* * *
Miranda blinked hard behind her fan, flitting it rapidly in pretense of being warm in order to cover the pain squeezing her heart. Diana Morgan…looking like an angel. She knew the woman was attending the ball; she’d surreptitiously confirmed it with Elizabeth Carlisle two days ago. But knowing that hadn’t prepared her for the full force of the woman’s arrival.
Miss Morgan looked lovely in her white dress as she floated down to the ballroom with her hair shining like spun gold beneath the chandeliers, and everyone in the room paused to watch her. Including Robert, who left Quinn at the refreshment table to go immediately to her side to welcome her to the ball with a low bow and kiss of her hand. And, judging from the length of time it took him to speak with her and her father before he returned to Quinton, to also claim several dances with her.
But of course he did, and who could blame him? Apparently, the retiring room gossip Miranda had been passing along to Sebastian was wrong. Lady Jane wasn’t this season’s Incomparable. Miss Morgan was. And leave it to the Carlisle brothers that they would end up with the two most sought-after women of the season, while she…while she…
Nothing! It mattered nothing about her. Oh, how could she ever compare? Even tonight, in the finest gown she’d ever worn, with her hair perfectly coiffed by Josie’s maid and wearing the emeralds that Elizabeth Carlisle had lent her, she couldn’t capture Robert’s attention.
“Excuse me,” she mumbled and hurried away from the group of Carlisle family friends who had gathered around her with the duchess and marchioness. She needed to find the retiring room. Desperately. To gain a moment of peace and quiet where she could gather herself and breathe, fight back the unshed tears stinging at her eyes, and find a way to go on with the rest of her evening without anyone knowing—
“Miranda.”
Sebastian. She rolled her tear-blurred eyes as he stepped in front of her and blocked her flight. Of all the people to see her like this!
“Your Grace.” Forcing a smile, she flitted her fan furiously in front of her face to give herself air and blink back the hot tears.
But he frowned at her with concern, clearly seeing right through her façade to the anguish beneath.
“We’re needed to begin the dancing,” he said quietly, his eyes solemn. He placed a hand against her lower back to steer her away from the others before they could see the pain on her face. “Shall we?”
She nodded, unable to find her voice around the tight knot in her throat, and let him lead her away. Thankfully, he was also taking her the long way around the room to give her time to recover before they became the center of attention with the opening dance. He was too much of a gentleman to comment on her distress, but he’d come to her rescue, and she was more grateful than she could express.
He escorted her through the crush toward Lord and Lady St James, who stood waiting by the Master of Ceremonies to officially open the ball. They would be the first couple in the first set, the same set Miranda would dance with Sebastian for her introduction.
“She’s lovely,” Miranda whispered, her face falling.
“Yes, she is.”
She couldn’t bring herself to look at him as her humiliation over the futility of the past few weeks rose inside her. Hot tears threatened at her lashes. “I didn’t mean Lady St James.”
“I know,” he said softly, his voice kind. “Miranda, perhaps it’s time you gave up on Robert.”
She shook her head. He was right; her head knew that, but her heart couldn’t yet face the ramifications of surrendering the dream she’d held since she was fourteen. “Not yet.”
He nodded in sympathetic understanding. “Then allow me to request a second dance with you. What do you have left?”
Her shoulders sagged. As her escort and the man introducing her to society, Sebastian was already obligated to take the first dance with her. Now he was also taking pity on her. “You don’t have to.”
“I want to.”
Well, that was a lie. Still, it was thoughtful of him to offer, and the kindness warmed her chest and lightened the lead knot lying within. “Both of my waltzes are still free.”
“Both?” His eyes narrowed, and with a fresh stab of humiliation, she knew what he’d just realized. That Quinn had taken a quadrille, so had the Marquess of Chesney and the Duke of Strathmore, as well as several other men she’d never met before tonight who all wanted to dance with her. Except for Robert, who hadn’t yet requested a dance at all. “I thought you wanted to waltz.”
“I do.” She lowered her eyes, pretending to fuss with her gloves. “I was saving them for Robert, so he could have his choice.” Long after she’d tugged the gloves into place past her elbows, she kept her gaze lowered, unable to bear the look of pity she suspected she’d see on his face if she glanced up. “Although your mother assured me that he would give me a waltz since he’s the second oldest brother and it’s my debut.”
“He should have. And he will,” he said firmly, although Miranda doubted that even the duke could make his brother pay her any attention now that Miss Morgan had arrived and stolen it all away for herself.
She shook her head in defeat. “It doesn’t matter. There are other gentlemen here who will waltz with me, I’m certain.”
“So am I,” he muttered beneath his breath. Then he looked down at her with concern. “Be careful tonight with the gentlemen, Miranda.”
She blew out a sigh, bracing herself for the onslaught of warnings he’d been giving her since she arrived in London, those seemingly endless cautions about how to behave among society and navigate all their unwritten rules. Only Sebastian Carlisle could ruin her fun by being…well, himself.
“Enjoy yourself, but don’t have too much fun. Don’t draw unwanted attention, and try not to drink too much champagne.” He rattled off the warnings in a smooth litany that left her wondering how long he’d been practicing them. Most likely since the moment he and his mother decided to give her a season. “Stay in the ballroom unless Mother or Josie is with you, and stay away from the terrace, the gardens—”
“Line the walls with the companions and spinsters,” she mocked with a wave of her gloved hand in the same warning tone, “settle on the shelf without complaint, become an old maid with only a herd of cats for company…Better yet, join a convent.”
“Precisely.” He arched a brow. “I’m glad we’ve come to an understanding.”
Her mouth dropped open, aghast. “We’ve done no such thing!”
He flashed her a smile, with the relief that he’d successfully distracted her from Robert visible on his face. “And I’d be honored to take your second waltz.”
Closing her mouth, she stared at him, wide-eyed and speechless. Yet immensely grateful. And the stinging in her eyes turned into tears of gratitude. She had to admit that Sebastian could be quite dashing. When he wasn’t being a duke.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Saying nothing, his gaze holding hers, he raised her hand to his lips to kiss it. A soft tingle spread up her arm.
“Ladies and gentlemen, the Earl and Countess of St James!” the Master of Ceremonies called out from the top of the stairs with a flourish from the orchestra. An excited murmur went up from the crowd, and everyone moved back from the dance floor to let pass the six couples who would dance the first figures and open the ball.
Inhaling a nervous breath as the attention of the room once more descended upon her, she walked with him onto the dance floor.
“Do not dance with the same man twice,” Sebastian continued with his warnings as they took their position opposite each other at the end of the row and despite the frustrated rolling of her eyes. “He’ll assume he means more to you than he does.”
She arched a brow. “You’re dancing with me twice. Will you assume you mean more to me than you do?”
He frowned at her silently, too wise to answer that. Ha! Her spirits lifted with that little victory.
“I saw you speaking with Lady Jane earlier
,” she pressed, now emboldened. She raised her chin as the music began and the opening bows and curtsies were made. “Did you offer the same warnings to her?”
His eyes flickered, although she couldn’t have said whether in annoyance or amusement. The couples swept forward. “Of course not,” he answered between steps as they circled each other. “Lady Jane already knows society’s rules.” As they moved apart, he added, “She’s refined in them.”
They moved back to their original places, then stepped forward again. “She’s boring,” Miranda corrected in a parting jab, before sliding sideways to circle the Duke of Chatham. After all the warnings Sebastian had given her tonight, he deserved to be taunted.
“She’s urbane,” Sebastian countered with an amused glint in his eyes when she returned to once again circle him.
The figures took them away from each other to dance with the other five couples, but each time they circled back, they argued. And Miranda enjoyed it far more than she should have. There was something about getting beneath Sebastian’s skin that delighted her to no end.
“Dull,” she rejoined with a playful flounce of her skirt, then danced away.
When they came back together, he murmured in her ear, “Delightfully sophisticated.”
She raised her nose in her best impersonation of Lady Jane just to irk him as she stepped back. “Definitely snobby.”
He greeted her return to him a few moments later with a smile. “Beautiful…like you.”
When he trailed his hand behind her back as he circled her, she caught her breath at the subtle flirtation. The possessiveness of the light touch startled her, so did the heat of his fingers seeping through her dress. And so did how much she enjoyed it.
Miranda missed a step, the toe of her slipper catching on the marble floor, and she tripped. Instantly, Sebastian’s hand was beneath her left arm and his right hand against the small of her back as he caught her and moved her smoothly into the circle.
He lowered his mouth close to her ear, his voice surely far more husky in his amusement than he intended when he murmured, “Graceful.”
Unable to answer to that without highlighting her own clumsiness, she glowered at him through narrowed eyes as she slipped away to circle with the Earl of St James, the first and last couples coming together for the final figures of the dance. Sebastian turned away in his own steps to lead the countess.
“Graceful?” he prompted when they came back to face each other in their original positions, obviously enjoying their sparring as much as she to goad her like that. Or at least, as much as she had been, until he’d unwittingly compared her to Lady Jane. And found her lacking. And that stung more than she wanted to admit.
With the last flourishes of the orchestra, the couples all made their final curtsies and bows to their partners.
“Spoiled,” she managed to get in, although what she’d wanted to say…Perfectly wrong for you. But then, if someone like Lady Jane was wrong for him, who was right?
He crooked a brow, having no idea of her true thoughts. “Well-behaved.”
Her mouth fell open at that barb as indignant irritation flared through her. Oh, that devil! Before she could think of a cutting reply, the dance ended. Sebastian had gotten the last word. And a stinging one at that.
With her chin raised in defiance, she lowered into a curtsy deep enough to make his mother proud, no matter how aggravating the woman’s eldest son. Then she let him place her hand on his arm as he led her from the floor, to return her to the duchess.
“I suppose,” she acknowledged, the admission coming at great cost to her pride, “that Lady Jane seems like a nice enough woman.”
Clearly surprised by that, he slid a sideways glance at her reluctant approval of his suit. “Thank you—”
“Although madness runs in her family.”
His stride hitched, the only outward sign that she’d surprised him. “Pardon?”
“Must do,” she said with a haughty sniff, “to want a stuffy, old duke like you for a husband.”
With a soft laugh, he grinned down at her. Not just any smile, either. But such a warm and amused smile that he sent her insides melting.
Her heart skipped. No, not the grin. Not his grin! Sebastian would never set her heart pounding. Because if he did, then that meant that— No. To be attracted to Sebastian, of all men…How ridiculous! It was the fun of the dance, that was all, because it couldn’t be anything more. Certainly not with him. Pursuing Robert was difficult enough; Sebastian would be downright impossible.
“Are you planning on dancing with her tonight, then?” she pressed, desperate to focus her thoughts on Lady Jane and away from the duke.
“Yes. The first waltz.” He glanced down at her, lifting his brow. “Are you going to try to talk me out of it?”
“Not at all,” she answered innocently with just a touch of pique that he would be so distrusting of her.
He tightened his lips at her denial, clearly not believing her for a moment.
“In fact, I think it’s wonderful that you were able to find a woman who agreed to dance with you.”
“More than one, actually,” he returned, allowing a touch of playful arrogance into his tone.
She stepped away from him as he returned her to his mother’s side, unable to resist giving one last parting shot in a low voice, “Then the madness is spreading.”
She heard him choke back a laugh. With a calmly composed façade, he gave his polite partings to his mother and Josie. “If you’ll excuse me, ladies.”
Then he bowed deeply and overly formally to Miranda, going so far as to refuse to release her hand until he’d raised it to his lips and kissed it, no matter how much she tugged to try to pull free or how red her cheeks grew from her hot blush of embarrassment. He was doing this just to annoy her, blast him. And right in front of his mother and sister, too.
His sparkling blue eyes danced with mischief. “I need to find my next partner.” He gave her a wink as he walked away. “Before they commit her to Bedlam.”
Her mouth fell open, incredulous at his audacity. Oh, the devil take the man!
CHAPTER SEVEN
An hour later, Sebastian had not only danced with several of the ladies on his list, he’d also mentally crossed off most of their names. Oh, they were certainly all lovely, all graceful, yet annoyingly each one lacked…something. Something indefinable that he couldn’t quite put his finger on but knew from its absence.
Worse, because he’d danced more tonight than he had at any ball since he’d inherited—in fact, quite possibly at any ball ever—rumors were flowing through the crush as fast as the Thames through London that the Duke of Trent was hunting a wife, which put all the marriage-minded mamas and their daughters into a heated frenzy. Which made him feel as if he were being hunted.
And speaking of prey…Miranda.
Even as he’d danced, he couldn’t help but notice all the attention being paid to her tonight by the gentlemen who flocked around her like sheep, vying for her attention. Or a dance. Or one of those delightful laughs that floated from her. Or a flirtatious flitter of her fan that irritated him each time he saw her give one to whatever gentleman had spoken to her.
It was damnably annoying. How was he supposed to concentrate on finding a wife when she was behaving so carelessly? So flirtatiously. So…happily. Didn’t she realize the attention she was drawing?
Except from Robert.
Sebastian’s eyes narrowed on his brother across the room. He had barely left Miss Morgan’s side all night, and even now they were engaged in a private conversation near the open French doors that led out to the dark terrace. Robert had barely noticed Miranda all evening. His attention had been only on the general’s stunning daughter. And presumably on an attempt to convince her to join him in the gardens for a few moments alone.
Knowing there was no point in interrupting Robert now to remind him of his duties to Miranda this evening, not unless he wanted the two of them to come to blows, Sebastian sna
tched a glass of punch from the tray of a passing footman and headed across the ballroom.
Miranda’s back was to him as he stalked toward her, and the semicircle of men gathered around her scattered as he approached. Smart men. He was in no mood tonight to deal with a bunch of self-avowed Corinthians preying on an innocent country girl like Miranda. He knew exactly what they wanted from her, and it wasn’t conversation about fishing.
Her back stiffened, as if she sensed his approach before she saw him. “Trent.”
“Miss Hodgkins.” Unable to prevent the slightly piqued tone to his voice, he drawled, “You’ve made several new friends tonight, I see.”
Somehow, she managed to face him, roll her eyes, and haughtily flit her fan all at the same time in a gesture of orchestrated impudence that half the ladies of the ton had yet to master. At the sight of her, standing there in her fine gown, her green eyes shining in the light of the chandeliers and her freckle-dotted nose jutting just slightly into the air, he couldn’t help but smile. Which only made her expression grow even more irked.
Just to spite him, she lowered into a deep curtsy.
“Jealousy doesn’t become you, Your Grace,” she chastised with a dismissive sniff as she rose.
Jealousy? The woman was daft. “I’m not jealous.” He offered her the glass of punch and added pointedly, “I’m being careful.”
From the way she arched a brow at the punch without taking it, he half expected her to ask if he’d poisoned it. Instead, she accepted. “Thank you.”
“Are you enjoying yourself?” He honestly wanted to know.
A slow smile spread across her face, the same beaming smile he’d seen her give at least a dozen times in the past hour to the men seeking her attentions. But when she aimed that smile at him, he felt it pull all the way through him, right down to his curling toes in his Hessians. And he knew then exactly why so many of the men flocked around her tonight. For nothing more than the favor of one of her smiles.
“Very much,” she said softly. Then she leaned in closer, as if sharing an intimate secret. “Oh, Sebastian, it’s the most wonderful night of my life!”
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