Page 153 of Pride and Prejudice Resolutions

"I will not introduce you to a man who will use you and discard you." Richard was absolute. "I refuse."

"Then what do you suggest I do?" she demanded. "Stand here in grey silk until I fossilise?"

Richard opened his mouth. Closed it. Then, before his brain could stop him, he said, "Dance with me."

Her eyes widened. "Dance with you?"

"It will give you visibility." He already regretted the words. "Show the room that you are desirable. Make the other men jealous."

"Or it will make them think I am desperate."

"Or," Richard countered, "it will make them think that an Earl's son finds you worth his time. Which will make you instantly more valuable."

Her head tilted as she studied him. "This is still part of your scheme, is it not? Helping me find a husband."

"Of course."

"And you expect nothing in return?"

Everything. He wanted to demand answers. He wanted to know why she hid her kindness. He wanted to know if she wore grey because he told her to or because she was afraid.

But instead, he offered his hand. "Just a dance, Miss Bingley. Nothing more."

She looked at his hand. Then at his face. Then she placed her gloved fingers in his.

"One dance, Colonel. And then you will introduce me to Lord Fawlton."

"We shall see."

"That is not an agreement."

"It is all you will get."

He led her onto the floor, his heart racing. One dance with a woman who was not what he thought. And that country dance was a catastrophe in the making.

Not because Richard lacked skill—his mother had drilled proper footwork into him relentlessly. No, the disaster lay in the fact that Caroline Bingley was eyeing him as though he had suddenly grown a second head, and that head was reciting very bad verse.

They took their places in the set. Her gloved hand rested in his, tense as a drawn bowstring. The music began.

They moved through the opening figures in silence. Turn. Step. Pass. The dance required no conversation, which was just as well, since Richard's ability to form coherent thought had vanished the moment her fingers brushed his palm.

She was light on her feet. Graceful. And the grey gown she despised caught the candlelight and made her look like smoke given shape.

"You are staring," Miss Bingley said as they came together for the next turn.

"I am observing."

"It is the same thing."

"Observation is tactical," Richard retorted. "Staring is rude."

"And what exactly are you observing, Colonel?"

"You, naturally."

They separated, wove down the line, and rejoined. Her cheeks were flushed—whether from exertion or irritation, he could not say.

"You dance well," he admitted.