“Do I?” she asked lightly. “Then I shall rely on you to remind me of them whenever I stray.”
“You require no assistance from me in reproaching yourself.” He held out his hand. “Now, dance with me.”
Her eyes flicked over his shoulder, as if checking for witnesses. “It is a garden party,” she said. “Few people are dancing.”
Blaise looked around and noticed that.
“Then we shall give them something to imitate,” he said. “Unless you doubt your skill.”
Her gaze snapped back to his, warmed by a spark of offense. “I do not doubt my skill, Your Grace.”
“Then indulge me.”
Iris hesitated just long enough for him to feel the weight of her consideration, then set her gloved hand in his. It was the smallest of contacts, and yet his pulse jumped.
They took their place on the short-trimmed grass. The quartet, perhaps heartened by the sight of a duke moving to the music, played with more enthusiasm. Blaise set his palm at Iris’s waist; through the layers of fabric, he felt her heat and the breath she drew when his fingers settled.
Others began to drift forward. By the time they stepped into the opening figure of the dance, a half-dozen couples had joined them.
“I had not thought you a man for dancing,” Iris said as they turned. “You seem more inclined to sit in a corner and scowl at society.”
“I prefer to scowl while moving,” he said. “It gives the impression of energy.”
“Ah. Is that what you are doing now? Impressing society?” She raised a brow. “I fear you have chosen poorly if you wish to reassure them of your propriety. Dancing with the widow you are supposed to have evicted is hardly prudent.”
“Let them talk,” he said. “They will, regardless. We might as well give them something accurate to remark upon.”
“And what is that?” she asked softly, their hands meeting and parting as they wove through the steps.
“That we dance well together,” he said shamelessly.
Iris lowered her lashes. “Yes, I underestimated you.”
“And I misjudged you,” he said. “Tell me something, Little Blossom.”
“That sounds ominous,” she murmured.
“Why have you never remarried?”
Iris’s steps faltered by the smallest fraction before she recovered.
“After my husband died,” she said slowly, “it was as if I ceased to exist.”
“That seems… unlikely,” he said. “You are not easily overlooked.”
“You would be astonished at what society can fail to see when it chooses.” She adjusted her hand in his, fingers flexing. “At first, there were condolences, of course. Curious callers. People wanted to see if I would fling myself on the coffin or waste away decorously. When I failed to do either, the interest waned. A poor viscountcy in debt is remarkably unalluring, I discovered.A widow with no fortune and no influential family is remarkable only for her ability to be in the way.”
Just talking about it saddened her.
“But you had your father.” Blaise squeezed her hand as he spun her.
“Yes. And he is a dear man. But no one comes courting because a lady’s father is soft-hearted and hopeless with accounts. There were one or two suggestions, early on. Men whose fortunes had sunk slightly below respectability, who thought a house might be sufficient compensation for a perpetually uncertain income. But by the time word of our debts had crept through the right drawing rooms, even they were discouraged.”
She shrugged delicately. “And then… people simply stopped looking. I became useful, instead. A place to send old gowns to. Invisible, as widows often are, unless we contrive to misbehave.”
“You do not strike me as invisible,” he said.
“Because you barged into my house,” she replied. “You only noticed me because I was an obstacle.”
