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“Very well,” he said. “I am not sorry. I do not give a fig about your slippers, and you ran into me.”
Her eyes rounded. If he was not so aware of how green they were, he would have allowed himself that smirk finally. He struggled to pinpoint the color and could not fathom why such a matter had become important. Who cared if they were leaf green or sea green?
Her chest rose and fell in the periphery of his vision, straining against the seams of her dress. Very well, not quite in the periphery because he could not help but glance down. He loathed the stupid confines women of society put themselves in. She should be dressed in loose cotton, something that flowed about her curves in a gentle caress.
A picture he did not need right now. His gaze snapped up and he forced himself to maintain eye contact. If this woman could learn one lesson today, it would be that not everyone was cowed by her rank and wealth.
“You must be about the rudest man I have ever met,” she declared.
He shrugged. “Perhaps.”
“Who on earth do you think you are?”
“No one of consequence.” He gave a tilted smile. “Which means I do not care if you believe me to be the rudest man in the world.”
Her reply was cut off by a sudden rush of people from the ballroom. They barged past like the ocean swirling about a rock. She was implacable, to be sure, her firm stance at odds with the far-too-appealing softness of her figure and features. He could not spot a single part of her that did not warrant touching, from the even lips to the curving cheekbones to her slightly upturned nose.
She frowned as more people pushed past. “What is going on?”
He took the arm of a young gentleman. “Where is everyone going?”
“They found a body,” the man declared with far too much delight.
“A body?” Mrs. Whitaker’s face paled.
“You should stay here,” Valentine ordered. He might not care about her slippers but even he did not think a lady should see a body, especially if this was more than some old chap having danced too much and given himself a heart attack.
“Certainly not.” She twisted away from him and pushed through the crowds.
He grimaced. This was his chance. He could escape the ball and pretend he’d never set eyes on her.
The cluster of people swarmed around the side of the building toward the stables. He followed the duke’s daughter toward the circle of people and her complexion grew ghostly when she stopped at the edge of the crowd. Valentine shoved his way through, took her arm, and tried to urge her back.
“This is not a sight—” He stilled when he caught a glance of the body on the ground and his heart slammed against his ribs.
It was not just a body. It was his footman.
Who was also his nephew.
