Page 44 of The Trouble with Tweed

“On the contrary,” Claire said, “I have never found any joy in impropriety, and I don’t intend to start now.”

“Will you please grant me the length of the next dance in order to convince you otherwise?”

He gave a smile that some ladies might have found perfectly charming. To Claire, it appeared a cheap veneer over a poorly made piece. She had experience that other ladies didn’t—Claire knew how to spot a fake from twenty paces. Lord Nelson stepped forward again. Claire’s frown grew.

“I’m afraid my dance card is filled,” she said icily. Her tone and expression could leave no doubt as to how unwelcome his invitation was.

“Your sister is quite popular, but none of the rest of you have had any offers,” he hissed. “Do you really think that you’re in a position to reject a man such as me as a suitor?”

His cruel tone was a grotesque juxtaposition to the wide smile that still lingered on his lips. Perhaps if she’d been as sheltered as she’d once been, his words would have hurt enough to injure. As it was, she barely felt the sting. That didn’t mean she was going to stand for his intended cruelty.

Claire turned to face him fully. “I believe it would be a desperate lady indeed who’d agree to spend more than a single moment in company as odious as yours, Lord Nelson.”

There were several gasps around them. Claire blinked and looked up. She hadn’t realized that their sidestepping had brought them into earshot of a group of fashionable young ladies.

Lord Nelson dropped the pretense of a smile altogether. His eyes flashed in anger. “I’ll make sure you regret your lack of civility towards me, Miss Preston.”

He turned and stalked away through the crowd. Claire tangled her fingers together as whispers erupted around her. She didn’t know what she had done to earn his attention or his ire, but she regretted the whispers far more than what she’d said.

“What was that about?” Michael appeared and frowned after Lord Nelson.

Claire shook her head. “He asked for the next dance. He was…quite insistent.”

Michael’s expression blazed with fury for a moment before he controlled it. Claire had only seen that expression on his face a couple of times prior and wondered why Lord Nelson’s invitation would be the cause of it.

“Though gentleman in title, I don’t believe he deserves the moniker. I’d advise you to stay clear of him if you value your good reputation,” he said.

Claire lifted her chin. “You know that I’m capable of making such decisions for myself.”

“Then you accepted him?” Michael challenged.

“No,” she admitted, shaking her head. “I told him my dance card was full.”

Michael smiled at her as if the entire exchange with Lord Nelson was all but forgotten. “Is it truly? Or do you perhaps have a dance for me?”

Claire pressed her lips together to hide her very real pleasure. “Of course.”

Michael grinned and swirled her out onto the dance floor.

In the end, Claire’s dance card did fill up. Several of the gentlemen weren’t at all what she was looking for—too young, too irresponsible, or too boring. But there were a decent number of likeable gentlemen on her paper fan as well. She did wish that the Tweed set had spent a little more time practicing their dance steps, however.

Lord Saunders, for example, stepped on her toe twice. Claire smiled serenely and reminded herself of his vast fortune and his lack of interest in any other lady.

Then there was Lord Peel, who, though he remembered all of the steps, was exceedingly bouncy as he did so. It appeared that he was jumping through the entire dance, and the experience left Claire embarrassed and partly seasick. She managed to slip away on the excuse of getting punch but headed to the other side of the room instead.

Michael appeared at her elbow several moments later and offered her a cup of frothy pink liquid.

“Thank you,” she murmured, sipping the punch gratefully.

He gave a sly smile. “You looked parched. One can hardly wonder, what with all that jumping.”

“It wasn’t I who was jumping.”

Michael snickered. “Peel looked like he was trying to hoist you into the back of a wagon with every step.”

“That was hardly my fault.” Claire hoped the flush on her cheeks could be attributed to exertion, not embarrassment.

“Of course not,” he said easily. “You danced as gracefully as ever, and anyone watching could see it was an uneven pairing.”