“But you must.” She stopped midway down the stairs. “You are the lord of the house.”
“With a bad leg.”
Her cheeks paled. She resumed climbing down. “My apologies. You look so strong and healthy, it’s easy to forget about your leg.”
It wasn’t for him.
When they arrived at the landing, the footmen pushed the double door that opened to the ballroom. Bright lights and loud music hit his senses. Amelia’s fingers tightened around his arm as the master of ceremony announced their entrance.
Ladies curtsied, and gentlemen bowed at their passage.
Benedict winked at him and smirked. Dorian offered a bow of his head. His gaze lingered on Amelia a bit too long for Christopher’s liking.
The muscles in his back stiffened as he crossed the room to the refreshment table.
“You need to say something to address your guests,” Amelia whispered.
Hell. Now he understood why his mother hadn’t agreed to raise him as a soldier. He’d missed all the lessons in etiquette. If Father hadn’t supported his choice, now Christopher would know what to do.
He skidded to a stop, and she bumped into him. Exactly the elegant and noble entrance he wanted to perform.
The music stopped, and even the maids serving drinks remained still.
Christopher coughed in his closed fist. “Thank you for being here tonight,” he said in a loud voice. “I’m glad you’ve come so numerous and joined me for tonight’s celebration. Please, continue.”
Before anyone could ask him to say more, he dragged Amelia towards the flutes of champagne on the table.
“You can slow down. I don’t think they’re chasing us,” Amelia said. Amusement dripped from her voice.
A smile twisted his lips up. He offered her a glass of champagne. “Public speeches aren’t something of my tastes.”
“I think you did very well.” She clinked her glass with his. “And the couches are lovely.”
The couches. He regarded the pale blue one tucked in a corner of the room. It was the couch where he’d kissed her.
Cowasj was basking in his moment of notoriety as a small crowd gathered around him. Dorian was nowhere to be seen, likely carefully tucked in a strategic corner from where he could see the entire ballroom. He could vanish when he wanted.
The temperature rose under his collar, and Amelia was standing too close. Music echoed in the domed ceiling while the guests started to dance. He barely recognised the room polished to star-brightness.
“The gentlemen will want to dance with you.” The words soured his mouth, but there was nothing he could do. A lady refusing a dance was considered rude, and she loved to dance.
“So the ladies with you.” Amelia tipped her glass towards a young woman, too young actually. She seemed barely fourteen. The child was giggling with other ladies and glancing in his direction.
“I’m sure that young lady will ask you to dance, and refusing means offending her,” Amelia said from over the rim of her glass.
“Ladies don’t invite gentlemen. It’s the other way around.”
“Oh, Chris. You’ve been away from society for too long. We’re nearly in the twentieth century. Ladies always find a way to dance with the gentleman they want.”
Cold sweat dripped down his back. Not bloody likely. He didn’t want to dance with a child. “Then I have to hide somewhere.”
“Hide?” A chuckle left her lips. “Are you serious?”
“Follow me.” He meant to take her hand gently, but in his haste, he almost snatched her away.
A laugh rose from her, a sound pure and crystalline that made him think about a swift brook in a forest.
“Excuse me. Sorry. Good evening. Sorry. Enjoy the champagne.” Christopher made his way through the crowd of smiling ladies and bowing gentlemen.
