"I couldn't tell. They looked green at first, but now they look blue."
"Well, they're hazel," Juliana repeated, wishing he would stop staring at them. It seemed almost as though he could see right through them, as though he could see into her head. As though he could glimpse her very soul. And that was an unnerving thought, no matter that she had nothing to hide.
She glanced away, her gaze landing on her married sister. Alexandra had come to town for the season while her new husband claimed his seat in the House of Lords. How happy they looked dancing together, Alexandra's dark eyes locked on Tristan's steady gray gaze. Their road to romance had been a rocky one, but they'd been fated to be together from the first—and Juliana had known that, of course.
If only she could find such a love for herself.
Still feeling Lord Stafford's gaze on her, she shifted in his arms and met his eyes, mentally daring him to look away. He didn't. His eyes were a warm brown, and she had to look up to see them. Way up.
She could get a crick in her neck dancing with such a man.
"I haven't seen you at any other balls," she commented. "You must take your duty to Parliament seriously."
The corners of those warm eyes crinkled when he smiled. "That and my profession."
"Your profession?"
"I'm a physician."
"I thought you were an earl," she said.
One of his dark brows went up. "Can I not be both?"
"Of course you can," she said quickly, although she'd never heard of an earl-physician. "What do you do, exactly? Have you many patients?"
"Some, although I'm not taking on any new ones. Most of my time is spent at my facility, the New Hope Institute."
"New Hope," she mused. "I've heard of that. Something to do with smallpox?"
"I provide vaccinations, yes. To anyone willing to receive one, regardless of the ability to pay."
"That sounds like very important work," she allowed. He was a most unusual man. And an excellent dancer. Having noticed a slight limp as he'd initially approached her, she wouldn't have thought he'd dance so gracefully.
However, much as she enjoyed dancing, finding a man who excelled at it wasn't her priority. After all, it wasn't as though she had a shortage of dance invitations—she danced her feet off at every ball, with or without Griffin in attendance. She had no problem attracting men; the problem was finding one she considered husband material. And Lord Stafford had many shortcomings.
When the music came to an end, he led her by the hand off the dance floor. "It was a pleasure, my lady."
His voice was warm like his eyes, low and smooth as rich chocolate. The very sound of it seemed to weaken her knees. "Thank you," she said.
The musicians struck up a country dance, and as he was still holding her hand, she half expected him to lead her straight back to the dance floor. Instead, he raised her fingers toward his mouth. Then, rather than pucker his lips in the customary salute in the air above her hand, he lowered them to actually touch her glove.
Scandalous. She could have sworn she felt the kiss through the white silk. A tingly sensation.
"Thank you," she repeated more faintly.
"Thank you," he echoed with a smile.
A smile that looked as dazed as she felt.
No sooner had he turned to leave than Griffin descended, snapping her back to reality. "Well?" he asked.
She watched Lord Stafford walk away, shoulders broad beneath his tailcoat. Loose, tousled curls grazed his black velvet collar. Many fashionable men achieved a similar look with pomade and curl papers, but his hair looked naturally tousled. Like he was too busy to bother to control it.
"He's too dark," she said.
"Pardon?"
"You know I prefer golden-haired men. And he's entirely too tall—I felt like a child dancing with him."
Griffin looked down on her, both literally and figuratively. "Face it, Juliana—you're short."
As though she hadn't noticed most of the world towered over her. "He works," she said. "He has a profession."
"And this makes him unacceptable as a husband?"
"Should I marry him, he wouldn't have any time for me." She wanted a grand love, like Alexandra and Tristan's; she wanted a husband who loved her to distraction. She wanted endless hours spent in passion with the man she decided to marry. And for heaven's sake, this man couldn't even find a few minutes to comb his hair. "I'm sorry, but he just won't do."
The fact that Lord Stafford's work was important was hardly a mitigating factor—and the fact that her heart had stuttered when he'd so impertinently kissed her hand had no bearing whatsoever.
Griffin released a long-suffering sigh. "I shall keep looking."
"You do that," she said, patting his arm and silently wishing him luck. The spice cakes had clearly been a waste. Poor Griffin. "In the meantime, I must speak with Alexandra."
She scanned the ballroom in search of her older sister and finally found her talking to Aunt Frances.
"Who was that you were dancing with?" Alexandra asked as she approached.
"Lord Stafford."
"He's very handsome."
"His hair is too dark." At Alexandra's blank look, Juliana shrugged. "Can you come to the Berkeley Square house this Wednesday afternoon?"
"I expect so. Why?"
"I need help making clothes for the Foundling Hospital babies."
"Your newest project, I take it?" Alexandra's brown eyes sparkled with mischief. "What have you got yourself into this time?"
If only she knew. "Corinna wanted to see the Hospital's art gallery, but oh, the poor foundlings were heartbreaking. And their mothers." Just thinking back on the balloting, Juliana wanted to cry. "I must do something to help them."
"Of course you must," Aunt Frances said. "With you, it's always something."
That much was true; Juliana couldn't deny it. "And what does that make me?" she wondered. "Impulsive? Melodramatic? Judgmental, overwrought, overemotional?" She stopped there, knowing she was all of those and more. Honestly, she could go on and on.
Which was why she wanted to hug Alexandra when she said, "No. That makes you compassionate, giving, hopeful. Kind and unselfish and
