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Oh no. The spell was already working.
Eleanor fixed her gaze on a tall fern just behind his head and stiltedly followed the steps as the music started up. It had been forever since she’d danced and although her stepmother tried her best to ensure she was fully trained in all things a young lady should know, dancing had never come naturally to her. When she moved toward Oliver, he made a subtle motion of circling.
“Two steps back,” he said, his voice low.
Was he coaching her? Trying to avoid embarrassment perhaps? She might be grateful for the aid if it was coming from anyone else. Lifting her chin, she met his gaze and took a few deliberately wrong steps.
Instead of seeming embarrassed or even annoyed, his eyes crinkled. Eleanor sucked in a deep breath. Did nothing aggravate this man? Even the tuts of the other dancers did not faze him. It seemed if she was to put him off paying her any attention at all, she would have to up the stakes somehow.
∞∞∞
The Fallon women were not exactly known for being the biddable sort, but Eleanor was the most reserved of all of them, at least with him. So Oliver rather enjoyed her little rebellion and the way her dark eyes flared with annoyance. He was not unaware of his mother somewhere in the clusters of people around the ballroom floor, no doubt seething at him singling out Eleanor rather than some sweet debutante who could be persuaded to marry him in a single dance.
Eleanor would probably slap him and dash away if he deigned to ask such a question.
Annoying his mother had played the tiniest part in wishing to dance with Eleanor but it was more than that. For one, they would be practically family once Blake married her sister. He and Blake had a history as long as, well, this Season seemed to be, Practically forever. And he’d been the one person to keep him sane once he inherited the title. If nothing else, he wanted them to get along for Blake and Demeter’s sake.
Oliver couldn’t deny that point two was quite a bit to do with how damned attractive he found her. Wide eyes, full lips, a brow that often puckered in thought and a generous figure. Her skin tone practically glowed against a pale blue gown that hugged hips and breasts not even a vicar could ignore. He kept trying to think of her as more of a little sister but blast, that figure lured him in. Every time he thought he had conquered it, he found himself staring, and he had no doubt she’d noticed.
Perhaps that explained her dislike of him. He’d been less than subtle, and she thought him a disgusting degenerate.
“You know, we should at least try to be friends,” he commented when she danced nearby.
“I have friends.”
“For Demeter and Blake’s sake.”
“You must hold yourself in high esteem, Ashford, if you think us not liking each other will impact either of them. They are both far too in love to notice what we are doing.” She gestured to the couple whose heads were bowed together in an apparent important conversation.
“I do notnotlike you.” Wonderful. He’d never struggled to express himself and here he was tripping over his own tongue like some whelp in a skeleton suit.
Eleanor stilled and then hastened to catch up with the next step.
“That is...I like you.”
That might sound even worse.I like you. As though Oliver were a bumbling virgin trying to charm his first lover.
Eleanor’s gaze narrowed into two thin slits. “I really am not certain why you care what I think of you. No one cares what I think of them. Besides, there are plenty of young ladies here ready to tell you how wonderful you are.” She jerked her head toward a cluster of fair-haired young women who all looked the same, watching him closely and giggling between themselves.
His mother would be delighted if he stepped amongst them. One of the very reasons he was going to ignore them all evening. That, and he preferred his women with a little more life experience. He liked conversation and honest, messy, humorous sex. If he wanted the experience of bedding a virginial debutante, he could take a plank of wood to bed.
“I don’t need to be told how wonderful I am, Eleanor.”
“I suppose you already know that.”
Oliver shrugged. “I’m hardly known for being a beast.”
“No. You are known for being quite the rake.”
She slipped behind him, a hand tucked in his for the briefest moment, the elegant movement only marginally spoiled by a rather firm foot upon his when she came back around. How he felt her delicate slipper trampling across his shoes, he didn’t know but from her overly innocent expression, the error had been deliberate.
Well, two could play that game.
During the next dance move, he brushed an accidental hand down the side of her waist. She elbowed him. Oliver responded by moving close, letting his gaze linger on hers. Eleanor pinched his hand when she took it next.
He chuckled. “Are you set against me so because of my supposed rakish ways?”
“I simply do not trust you.”
