When he raised his head, his lazy gaze swept the ballroom, sending scores of blushing cheeks and curious eyes into cover behind a screen of fans, greenery, and other people’s shoulders. But when his dark eyes lit on Cami and Felicity, and that slow, certain smile lifted one corner of his mouth, the collective attention of the ballroom shifted to them, and Felicity gave a squeak of alarm.
“I certainly hope that scoundrel doesn’t imagine he’ll find such a welcome in this corner of the room,” sniffed Mrs. Kendal, a school friend of Lady Merrick’s whose hovering presence suggested that she felt—perhaps rightly—that Cami’s chaperonage was insufficient for the occasion.
In defiance of Mrs. Kendal’s earnest wish and despite the crush, Lord Ash was beside them in a moment. Behind him, the crowd shifted and swirled, like the waters of the Red Sea coming together again after parting. “Lady Montlake’s guests were only too happy to allow me to pass,” he explained in quiet answer to Cami’s unspoken question as he bowed his greeting. He was dressed entirely in black, the brilliant whiteness of his linen the only contrast. Against the more vibrant silks surrounding him, he ought simply to have disappeared. Instead, the sharpness of the contrast drew the eye. The severity of the costume suited him.
Mr. Fox, the next to be greeted by their hostess, was longer in crossing to them. As they recovered from the shock of the Marquess of Ashborough’s unexpected appearance, several people stopped Mr. Fox to speak with him. He paused the longest beside another gentleman with sandy-brown hair, who clapped him on the shoulder and, after a brief exchange of words, left his party and joined Mr. Fox in his journey across the room.
“Lovely to see you again, Lady Felicity,” Mr. Fox said when he reached them. “And you, Miss Burke.” After an uncertain pause, the second gentleman stepped forward. “Oh, er, yes. Lady Felicity, Miss Burke, may I introduce my brother, Lord Branthwaite? ”
“Pleased to make your acquaintance.” Branthwaite’s bow lacked both his brother’s endearing awkwardness and his enthusiasm.
Cami curtsied deeply and tipped her chin in acknowledgment of the greeting. “My lord.”
But Felicity’s shallower dip was succeeded by a flurry of words. “Branthwaite? I believe, my lord, I have a bone to pick with you.”
A frown of bewilderment. “With me?”
“Over Foxy’s pups,” said Lord Ashborough from his place near Cami’s elbow. She wished he would stand farther off.
“Pups?” Branthwaite’s brows rose. “I don’t—”
“Tiresias, Lelantos, Achilles, and Medea.” Felicity ticked off each dog’s name on the tip of one silk-gloved finger.
Branthwaite’s bemused expression was tinged with something like disapproval. “Your doing, I suppose, Ash?” he asked, his voice low.
To Cami’s surprise, Lord Ashborough’s head dipped slightly in acknowledgment.
“The dogs’ names are not at issue, my lord,” Felicity insisted, turning the gentlemen’s attention back to her. “Did you really mean to—to be rid of them?”
Branthwaite’s eyes darted toward his brother and, after a moment’s consideration, his lips twitched in amusement. In the gallery, the musicians picked up their instruments. “I believe the set is starting, Lady Felicity. Perhaps that will give me time to explain myself,” he said, extending his hand.
Fox looked pleased. “And you, Miss Burke—will you partner me? I wish to make amends for the other day.”
“Then for God’s sake, spare her your dancing,” Lord Ashborough said as he held out one hand, offering to lead her onto the floor. A flicker of surprise crossed Mr. Fox’s face; then he bowed, deferring to his friend.
Over his shoulder, Mrs. Kendal scowled and shook her head at Cami. Strangers surreptitiously awaited her reply. But Felicity’s blue eyes flooded with relief. This was the supper dance. If Cami accepted him, it would spare her cousin the marquess’ attentions for an hour or more.
To say nothing of providing a golden opportunity to mine his conversation for greater insights into his character.
In order to help her readers understand the motives of the fictional Lord Granville, she had been making rather free with Lord Ash in her mind, on paper. And in the process, she had found herself growing curious about the real man. Dangerously curious. About why, or even whether, he did the shocking things he was said to do.
About how it might feel to do some of those shocking things with him.
She smoothed her hand over her borrowed skirts, then laid it on Lord Ashborough’s outstretched palm. In recent years, her dancing had been limited to impromptu evenings in a neighbor’s drawing room, partnered by one of her brothers or perhaps a sister, if at all. Now, under the glow of a hundred candles and amid the whirl of fashionable gowns and sparkling gems, the familiar comfort of those home entertainments felt very far away. Anticipation fluttered in her belly, tingled through her fingertips.
Swallowing against the sensation, she allowed herself to be led onto the floor. She was not doing this to please herself, after all.
Dancing with him was simply the best way to keep Felicity safe.
* * * *
As he led her to her place in the ladies’ line and then bowed to her from the gentlemen’s, he could sense the eyes of the other dancers on them. He had fully expected his presence to invite attention, even speculation. He was accustomed to stares and whispers wherever he went.
But if he had imagined that it would be freeing to share the weight of scrutiny for once, he had certainly not anticipated the unfamiliar rush of protectiveness that replaced it, the desire to retrieve that heavy burden from the more delicate frame onto
