Page 27 of The Earl’s Hoyden

“And leave Leaf to suffer his own devices?” He grinned.

The expression she gave him was one of faux admonishment. “You know I couldn’t.”

It was his turn to chuckle. “And how is the furry chap?”

They repositioned their hands on one another as the tune subtly shifted, so her delicate touch was on his shoulders. Together, they deftly twirled around the center ballroom, her footsteps light and graceful over the glossy wood floor. Each shift of her body was discernible beneath her gown and his gloves, granting him a sensual tease he had not been expecting.

“Leaf is a barn cat through and through,” Miss Bexley replied with a huff of exasperation. “I tried to have him sleep in my room after he nearly tumbled to his death, and he cried all night at the window. Wild little beast. I kept him there until his paw was fully recovered, but he wasn’t at all grateful for the disruption to his life.”

Lucien could imagine Miss Bexley and the stubborn creature as she tried to cajole and heal the cat. He couldn’t help but laugh out loud.

“It isn’t all that funny,” she said with a smile blossoming on her face. “Or perhaps it is.”

A comfortable silence fell between them as they stared into one another’s eyes. The music altered once more, and they walked side by side, a brief respite to catch their breath.

“So, tell me, Lord Brightstone.” Miss Bexley watched him imploringly. “How could you possibly feel you are deficient in conversing with ladies?”

He lifted his shoulder. “I never know what to say.”

“There haven’t been any delays or uncomfortable pauses in our discussion. I confess I’ve been enjoying our banter.”

Banter?

Ah, yes, the playful back and forth that seemed so easy between them. He had never engaged in banter with anyone else before. At least, not that he could recall.

It was rather amusing. Something he would not mind indulging in again in the future.

“It’s easy with you,” he replied. “Because you’re…”

He almost said charming but stopped himself at the last moment, uncertain if she would presume that he was attempting to flatter her, to woo her. If he needed her help, it would not do to have her suspect he wanted more than the friendship they had established.

“Kind?” she replied.

“I beg your pardon?” he asked as he took her hand overhead once more, twirling her to the lively tune.

“Talking is easy with me because I’m kind,” she supplied. “Is that what you meant to say?”

“Yes, of course.” He smiled at her, but strangely she didn’t return the gesture. Instead, she glanced away, and the easiness between them crumbled.

Clearly, he had said something wrong.

“When you speak with a woman while dancing,” she said in a measured, thoughtful tone, “the polite topics are the weather, fashion and non-political events about London, but not gossip.”

“And if they gossip?” he asked dryly. Because the ladies with whom he had endured dances with previously always gossiped.

Always.

She grimaced and shrugged as they came to a stop. “Endure it for civility’s sake?”

He sighed, and she chuckled. “It’s not all that bad,” she scolded.

He arched an eyebrow at her mirth. “So you say.”

“Come, I’ll pretend to be a lady you’re interested in.” Miss Bexley squared her shoulders as they clung to one another and spun in the dizzying waltz. After clearing her throat, she gave him a doe-eyed stare, her lips poised in a caricature of a smile. “Lord Brightstone, how good of you to ask me to dance.” Her voice rose and fell with great inflection, like an overdramatized actress.

A snort sounded in the back of his throat.

“I’ll pretend not to be offended by that,” she supplied haughtily.