doubt.
He would dance the next set with her, he decided, before remembering that it was to be a waltz and that he liked to choose one of the very young ladies for the waltz – one who was more his ideal of feminine beauty than Lady Paget was. He especially wanted to do so this evening, as the third set was also the supper dance and he would be able to sit beside his partner during the meal. He had several candidates in mind, though all were much in demand as partners and all might already be engaged for the waltz. A few, of course, could not dance it anyway because they had not yet been granted the nod of approval by one of the patronesses of Almack's Club. The waltz was still considered rather too risquГ© a dance for the very young and innocent.
He would dance the set after supper with Lady Paget, then. Maybe some other gentleman would have the courtesy to dance with her or at least converse with her during the waltz. Perhaps she would not even still be here after supper. Perhaps she would slip quietly away now that she had discovered that her reputation had preceded her to London. It would be something of a relief if she /did/ leave. He did not particularly want to dance with her.
Miss Susanna Blaylock had already promised the waltz to Freddie Davidson, Stephen discovered when he approached her after the second set. She looked quite openly disappointed and told him that she was free for the /next/ set. Stephen reserved it with her. It was, of course, the dance after supper.
And then, before he could continue with his quest for a waltzing partner, a few of his male acquaintances drew him into their group to ask his opinion upon whether one of them ought to purchase a set of matched bays or matched grays to pull his new curricle. Which would look more sporting? Which would be more manageable? More fashionable? Faster?
More suited to the colors of the curricle? Which would the /ladies/ prefer? Stephen joined in the discussion and the bellows of amused laughter it occasioned.
If he did not draw away soon, he thought after a couple of minutes, there would be no lady left to dance with him – and he hated not to waltz.
'Why not one gray and one bay?' he suggested with a grin. 'Now, /that/ would draw you all the attention you could possibly desire, Curtiss. But if you fellows will excuse – '
He was turning as he spoke and did not finish his sentence because he almost collided with someone who was passing close behind him. Sheer instinct caused him to grasp her by the upper arms so that she would not be bowled entirely over.
'I do beg your pardon,' he said, and found himself almost toe-to-toe and eye-to-eye with Lady Paget. 'I ought to have been looking where I was going.'
She was in no hurry to step back. Her fan was in her hand – it looked ivory with a fine filigree design across its surface – and she wafted it slowly before her face.
Oh, Lord, her eyes almost matched her gown. He had never seen such green eyes, and they did indeed slant upward ever so slightly at the outer corners. Viewed against the background of her red hair, they were simply stunning. Her eyelashes were thick and darker than her hair – as were her eyebrows. She was wearing some unidentifiable perfume, which was floral but neither overstrong nor oversweet.
'You are pardoned,' she said in such a low-pitched velvet voice that Stephen felt a shiver along his spine.
He had noticed earlier that the ballroom was warm despite the fact that all the windows had been thrown wide. He had not noticed until now that the room was also airless.
Her lips curled into a faint suggestion of a smile, and her eyes remained on his.
He expected her to continue on her way to wherever she had been going.
She did not do so. Perhaps because – oh. Perhaps because he was still clutching her arms. He released them with another apology.
'I saw you looking at me earlier,' she said. 'I was looking at you, of course, or I would not have noticed. Have we met somewhere before?'
She must know they had not. Unless – 'I saw you in Hyde Park yesterday afternoon,' he said. 'Perhaps I look familiar because you saw me there too but do not quite recall doing so.
You were dressed in widow's weeds.'
'How clever of you,' she said. 'I thought they made me quite unidentifiable.'
There was amusement in her eyes. He was not sure if it was occasioned by real humor or by a certain inexplicable sort of scorn.
'I do recall,' she said. 'I did as soon as I saw you again tonight. How could I have forgotten you? I thought you looked like an angel then, and I think it again tonight.'
'Oh, I say.' Stephen laughed with a mingling of embarrassment and amusement. He seemed particularly inarticulate this evening. 'Looks can deceive, I am afraid, ma'am.'
'Yes,' she said, 'they can. Perhaps on further acquaintance I will change my mind about you – or would if there /were/ any further acquaintance.'
He wished her bosom were not quite so exposed or that she were not standing quite so close. But he would feel foolish taking a step back now when he ought to have thought to do it as soon as he let go of her arms. He felt it imperative to keep his eyes on her face.
Her lips were full, her mouth on the wide side. It was probably one of the most kissable mouths his eyes had ever dwelled upon. No, it was definitely /the/ most kissable. It was one more feature to add to a beauty that was already perfect.
'I beg your pardon,' he said, stepping back at last so that he could make her a slight bow. 'I am Merton, at your service, ma'am.'
'I knew that,' she said. 'When one sees an angel, one must waste no time in discovering his identity. I do not need to tell you mine.'
'You are Lady Paget,' he said. 'I am pleased to make your acquaintance, ma'am.'
'Are you?' Her eyelids had drooped half over her eyes, and she was regarding him from beneath them. Her eyes were still amused.
Over her shoulder he could see couples taking their places on the dance floor. The musicians were tuning their instruments.
'Lady Paget,' he said, 'would you care to waltz?'
'I would indeed care to,' she said, 'if I had a partner.'
And she smiled fully and with such dazzling force that Stephen almost took another step back.
'Shall I try that again?' he said. 'Lady Paget, would you care to waltz /with me/?'
'I would indeed, Lord Merton,' she said. 'Why do you think I collided with you?'
Good Lord.
Well, /good Lord/!
He held out his arm for her hand.
It was a long-fingered hand encased in a white glove. It might never have wielded an axe, Stephen thought. It might never have wielded any weapon with deadly force. But it was very dangerous nonetheless. /She/ was very dangerous.
The trouble was, he really did not know what his mind meant by telling him that.
He was going to waltz with the notorious Lady Paget – and lead her in to supper afterward.
He would swear his wrist was tingling where her hand rested on his sleeve.
He felt stupidly young and gauche and naive – none of which he was to any marked degree.
The Earl of Merton was taller than Cassandra had thought – half a head or more taller than she. He was broad shouldered, and his chest and arms were well muscled. There was no need of any padding with his figure. His waist and hips were slender, his legs long and shapely. His eyes were intensely blue and seemed to smile even when his face was in repose. His mouth was wide and good-humored. She had always thought that dark-haired men had a strong advantage when it came to male attractiveness. But this man was golden blond and physically perfect.
He smelled of maleness and something subtle and musky. He was surely younger than she. He was also – and not at all surprisingly – very popular with the ladies. She had seen how those who were not dancing had followed him wistfully with their eyes during the last two sets – and even a few of those who /were/ dancing. She had seen a few glance his way with growing agitation as the time to take partners for the waltz grew close.
