“Do you often dance with your eyes closed?” Her voice was lilting, but at least she didn’t laugh outright.
“No, I do not.” His spine stiffened, and he started countingbeats again.
She didn’t press him, and after a moment, she relaxed back into the place she had been before—unaware of the world around them, simply following his lead and taking pleasure in the moment.
Nicholas did not follow her there. One of them needed to be mindful of those around them. And it had to be Nicholas. He went back to his counting and perfect steps. He’d have time to speak to her later, at dinner. For the moment, he’d concentrate only on executing a flawless waltz. Lady Mercy remained fluid, turning and dipping at the slightest of suggestions from Nicholas’s fingers. Waltzing wasn’t hard for Nicholas, but Lady Mercy made it particularly easy, as if moving to the beat of three counts was as simple as breathing.
The music stopped long before he was ready to finish dancing and long before he’d expected it to.
Nicholas led Lady Mercy to the dining hall. She had been at his side for two dances. Her delicate hand resting lightly on his arm should be familiar by now, yet it was anything but. The smallest of movements from her heightened his senses. Every place she touched him felt as though the universe lived in that space. If Mother’s singing had kept him from concentrating on his work, what would having a lovely, vivacious woman in his home do to him?
Perhaps this whole marriage idea was a terrible one.
But a connection to Lady Mercy’s family and the legitimacy a wife would bring to his title must outweigh his discomfort. Especially since he didn’t want to give up the chance to connect himself to the brightest spot in any room.
He pulled back Lady Mercy’s chair, and after she sat, he took the seat next to her.
She tipped her head toward him. “Thank you.”
Two simple words, but whispered only to him. “You’rewelcome.”
It was as if the two of them talked off a script. He was going to have to ask Ottersby for conversational advice. No, that was a terrible idea. Ottersby wasn’t any better at conversation than he was. Worse, perhaps. But who else could he ask? Lord Bryant?
He would rather spend the rest of his life as a bachelor, listening to his mother sing.
Lady Mercy started removing her gloves, and his brain malfunctioned again.
She didn’t do it gracefully. Instead, she ripped each glove off as if they had been suffocating her hands. She dropped them on the table without a second thought. He had a sudden vision of her arriving home after any outing, exuberant and impatient, pulling her gloves off with her teeth. He shook his head. It was a ridiculous thought, as if he could know how this woman acted in her own home. Still, he let his eyes dip to the tips of the soft leather of her gloves, and sure enough, there was a tooth-sized mark on the index finger of her right-handed glove.
Lady Mercy removed her gloves with her teeth. Was that the type of woman he wanted to marry?
She reached for her gloves and then set them in her lap gently, as if she had remembered where she was, and smiled up at him as though she hadn’t just exposed an intimate detail about her life.
A tiny, delicate chain of silver hung on her wrist. It was so different from the bulky jewels she typically wore. Throughout supper, the bracelet continued to catch his eye. He asked if she would like meat and served her when proper, but other than that, they hardly spoke to each other. As he placed a pudding on her plate, he turned to her. “Your bracelet.”
Her hand covered it, and her eyes went wide as if she were surprised it was even there. “Yes?”
“I like it.”
And then she laughed.
Men and women turned at the sound of it. They always did. He always did. Lady Mercy’s laugh was like a spring bubbling up from out of a mountain side. As surprising as it was refreshing.
He tipped his whole body to one side in the chair and lowered his voice. “What is so amusing about me liking your bracelet?”
She tried to soften her smile, but pulling her lips together simply made her cheeks tighten in a cheeky, conspiratorial manner. “Mama is convinced the only reason you noticed me at the Stafford ball was because of the emeralds.”
Ah. “I suppose you didn’t tell her about our other meeting then? In the corridor?”
“Heavens, no. I was trying to listen in on Papa. I couldn’t tell her about that.”
She had been trying to listen in on her father? Why? Was the man trying to be rid of her? That is what she’d been listening for, wasn’t it? Parents trying to get rid of their children. “It wasn’t your jewelry that made me notice you.” Not any jewelry that was made by man, at any rate.
Lady Mercy’s eyebrows lowered, and she tipped her head to one side like she was expected him to expound. But he’d burn down this building before admitting that her skin had kept him up at night. She raised an eyebrow, and he suddenly found the silverware to be quite fascinating.
A moment later, Lady Mercy sighed and continued on without her answer. “Well, Mama and Papa are very grateful you did notice me. Even if you do like my maid’s gift better than the emeralds my father gave Mama.”
Her voice had the slightest hint of sharpness in it when she mentioned her parents. Lord and Lady Driarwood had seemed extremely loving. Not at all the type that are in a hurry to rid themselves of a daughter. But if they were? He caught her face in profile as she smiled at a woman across the table from her. Whatif he hadn’t been there in that corridor that evening? What if she had met someone else? Whoever it may have been would have become enchanted by her. It was impossible not to be.
