“The quadrille, perhaps?” I offered.
He tilted his head, studying me. “So your first dance belongs to your intended, then?”
I flushed, unsure whether to confirm or deny. “He was ... placed there,” I said at last, “by my grandfather.”
Lord Chudley chuckled. “Then I shall consider myself warned. But Iwillclaim that later dance.” He bowed low. “And you, Miss Grenville, shall be worth the wait.”
Mr. Sinclair had already turned away, his stride clipped with intent. I caught myself watching him—and evidently, so did Lord Chudley.
With a glance over his shoulder, he followed my line of sight. “Mr. Grenville,” he said, clapping my brother’s shoulder with a laugh, “do tell your guest to consult Beau Brummell’s tailor.” Then, with a bow that skimmed the line between gallant and smug, he added before walking away, “I’ll fetch refreshments for the ladies.”
“Tell him yourself,” Edward replied under his breath.
At that moment, Mr. Sinclair approached, already bowing before offering me his arm. “Shall we?”
“We shall,” I said, glancing once toward Edward, who nodded his approval. There would be no escaping this dance—not with all eyes on us.
When the earl’s note arrived yesterday—a winsome request to attend the ball—Aunt had snatched it out of my hand, her expression alternating between pleasure and alarm.
“My, my. What a conquest for a Grenville with no formal debut,” she had said, fanning herself as if flustered. “But remember, Katherine, one dance per gentleman. Especially when you are practically engaged.”
Practically engaged? Neither Grandfather nor Mr. Sinclair had spoken further of marriage, to my knowledge, and no engagement had been announced publicly as of yet. For now, at least, I was free.
A vision of him—long hair untied and falling loose about his shoulders—suddenly filled my mind. The image startled me, its rawnessso at odds with his composed exterior. It felt... illicit, wild. I blinked, heat creeping up my neck. Where had such a thought come from?
“You look lovely. Like a star, if I may be so bold,” he said as he drew close, his voice low and smooth.
“Thank you,” I replied warily as I remembered his challenge on the moonlit balcony. “Do you waltz, Mr. Sinclair?”
“Occasionally,” he replied as his fingers curled around mine. “I hope you’ll find me adequate to the task.”
He placed his other hand at the small of my back, the contact firm but not ungentle. Those fingers tightened on my waist as he guided me through the steps.
“I confess, I’ve not danced in recent years.”
I raised a brow. “Should I be concerned for my toes, then?”
A flicker of challenge sparked in his eyes. “Not at all. I don’t believe I’ve ever let down a partner, and I don’t intend to start now.”
We swirled through the figures, his warmth undeniable and his confidence steady despite my refusal to marry him. I found myself studying his sharp profile.
“You’re determined to follow through with our family’s plans, Mr. Sinclair,” I said as we spun. “I suppose you enjoy a challenge?”
His hand shifted slightly on my waist. “Only when the reward is worth the effort.”
Something in my midsection fluttered. For the first time that evening, I was truly off-balance, and I wasn’t certain it was the fault of the waltz. Good heavens, but the man could spin! Not a single stumble as he led me across the floor.
I pulled in a breath to steady myself. “Do you not wish for freedom to make your own choices?”
He flinched. “I won’t lie to you, Miss Grenville, such freedom has its temptations. As you pointed out before, I, too, have no choice at present.”
My mouth parted at the blunt answer—so opposite to Lord Chudley’s flirtation. Instead of being repulsed, I found myself mildly curious.
“And I have not had the best record when I did make my own choices,” Mr. Sinclair added.
“Sir, if you are trying to impress me, this is hardly wooing language.”
He pressed his lips together. “I believe in absolute honesty, Miss Grenville. Surely you would prefer that to flattery and lies.”
