"In the countryside," Sean told him, not actually stretching the truth. Though Hampstead lay but four miles northwest of Charing Cross, many Londoners did consider it "way out in the countryside." Which was precisely why he'd bought his house there. While he needed to be close to the City, he had no wish to live in it. Having been brought up amid wide-open spaces, he preferred not to be hemmed in.
"In the countryside." Lincolnshire sighed, a protracted sound that was flush with disappointment. His gaze turned wistful, the soft, yearning gaze of a puppy dog. "I do understand. But since I can no longer dance myself, I was so hoping to see you in my stead."
The current waltz ended, and sudden silence pervaded the ballroom.
"Dance for him," a woman coaxed.
Her daughter smiled. "Make him happy."
The music—another waltz, naturally—restarted. "It's just a dance," someone else said.
The crowd seemed to press closer. "Lord Lincolnshire wants to see you dance."
"Humor him, will you?"
Although attempting a waltz was sure to prove humorous indeed, Sean felt his resolve disintegrating under the assault. The damn earl was making puppy-dog eyes. What the devil was a man supposed to do?
One of the identical insipid misses gazed up at him beseechingly. "Don't you want to make Lord Lincolnshire happy?"
"Oh, very well," he gritted out. "One dance."
Then he turned on a heel and headed straight for Corinna.
As he elbowed his way through the crowd, Corinna's startled gaze met his, and it seemed as though a fist grabbed him in the gut. Half of him wanted to wring her neck for interfering; the other half wanted to drag her into his arms.
He settled for snatching her hand and pulling her toward the dance floor.
He threaded them between other couples to the center, enduring bumps from various dancers along the way. It seemed a whirling obstacle course. But at least in the middle he wouldn't be on display.
He turned her to face him. "I hope you can lead."
She looked a little dazed, standing still with everyone moving around her. "I beg your pardon?"
"Thanks to you, I've been commanded to dance. And I've never waltzed in my life."
"Oh." She smiled, a rather sheepish smile that made the fist inside him twist. "I confess I've been accused of leading before. I fear it's one of my bad habits."
"It's glad I am to hear it."
Mimicking the other dancers, he wrapped an arm about her waist and grasped her gloved right hand. She began to move, keeping her body tense so that he moved with her.
Not very gracefully, but they moved.
"May I sketch you sometime?" she asked.
"Sketch me?" he echoed, amazed to find them actually swirling among the other couples. He stumbled, but managed to keep upright. "I think not."
"Never?"
"Ever," he reiterated, treading on her toes.
A wee "Eek!" escaped her tempting lips, but then she gave him another smile. An understanding one this time. Not that it had any less of an effect on him.
It was a wonder she didn't react to the naked desire he suspected was evident on his face, but it was probably best that she was oblivious to it.
"Very well," she said on a sigh. "I suppose you're too busy with your own art to sit for someone else."
She was exasperating. "You're ruining my life."
"How so?" she asked. "I've done you a favor, Mr. Hamilton. Society is all aflutter to finally meet Lord Lincolnshire's famous, mysterious nephew. They'll pay even more for your paintings."
He leaned improperly close, catching a whiff of a light, floral scent with something odd layered beneath it. Paint, maybe. "I'm not an artist," he hissed in her ear. "I'm Sean Delaney, not John Hamilton."
When she drew back, making them lurch, the look she gave him was uncomfortably close to a smirk. "I haven't heard you say that in front of Lord Lincolnshire."
"For his sake." Revealing the truth would doubtless destroy the kind old earl, not to mention infuriate Hamilton and jeopardize Deirdre's divorce. "I wish not to embarrass the poor man by disagreeing with him in the company of his friends."
"I understand you prefer the privacy that anonymity affords you, Mr. Hamilton. But as the real Mr. Delaney said in the museum, you are much too self-effacing. You'll grow accustomed to being famous, and it's long past time you met your adoring admirers."
He considered stepping on her feet on purpose. "They wouldn't adore me if they knew the truth."
"Of course they would. You're a fortunate man, Mr. Hamilton. They all love Lord Lincolnshire and will transfer that affection to you. In fact, they already have. I was squeezed right out of the earl's circle by all the ladies who want to marry you."
So she hadn't heard he was married. Or rather, that Hamilton was married. Well, he wasn't going to inform her. That would only serve to reinforce her conviction that he was Hamilton.
"Lincolnshire is well loved," he muttered instead in disgust. Had the earl been the blackguard Hamilton had described, he wouldn't have been welcome at this ball. And Corinna would never have introduced Sean as his famous nephew. "Everyone seems absolutely devastated that he's dying."
"Of course we are," she said, pulling his hand back to keep him from ramming into someone. "Throughout his life, Lord Lincolnshire has given generously to charity and done countless good deeds for various members of the ton and their children."
"Everyone says they'll do anything for him."
"Anything but the one thing we cannot, which is to save his life," she said mournfully.
"Then why didn't you believe him?" When he stumbled again, her hand gripped his shoulder harder. "He told you I was Sean, not John, but you disagreed with him. Loudly."
The look she gave him said he was a complete idiot. "The dear man does enjoy his games. And Sean is the same name as John in Ireland anyway, isn't it? You sound like you come from Ireland."
That he couldn't deny. Not without appearing to be the idiot she already considered him. Luckily for him, the musicians stopped
