“Pay attention, Corrie.” The music started and so did they.
“Ah, you have the steps down, that’s good.” And he whirled her about, making her nearly swallow her tongue with the excitement and pleasure of it.
“Oh, this is wonderful!” She was smiling and laughing, and he continued to dance her through every part of the dance floor, her wide skirt swishing around his legs, the lovely white of her attire like snow against the black of his trousers. She was panting for breath when he finally slowed. “James,”-pant, pant, pant-“if you are unable to do anything else of use in your life, know that you are excellent at waltzing.”
He grinned into that shining face that had long since lost its rice powder. A face, he realized, he knew as well as his own. Those breasts, though, he didn’t know them at all. One thick braid looked in danger of unwinding. He didn’t think, just said, “Keep moving, slowly.” And he reached up both hands and slipped the wooden pins skillfully back into the braid, anchoring it. Then he slid one of the half dozen white roses securely back in.
“There, that is just fine now.”
She was looking at him oddly. “How do you know how to fix a lady’s hair?”
“I’m not a clod,” he said, nothing more.
“Well, I’m not a clod either, but I wouldn’t know how to do it as well as you do.”
“For God’s sake, Corrie, I’ve had some practice.”
“On whom? I’ve never asked you to braid my hair or anything like that.”
James drew a deep breath. This was something he’d never encountered in his male adult life. Here was a girl he’d known forever, and yet she was now a young lady, and surely he should treat her differently. He said, “No, you’ve always stuffed your braid under your hat, or left it to flap against your back. What was there to do?”
“May I inquire upon whom you practiced?”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but I’ve known quite a few females, and all of them have hair that occasionally needs fixing.”
She was frowning up at him, still not understanding. He said, looking at her breasts, ready to swallow his tongue, “I see you unsmashed yourself.”
She actually arched her back a little so that her breasts were pressed against his chest. “I told you I had a bosom.”
“Well, yes, possibly. I suppose.”
“What do you mean ‘I suppose’? My bosom is quite nice, so Madame Jourdan said when your father took me to her shop.”
Because he didn’t know what to say to that, James picked up speed and danced her around the perimeter of the dance floor, laughing and panting at the same time, as other couples quickly danced out of their way.
Then the music ended.
He looked down at her and saw her smile turn into misery. She looked ready to burst into tears.
“Whatever is the matter?”
She gulped. “That was lovely. I should like to do it again. Now.”
“All right,” he said and thought that surely two dances wouldn’t mean anything to anyone, for heaven’s sake, since they were very nearly related. He saw four young ladies bearing down on them, and quickly took Corrie’s arm and led her into the dozen or so couples still on the dance floor.
She said, “I swear that every gown in this incredible room is either white like mine, or rose, blue, or purple.”
“Lilac, not purple. Lilac is much lighter.”
“Ah, and what about violet?” Was that a hint of a sneer on her mouth?
“Why, I would say that violet is just about the most beautiful color on this earth.”
Corrie swallowed, acknowledging the hit, and said, “Aunt Maybella’s blue fits right in.”
“Not exactly, but close enough.” He eyed her, wanted to touch his fingertips to the tops of her breasts, looked at her white shoulders, and said, “Well, did it require bucketfuls?”
“What? Smeared on me. Well, yes, at least one and a half buckets of cream. Uncle Simon complained about it at first because he said I smelled like lavender compost, but Aunt Maybella said it was necessary or I just might never be able to crawl off the shelf and fall into a matrimony basket.”
“As in no man wants a scaly wife?”
“I’ve been here now five days, James, and I tell you, I haven’t met a single man I would want to have consider my scales.”
He laughed. “How many have you met?”
“Well, I’ve danced with at least a half dozen this evening. Very well, counting Lord Devlin, it’s now exactly seven. Of course now there’s you to add to my list. Eight gentlemen. That’s a rather nice large number, isn’t it? You couldn’t possibly consider me a failure, could you?”
“Er, were they all nice to you?”
“Oh yes. I practiced answers to every sort of question. You know, spontaneous answers. And you know what, James?”
“What?”
“They used nearly all of them.” She frowned a moment. “I think the favorite question was about the weather.”
“Well, that’s normal, I suppose. It is nice and warm, worthy to comment upon.”
She looked over his left shoulder.
“What’s the matter? What did they do besides ask you your opinion on the weather?”
“Well, it wasn’t all of them, but you see, ever since I’ve unsmashed my bosom and lowered my neckline-well, really, it was Madame Jourdan who wouldn’t tolerate your father’s criticism about my neckline-” she rose on her tiptoes and whispered near his ear, “they’ve been looking.”
“This is something that surprises and astounds you? I’d like to know why any female on this earth could possibly be surprised at that.”
“It surprised me at first, I’ll admit it. Then I realized that I really liked them looking at me. I figure that if they’re actually focused on my parts then it’s obvious I don’t look like such a country bumpkin. But you know, James, I never realized that males found that particular part of the female’s anatomy so mesmerizing.”
She laughed until her eyes were tearing.
Along the side of the dance floor, Thomas Crowley, the younger son of Sir Edmund Crowley, one of Wellington’s cronies, said to Jason, “Who is that lovely girl James is dancing with?”
“You know,” Jason said slowly, “I’ve been wondering that myself. Perhaps it’s someone from his mysterious past.”
“James doesn’t have a mysterious past,” said Tom. “Neither do we.”
Jason poked him in the shoulder. “I’ve been thinking that it’s time to start making one.”
Since Jason had told him about the threat on his father’s life, Tom said, “You’re already on your way. Blessed Lord, who’s that? Good God, what a beauty.”
Jason turned to look where Tom was pointing. He smiled, that lazy confident smile that seemed to make ladies from the ages of ten to eighty perk right up whenever he came within fifty feet.
Jason said slowly, in that easy voice of his, “You know, Tom, maybe I don’t need anymore mystery right now.” Thomas saw Jason draw a bead on the dark-haired girl who was peeking at him over the top of her fan, and stride off in a very straight line toward her, paying no attention at all to the score of young ladies, and not-so-young ladies, who tried to put themselves in his path. He didn’t mow any of them down, but it was close.
Tom shook his head and took himself off to where his mother was holding court. He tried to slink behind a palm tree when he realized she was in animated conversation with three dowagers with unmarried daughters.
“Tom! Do come here, my boy.”
He’d been well and fairly caught. He drew a deep breath and went to his doom.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
