Page 21 of The Earl’s Hoyden

She hid the sting of his words behind a smile. “I’m glad to have given it, especially when my counsel was put to such ideal use.”

“Would you care to take a turn about the room with me?” he asked, offering her his arm.

She tilted her head to observe the dancers forming in a line for a Scotch reel on the dance floor. “Would you not care to dance instead?”

“I don’t dance.” While his smile held a note of apology, the steely determination in his eyes indicated he wasn’t sorry enough to change course.

“Don’t you?”

“Well, I admit, I don’t care to.” He lifted his shoulder in a casual shrug. “I prefer not to subject myself or my dance partner to my poor attempts at conversation while on the dance floor.”

She nodded as if she understood, though clearly, she didn’t. How could anyone not enjoy dancing and conversing?

Dancing was spinning and twirling, and, for one brief moment in a sea of tight-laced civility, it was freedom. Truly, she ought to teach him to be a proper dancer more than alter his attire, but she had been through this waltz of becoming involved with a man who saw her only as a friend before.

It would be best for her heart to abandon the man to his own devices.

“Will you take a turn about the room with me?” He asked again, not letting the matter go.

She ought to decline the invitation and join her friends or even her mother. Except that Lord Brightstone had been so very kind to keep her mishap last month to himself. And so it was that she nodded in agreement and slipped her hand into the warm crook of his arm, which was quite strong and firm beneath her touch.

Not that she ought to notice such things.

The slight scent of him was at once familiar, shaving soap, the aroma of books and that pleasant spice.

Not that she ought to notice such things as how decadent he smelled either.

Relief washed over Lucien. For a moment, he had worried Miss Bexley would decline his request, especially when she looked so longingly toward the dance floor.

The hope in her eyes as she regarded the couples lining up for a Scotch reel had him feeling like quite the cad. And perhaps he truly was one.

At the very least, he could have forced himself to endure one dance.

Now, however, she was tucked snuggly against his arm, the citrus notes of her light perfume whispering at the edges of his awareness in a way that made him want a little more.

Perhaps she wished to be dancing with Lord Ranford again. The very thought left a strange sensation tightening in his chest. Seeing the two of them whisk around the dance floor was what had finally broken Lucien’s hesitation about approaching her. He wanted her company, her candor and that alluring laugh.

Her gaze skimmed over him now, not with interest, but with the assessment of a tailor. “I truly am impressed with your new attire.”

Lively music began to play, filling the ballroom with a well-timed tune.

“I couldn’t have done it without your assistance.” He spoke louder to be heard over the musicians and led her to the outskirts of the room. It did not escape his notice that several people watched as they ambled by.

“And what do you think of your new look?” she asked. “Do you like it?”

Her question took him aback with the thoughtfulness to consider how he felt. “I confess, it is rather uncomfortable. My looser garments were far more to my taste.”

To his surprise, she laughed—that carefree tinkle of joy that seemed to make the entire room glow a bit brighter. A matronly woman nearby frowned in Miss Bexley’s direction. The blatant show of disapproval left Lucien with a palpable need to step in front of Miss Bexley protectively.

Especially when Miss Bexley lowered her head, evidently chastened by the woman’s rudeness. The display of Miss Bexley’s shamed acquiescence to the strict rules of society vexed him. Why must she squelch her delight if it suited her to share it with the world?

But as soon as the thought entered his mind, he knew exactly why. It was the same reason he endured his snugly fitted clothes. The same reason she was in a stiff silk ballgown with bits of itchy lace at the cuff of her puff sleeves and along the neckline of her bodice.

To satisfy the burden of society’s rules of which they both must comply.

She looked beautiful, of course, with azure ribbons in her curled hair to match her gown and making her eyes stand out as blue as the deepest ocean. Except that he was acquainted with a different woman, one who stripped off her bonnet at the first opportunity and whose hair was not sculpted coils of glossy copper but wild, fiery waves. There was a freedom to her he had admired greatly when they’d met in the country, and he hated the idea of her carefree nature being tamped down by the heavy bonds of the ton.

“I like your laugh.” He said it so abruptly that he rather surprised himself.