Make it up to her.
Fee was right.
He could do that. The thought warmed him and he promised himself relief with this new tactic.
“Your lady is elusive tonight.” Fee was suddenly beside him.
He frowned. “Why aren’t you dancing?”
“I didn’t want to do this one. It looks ridiculous to be jumping about like a frog.” She cocked a brow. “Meanwhile, youshould be on the floor yourself. You must show her you are in demand.”
“I doubt she cares.” But Fee had spoken with Mademoiselle Bechard, and he wanted to elicit his savvy sister’s insights.
“But she does, Ev. I have seen what you could not.”
“Really?” He had been watching the lady every second he could without drinking himself to death or falling on his face while dancing with others.
Fee hummed in her excitement. “She watches you as you talk and laugh and dance.”
His breath should not skip at such news. “Perhaps she waits for a chance to slip a dagger between my shoulder blades.”
Fee barked in laughter.
He wrinkled his nose at her.
“I know, I know. I should not do that.” She fluttered her fan over her mouth. “But really, Ev. Find a way to satisfy her need to admire your face and form. She cannot get enough.”
He was the one to bark now. He would test his little sister’s theory. “The other day you said I needed to make amends to her for my actions in the Carlisles’ garden. Now you think I should present myself again and remain.”
“Precisely. Let her see the fullness of the man from whom she cannot look away.”
“She will love me or hate me.”
“Better to know which for you and her.”
A gentleman approached Fee and bowed. Halsey knew the fellow, mercifully younger than old Lord Edwards. He nodded his approval, and Fee went to the chalked floor with the man.
He was alone. He glanced over toward the Ramseys and found the lady he wanted. For a flashing second, her dark-brown gaze met his—and then she focused on another man.
Yes,he would find a way to plague Mademoiselle Bechard with his presence. Be one with her or be done with her.
He grinned to himself.
Then took himself off for that congratulatory whisky.
#
Inès managed a smile at her partner. Her shoes were too small, her feet swollen from his stomping on them with his huge feet. She could not leave him quickly enough. If she’d thought—even dreamt—back in Boulogne that ultimately she could survive the Londonton, she was certain now she would not survive the horrid hopping of country dancing—and this man with no rhythm!
“What’s wrong?” Amber asked her when the fellow had deposited Inès beside her and taken his leave. Her friend stood with her husband, Lord Ramsey, the tall, dark, and intense Godfrey DuClare. At any mention of a problem, this man looked instantly ready to slay any dragon. Some said his quick reactions were a result of his and Amber’s near-death experience with the likes of René Vaillancourt. Inès thought fierce Lord Ramsey had been born a dragon himself.
“What’s happened?” he barked.
Inès rolled her eyes. “I need new feet. A good chair and fewer people. Where do you think I might find that?”
Amber chuckled while her husband looked relieved. She pointed her fan toward the far double doors. “Through there you can find the ladies’ retiring room. Full of gossip. Another room with a card game or two. Sharks, all of them. Don’t try. A few doors down, you have the library.”
“That last,” Inès said as she pointed a finger at her friend, “is for me. Books and the night and the silence.”
