Page 9 of Reckless Desire

The dreaded dance card. She hated it. Back home, she danced with whomever asked. Here, she had to plan every dance, each conversation. Even a stroll in the park was a production.

“I have no dance card yet.”

“That means I have the honor of claiming your first dance,” he said.

“If the dance is a minuet, I cannot,” she said. He frowned, and Kenna hastily explained, “I do not know how to dance the minuet.”

His expression cleared. “If the next dance is the minuet, then we shall wait.”

She nodded. “Thank you.’

“Will you sit?” Lady Chastity invited.

He bowed. “Thank you, ma’am.” He sat on the couch opposite them. “How are you finding Inverness, Miss Ramsay?” he asked.

“It is very different in Skye,” she said.

“Indeed, it is,” he said.

“You have been there?” she asked in surprise.

“I have visited Dunvegan Castle.”

“You are friends with Laird MacLeod?”

He shook his head. “I am not so well connected. I have a friend who is a distant cousin. He invited me.”

“I have never been to Dunvegan,” she said.

“I shall take you one day,” he said.

Embarrassment warmed her cheeks. She would never be invited to Dunvegan Castle.

A man stepped into the alcove and halted.

“Mister Davis,” Lady Chastity said. “How wonderful to see you.”

“Ma’am.” He bowed. “My lord,” he addressed Sir Stirling; then, to the viscount, “Viscount Hensley.” His attention shifted to Kenna, and he said. “Good evening, Miss Ramsay. It is a pleasure to see you again. “May I have the next dance?”

“Miss Ramsay and I are about to dance,” the viscount said.

“The next, then?” the young man asked.

“One that is not a minuet,” the viscount answered before she could reply.

Mister Davis frowned—as did Kenna. Even amongst the common folk where she came from, a man did not answer for a lady.

“I beg your pardon?” Mister Davis said.

Another gentleman appeared in the doorway behind him. The young man twisted and looked over his shoulder. Kenna glimpsed his frown in the instant before he stepped out of the way and a tall gentleman entered. His wavy blond locks made her think of Thor, the god of thunder.

“Lord Wilshire.” Lady Chastity’s eyes lit. “When did you arrive in town?”

He took two steps to where she sat and bowed over the hand she offered. “Just today, my lady.” His eyes twinkled. “I hoped you would be here tonight.”

“Only Chastity?” Sir Stirling said. “I am wounded, William.”

“Your wife is far more charming than you, Stirling. No man notices you when she is in the room.”