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“I daresay you aren’t ‘just’ anything, but I shan’t debate you. Arguing in the midst of a dance is the height of boorishness.”
She laughed easily this time. “Indeed it is.”
He curled his arm around her waist as they passed the midpoint of the line, and they joined hands above their heads. Like his voice, his touch enthralled her, transported her to another place. A place where she wasn’t a pariah or a spinster, but a woman.
When he released her hand, she felt a stab of disappointment and knew it would only deepen when he let go of her waist. But when he removed his arm, he wrapped his other one around her front and moved behind her. His gloved hand slid around her as he circled her. He came to a stop at the end of the line and faced her, his hand leaving her waist before taking her by the hand and escorting her back to her position in the line. Then he resumed his place across from her.
The move had happened quickly, but she relived it in half time—the glide of his hand, the whisper of his breath against her ear, the dark promise in his gaze when he’d faced her and taken her hand.
Silly, silly featherbrain!There was no promise—dark or otherwise. As he’d said, itwasjust a dance. A glorious, spectacular, delicious dance that she would recall at least ten thousand times.
“What do you hope to do in London this Season?” His question surprised her. She didn’t know what she’d expected from someone called the Forbidden Duke, but it wasn’t normal conversation.
I hope to comport myself admirably, was the first answer that came to mind, but she didn’t wish to expound on that. “I imagine we’ll ride in the park, pay calls, and I’ll likely adorn the wall of a few dozen balls and parties.” She’d meant the last in a bit of jest, but also feared it might be true.
He arched a thick brow at her. “You won’t be adorning the wall. You danced with me. Everyone will want to dance with you now.”
She believed him. But she also had the unsettling thought that every other partner would pale compared to him.
The next couple danced between them and joined their respective ends of the lines.
Though they were free to speak and could hear each other over the music, it meant talking at a volume that would allow their dancing neighbors to overhear. It had been one thing to converse beside his parents, but now that others could eavesdrop, she found she didn’t want to say anything. Probably because the only things she wanted to discuss involved his forbidden state. How had he earned the nickname, and how did he feel about it? A shame she would never know.
At last, one of the many questions battering around in her head forced its way out. “Will you leave after our dance?” she asked, and again instantly regretted her boldness. “My apologies, that is none of my business.”
“That is what I typically do, yes. However, I might linger for a bit.” His gaze did just that—lingered—over her. She loved the green of his eyes, dark and mossy, almost like velvet.
The dance continued, and they exchanged a few more pleasantries. Nora was lulled into a sense of comfort, something she suspected would evaporate the moment the dance ended, which was imminent since the last couple had started down the line.
“Our dance is almost at an end,” Kendal said.
“There’s another in the set, is there not?”
He shook his head. “Not this time. The first set is just one dance—my stepmother prefers it that way.”
Nora hadn’t known this and was unaccountably disappointed. The music drew to a close, and everyone bowed or curtsied to their partner. Kendal offered his arm, and Nora clasped her hand around his sleeve. She would savor this moment, certain it would never repeat itself.
He led her back to the refreshment room, and again the throng divided as if by some sort of spell. But then it seemed Kendal excelled at casting a very specific sort of magic that drove everyone into an obsequious state.
They happened upon Lady Dunn, who was seated near the wall. Her gaze fell on them with something akin to admiration or maybe approval. Kendal took his leave, and Lady Dunn motioned for Nora to join her.
“Well done, my dear,” the older woman said. “When next we meet—away from this crush—you must recount the entire dance. I want to hear every single detail, beginning with why he asked you.”
That was a question Nora didn’t have an answer to and would forever ponder—when she wasn’t too busy just feeling happy that he had.
Chapter Five
Having done his duty to his stepmother, Titus went upstairs to Satterfield’s study to escape the inanity of the ball goers.Not all of themwere tedious, he told himself. One in particular was quite intriguing.
He heard a steady stream of women accessing his stepmother’s sitting room next door, which had been converted into a retiring room. He wondered if any of them were Miss Lockhart with her gold-brown eyes and alluring smile.
His annual dance had always been a duty, but tonight he’d enjoyed performing it more than he ever had. Miss Lockhart was refreshingly open. He’d had to keep from laughing aloud at the way in which she’d put that ridiculous carper in her place. He hadn’t felt so at ease with another person who wasn’t from his inner circle in a very long time. In forever, maybe.
And just who was his “inner circle”? His stepmother, of course, and Satterfield. His steward at Lakemoor, his secretary here in London, probably his valet, and perhaps his butlers. Maybe the stable master at Lakemoor. Once upon a time, he would’ve included the group of friends he’d run with in his youth, but he’d left them behind when he’d shunned their lifestyle. Some of them had matured a bit, while others were as debauched as ever. He was friendly with a few of them—they discussed politics and the like—but he didn’t socialize with them.
Hmm, yes, he was alone, but not lonely, as his stepmother surmised, and he liked it that way.
As if he’d summoned her by thought, the door opened and Lady Satterfield walked inside, saying, “There you are. Harley said you hadn’t left, which I could scarcely believe.”
