand touched hers, she felt it. Every time the dance separated them, she found herself counting the measures until he returned.
At last, the movement brought them close enough for speech.
“Should I speak to him?” Andrew asked.
Frances looked up. “To Mr. Langley?”
His gaze remained fixed upon her. “Unless there is another gentleman here in need of correction.”
She nearly smiled. “Correction?”
“I might teach him some manners regarding how one speaks to ladies.”
The calmness of his tone made the threat worse.
“You will do no such thing.”
“Will I not?”
“No.” Her cheeks warmed despite herself. “I can take care of myself.”
His hand came to her waist as the figure required. Then tightened slightly. No one watching would have noticed. Frances noticed. She felt the pressure through silk and stays and every foolish inch of herself.
“You should not have to,” he said.
