Page 4 of Puppy Christmas

“She lives in a faraway kingdom,” Emily interrupted with all the certainty of a six-year-old safely ensconced in her father’s arms. They were strong arms, too, not wavering under their burden even once. “Were you at the ball, too?”

“As a matter of fact, I was.” Lila glanced at the clock on the opposite wall and held back a sigh.

As much as she would have preferred to stay hiding down here for the rest of the night, she was eventually going to have to suck up her pride and face the ballroom. Patrick would still be there, of course, but some things couldn’t be helped.

“I should probably get back there before anyone notices I’m gone, but…” She cast a look down at her attire and bit her lip.

“But you can’t possibly go without an escort?” Ford offered. Even though his arms were already taken up with Emily, he managed to crook an elbow at her. “It’s the least I can do after you rescued my daughter. She doesn’t take to just anyone, you know. You must be something special.”

“Oh, I’m really not—” Lila began, more flustered than she cared to admit. She couldn’t tell whether it was the girl, her father, or the dress that was making her feel most out of her depth, but the room was definitely spinning around her.

“If it’ll help, I promise not to smile any more than absolutely necessary,” Ford said with a shake of his elbow. “It’ll be nothing but frowns and glowers as far as the eye can see.”

Because he wore a particularly attractive smile as he said this, Lila wasn’t fooled. She didn’t have a chance to call him on it, however, since he winked and turned his face toward Emily. “I specially requested The Hokey Pokey from the orchestra. It’d be a shame if we missed it.”

“Daddy!” Emily protested with a giggle. “You did not.”

“Of course I did. Why do you think it took me so long to come find you?” He gave up on the elbow and dropped a liberal kiss on Emily’s cheek instead. “I also asked them to play the Macarena, YMCA, and, I’m sorry to say, Gangnam Style. Emily doesn’t have the most sophisticated taste. I, on the other hand, am an arbiter of great music. I made sure to add the The Chicken Dance to our lineup.”

“The Chicken Dance?” Lila echoed. She thought of the string quartet that had been hired for the evening and suppressed a laugh. She’d known the violinist to throw his bow at anyone requesting a composition not written before the eighteenth century. “I don’t believe you.”

She should have known that playing into this man’s nonsense was a mistake. The moment the challenge left her lips, he turned to her with a lift to his brow. That debonair arch was all that was needed to take his tuxedo from attractive to full-on devastating. “Are you sure about that? I can be very persuasive when I put my mind to it.”

She didn’t doubt it. She also had no plans to stick around and find out for herself. Even if she was in the habit of picking up strange men and their daughters—which she wasn’t—there was the small matter of work to get back to.

“Well, I don’t know The Chicken Dance, so it’s no good asking me to join you,” Lila said primly. “And before you ask, I don’t know Gangnam Style or the Macarena, either.”

Ford gave a gentletskand shook his head. “You seem sadly unprepared for a dance party like this one. What do you know?”

She thought quickly. “The waltz.”

“How very princessy of you,” he murmured with an appreciative twinkle in his eyes. As if suddenly realizing he was still holding a child in his arms, he gave Emily a light shake and added, “Isn’t that right, moppet? All royalty should waltz.”

Emily’s only response was a giggle and a request for her father to put her down. “I’m okay now, Daddy,” she said as she began wriggling out of his grasp. “I promise.”

He allowed Emily to slide down his side until she was planted on her own two feet. That, apparently, was yet another mistake, because she immediately bounced over to Lila and grabbed her by the hand. She gave a strong tug, which meant that unless Lila was willing to wrench a child’s arm out of its socket, she had to take a liberal step in Ford’s direction.

If Ford Ford looked good, he smelled even better. He wasn’t, like so many of the other men upstairs, doused in expensive cologne. Instead, he carried the light scent of aftershave and what she could have sworn was peanut butter.

She was so distracted by this bizarre yet compelling combination that she missed it when Emily took her father by her other hand. Without waiting for either of them to guess what she was up to, she took herself out of the equation. That left only the pair of them, standing much closer than was appropriate, their fingers lightly touching. Every instinct Lila had warned her to jump back, but something about Emily’s wistful expression gave her pause.

“Pretty please will you waltz with my daddy?” she asked. “I never saw a princess dance in real life a’fore.”

There was something especially beguiling about the way Emily made the request. She didn’t wheedle or plead, the way Lila always assumed children of her age did, and she didn’t resort to a tantrum. She just blinked up at them with an expectant look in her big blue eyes. Her face was still puffy and red from her earlier tears, her careful hairstyle now falling around her ears.

Waltzing in a pink ball gown with a man she didn’t know was the last thing Lila wanted to do right now—or, you know, ever—but at the sight of those innocently tumbling curls, she felt herself faltering. She caught Ford’s eye.

Had he turned to that easy flirtation again, said something dashing and ridiculous, she would have turned him down. She had places to go and people to avoid, and it wasn’t in her nature to place herself in situations where she felt this far out of her depth.

But he looked almost as embarrassed as she felt, his grin turned rueful. “I’m not very good, but I’m game if you are.” He gave a tiny shrug of one shoulder. “What can I say? She’s never seen a princess dance in real life before.”

Lila didn’t bother demurring further. How could she? At this point, she had nothing else to lose. She was already wearing the dress. She’d already fled the ball in shame and disgrace. And she already knew what—or who—was waiting for her upstairs.

It’s not as if this night can get any worse.

“Why not?” she said and gave what she hoped was a regal bow of her head. “I’d be delighted.”

She was rewarded with a dazzling smile from Ford and a yank on her hand. She was propelled into his arms, which came up to provide a frame worthy of any dance teacher’s beginning waltz instructions.