“Your Grace?—”
“Captain,” he corrected her.
“Captain. I do not think this dance requires quite so tight a grip.”
“Doesn’t it?” he said. “I am only seeking to make you feel secure.”
“I assure you,” she said, “I felt quite secure before.”
He loosened his grip somewhat, but his eyes remained fixed on her face in a way that was most uncomfortable. He was encroaching upon her in every possible sense, and she was growing thoroughly tired of it.
“I think we should dance the next set as well,” he announced as the music drew to a close.
“I think not,” she replied. As they came to a stop, she attempted to walk away, but he grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her back.
“I think we should. I think it would be good for you.”
“How do you presume to know what is good for me?” she replied.
“Well,” he said with a shrug as some dancers departed while others lingered awaiting the second set, “I may not know you personally, but I am well aware of your history. I know that for a young lady such as yourself, it is very difficult to find a match after such an unfortunate situation as what has befallen you. You ought to be grateful for the attention I am paying you.”
“Grateful?” she said. “I should be grateful that you are treating me as though I am your possession? Having a broken engagement by no means suggests that I must settle on the first person who shows me any kind of interest, especially when that person has proven himself no gentleman.” She met his gaze squarely, and if he thought her all abroad on the matter, he was very much mistaken.
“You should be glad to have someone as charming as me paying you any attention. Shabby behavior, some might say, to rebuff a man so.”
“Excuse me,” a deep male voice came from her left. “I think I shall cut in,” the voice said with confidence.
She turned and let out a small gasp. Standing next to her was Julian Wycombe, Duke of Lynden. She had not seen Julian in perhaps two years or more, but she recognized him at once.
Her dear friend, Arabella, was his cousin, and Clara had spent much of her childhood at his estates, both here in London and in the country. They had played together when they were younger though he was nine years older than her, and thus, such games had stopped long ago—the interests of a twelve-year-old being simply not the interests of a one-and-twenty-year-old. But still, she had fond memories of him, and the fact that he was stepping in now spoke well of him.
“Excuse me, I don’t know who you think you are,” the Captain said. He raised his quizzing glass and looked Julian up anddown with undisguised contempt, as though he were inspecting something he had found on the bottom of his boot.
“I think that I am a duke, and you are not even titled. I also think that it would be in your best interest if you stepped away now and allowed me to dance with the lady before I am compelled to make a scene. I am, after all, a person of some consequence in this room. I wonder, can you say the same?”
The Captain narrowed his eyes, but he took a step back and raised his hands. “Very well. I shall leave you to it.” He walked away, and as he went, he cut her direct, which told her everything she needed to know about his character.
She exhaled. Justice. The music started, and Julian placed his hands on her. “I think we should dance,” he said. “Otherwise, it will only look peculiar.”
“I agree,” she said, and the two of them fell into step. The second dance was slower, and she was relieved to find that Julian’s hands were resting just where propriety required with precisely the right amount of pressure.
“I could have managed perfectly well myself,” she said. “There was no need for you to step in.”
“I am well aware. However, it was beginning to look rather unseemly, and given everything, I thought it prudent that I should.”
“I see you still fancy yourself a proper savior as you always did.”
“And I see,” he said, a faint smile at the corner of his mouth, “that you are in fine looks tonight, despite having only just arrived back in London. Scotland appears to have agreed with you.”
She blinked. She had not expected that. “You are at points with me already, and we have barely spoken two sentences,” she said.
“On the contrary,” he replied, “I meant it as a compliment. Though I can see how a ninnyhammer such as Lansdale might have put you on your guard.”
“I have dealt with worse scoundrels than this one,” she said with a shrug as they took another turn.
“I have heard. I will say, your former fiancé was quite the swine.”
She gasped in an exaggerated manner. “A swine? What language for a duke.”
