Page 43 of Earl, Enemy, Husband?

‘It looks most elegant.’

Florence gave him a glance as if to say ‘I told you so’ and he couldn’t help himself; he grinned at her.

After a second or two of surprise, she smiled back. That smile, he understood. She was pleased with herself.

After all, it seemed things had all turned out for the best.

The band struck up a waltz.

‘Would you care to dance, my lady?’ he asked Florence with a bow. After all, this was their first outing since their wedding, and if they were to make their marriage seem real they needed to be seen to be in harmony, if not in love.

Love was not for him, but harmony, yes; he would settle for harmony.

Chapter Nine

When Florence had engineered the departure of Albert Campbell from her home and village, she had distracted her sisters from their disappointment by engaging a French dancing master from the nearby town of St Dunstan. An elderly gentleman with a bald spot on the back of his greying head and a large paunch, Monsieur Menoux had, however, not only been exceedingly light on his feet. He had also been a very good teacher, and Florence had availed herself of his lessons together with her sisters.

When the music started and Graydon led her onto the dance floor, she felt comfortable for the first time since she had walked into the Assembly Rooms. The surprise in Graydon’s eyes when he realised she could dance as well as he satisfied her enormously. She was being a bit petty, she knew, but twice tonight she had proved him wrong—about the jewels and now with regard to her ability to dance.

As they whirled and glided around the floor, she could see gazes turned their way, and not in an unfriendly way.

‘You were right about the diamonds,’ he said.

Astonished, she looked up at him. His expression was polite, almost bland, but his tone was sincere.

‘Cole worked out that the necklace came apart. The piece I left off forms a choker, should one wish to wear it that way, but I thought this part went better with this gown.’

‘It does.’ He sounded matter-of-fact and not the least bit angry.’

‘Thank you.’

He glanced down at the necklace. ‘I look forward to helping you unclasp it later this evening.’

The tone of his voice…hot, sensual, wicked…made her blush from her toes to the top of her head. She spent a moment or two gaining control of her breathing and her pounding heart. Surely he did not mean that as it sounded?

‘I expect you will need to put it away in a safe place.’

‘Hmm.’

His eyes glinted with amusement.

Oh, goodness, was this what he became when he was pleased about something—some sort of Lothario? A wolf ready to leap on his prey? She certainly felt very much like prey with that intense, dark gaze on her face.

She forced herself to look away. She concentrated on her steps. She had no wish to trip over her own feet just because he was looking as if he hadn’t had a meal in weeks and she was a tasty morsel.

Oh, surely this was a trick of her imagination? The man paid her a compliment and she began drifting off into flights of fancy, of unrealistic dreams. Theirs was a marriage of convenience and her whole purpose was to make sure her sisters had a good start in life. To give them the opportunity she’d never had to meet a suitable man and, if at all possible, fall in love.

Only…she could not deny it; this evening, she felt as if she might be half in love with her husband. Not only because he was the most handsome man in the room tonight, but because of the way he had actually admitted she was right and he was wrong.

That she had not expected. It was a very charming trait in a man, being commanding and yet open to listening to an opposing view. And he had been the same with the carriage, had he not?

The music began the closing bars and soon their dance would be over, but she would likely remember it for a long time to come.

She became aware of him staring at someone at the edge of the dance floor as the music stopped; for a moment the clasp on her hand had tightened. As he bowed and she curtseyed, she tried to make out who it was that had caught his attention.

A strikingly beautiful, blonde, blue-eyed woman in a lovely lavender gown with a ruffled hem draped to show a little of her lacy petticoat on one side, slightly lifted a hand towards him. Almost like a sort of secret signal of recognition she did not want anyone to notice.

Graydon had noticed. He looked pleased.