He had a wrong to right, and then this could all end neatly. He could resume his proper courtship of Diana without obstacle, wiser for his mistakes, and searching what other feelings Diana could rouse in him, if only he’d open himself to them. And if nothing resembling the heat of fire arose, so be it. A comfortable, steady, loyal marriage was not something to be laughed at, especially if one’s partner was well chosen. He could do far worse, and there were several examples of that in this room, as well as in London as a whole.
But he was still far from offering marriage, for himself more than for Diana. He needed to be sure. Committed and sure.
And for that, he needed a clear conscience.
The dance presently came to an end, and rather than go to the woman he was courting, he waited in place for her present partner to deliver her to her friends.
If he kept his distance, no one would know he was courting her at all, and he saw no issue with that. He was a fairly reserved man, preferring his privacy to popularity, which Diana did not seem to mind. Or, at least, she had not complained as yet.
He’d been seen calling upon her. He’d walked with her several times in Hyde Park, and been seen doing so. He’d escorted her to the theater, to card parties, and to various other entertainments in Society, and been seen.
He did not have to be at her heels all night for Society to know his interest lay there. He would go there shortly, of course, but surely his entire evening did not have to center on one woman when he had other concerns to attend to.
Gads, he was making himself ill with his justifications, and no one had asked for them.
Why, then, was he making them?
Michael shook his head and moved around the nearest crush of guests, some of whom seemed almost to dance where they stood, so in want of a partner were they. Others would have become one with the wall if the wall would only accept them into its fold. He’d never once been the former but had plenty of experience in the latter.
It occurred to him that he may never enjoy being so again, should his courtship come to fruition.
What an odd thought.
“Quite the lively dancer, your nearly intended,” Tyrone praised with an almost wild smile, given their location and setting. “I rather enjoyed myself.”
“So I see,” Michael replied, wondering if he should frown or grumble, or perhaps threaten his friend.
His indecision was apparently fitting, for Tyrone’s brow snapped down. “Trying to decide if you want to warn me off?”
Michael would have made a face were they anywhere but a ballroom. “I’m not…”
“Allow me to take advantage of your internal debate and make myself scarce on the off chance you decide on a violent defense.” He bowed playfully, starting past him.
“Wait.” Michael put a hand out to stop him, forcing aside his indecision in favor of firmness in another matter. “Can I beg a favor of you?”
Tyrone flicked his dark eyes to Michael. “I daresay you can, though the begging of others has never done me any good.”
Michael ignored his snide remark. “Dance with Charlotte Wright next. I’ll partner anybody you approve of, but you must dance with Charlotte.”
“Why must I?” Tyrone replied in a bland, uninterested tone. “I’ll barely be dancing with her at all, considering which style of dance it is.”
“Exactly.” Michael waited for his friend to understand his meaning, gesturing slightly.
Tyrone’s expression turned into a scowl as realization set in. “This is not a favor. This is striking up a brawl in a ballroom.”
Well, not ideally, but it was possible.
Michael blinked. “But will you do it?”
Tyrone shook his head but sighed. “I will accept copious amounts of very strong beverage in recompense for my part.”
“Done.” He all but grinned, clapping Tyrone on the shoulder. “Good man.”
Tyrone only sputtered and turned to set his course in motion, grumbling incoherently.
Michael nodded to himself, satisfied almost into smugness, before going to find the fairest woman in his closest vicinity, if only to soften Tyrone’s temper as he provided the exact opportunity needed to put all this to rest.
“Why is Tyrone Demaris coming over to me?” Charlotte asked of her friends, eyeing the approaching man with some speculation.
She had nothing against Tyrone, nor against the idea of dancing with him. He happened to be her favorite of Janet Sterling’s cousins, but their association was more polite than preferable. And they had never danced together in all the years they had been in Society together.
It seemed an odd time to start now.
“Miss Wright.” Tyrone bowed, smiling in a manner she refused to trust. “Would you dance the next with me?”
“If you’ve the energy,” Charlotte told him, still wary of him, but not averse to a dance. “You’ve only just completed an exuberant jig with Miss Palmer, might you not prefer to rest a moment?”
He smirked at her point. “Perhaps, but I must insist on a dance with you at this time, if you will consent. Then I may rest contented.”
Charlotte raised a brow at the flattery. “Or the more fatigued.”
“Which makes the rest more contented, as the rest is more well-earned.” He held a hand out to her, keeping his smirk in place.
She placed her hand in his, exhaling her reluctance. “What is your plan, Mr. Demaris? And do my intelligence the respect of knowing there is one.”
Tyrone chuckled as he led her to the floor. “I’m certain there is, but as it is not my plan, I cannot tell you what it is. My plan is to dance with you and earn myself a significant amount of drink.”
Now that sounded far more plausible.
But Tyrone Demaris was not the sort of man to admit something that would offend her, which meant this had not been conceived maliciously.
“Was
