Courtship In The Regency Ballroom: His Cinderella Bride / Devilish Lord, Mysterious Miss. ANNIE BURROWS
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Hester gazed up at him in frank astonishment. Was he saying that he had noticed how badly Lionel affected her, and was deliberately trying to help her recover? Could this be the same man who had subjected her to a torrent of oaths, less than a week ago, when she had got in his way?
He gave her a rueful smile. ‘I am capable of behaving as I ought, though I have not so far given you reason to believe it.’
Heavens, was he reading her mind now? Before she could respond they moved apart again. But perhaps it was just as well. She could not have framed a fit reply to that remark to save her life.
‘At least I have the satisfaction of knowing that dancing with me is preferable to being drawn into a tête-à-tête with that crass suitor of yours.’
Without thinking, she snapped, ‘Well, anything would be preferable to that.’
Lord Lensborough let out a bark of surprised laughter, a sound so astonishing that everyone, or so it seemed to Hester, turned and stared. It was the first indication he had given during this visit that a sense of humour might lurk beneath that stern façade.
Hester tilted her face up towards him in surprise, and made the discovery that with those little crinkles at the corners of his eyes, his mouth turned up with genuine, rather than sardonic, humour, all the harshness had melted from his sombre features.
‘I beg your pardon,’ she apologised, heat flooding her face.
How could she have been so rude? And how could he possibly find her rudeness amusing? She supposed it must have some novelty value to come across a person, especially a female, with so little regard for his rank that they would dare say exactly what they thought.
Did he appreciate the unconventional? Was that why he favoured the tiger’s eye, whose swirling bands so exactly matched the varying shades of brown that twinkled in his own eyes, rather than a diamond, or even just a plain gold pin?
He had not responded to her apology before they moved apart again. Really, it was vexing trying to hold a conversation during a dance. The figures separated them at the most inopportune moments.
‘Don’t mention it.’ He smiled down at her when next they came together. ‘I think we both owe each other roughly the same number of apologies now. Shall we just cry quits?’
She nodded as she twirled away, reflecting that perhaps she did not need to pity her cousins. After all, they kept on saying they wanted to get married. And she was beginning to suspect Lord Lensborough might be the kind of husband Uncle Thomas was to her Aunt Susan. Blunt of manner and speech, more used to the society of men and sporting men at that. Yet for all his lack of address in company, his preference for the hunting field over the drawing room, her uncle’s rough exterior cloaked a kernel of solid decency.
She was faintly surprised to find that the dance had come to an end, and Lord Lensborough had led her the full length of the room to where his friend Mr Farrar was standing.
‘I will leave you in Mr Farrar’s capable hands.’ She heard the smile in his voice, though she did not see the accompanying warmth in his eyes. She was gazing in perplexity at her hand. He must have held it in his own, all the way across the room, and not for one second had she felt the least bit intimidated by his superior masculine strength.
‘I assure you,’ he continued, ‘you have nothing to fear from him.’
She darted one astonished glance at him before placing her hand on Mr Farrar’s coat sleeve and meekly following him into the next set.
She had to concede that Mr Farrar was not so bad either. As soon as he had noticed how uncomfortable his flirtatious manner made her, he had dropped it with her, though he continued paying the most outrageous compliments to Julia and Phoebe.
She wondered why he felt the need to bother with her. In her experience, men of his and Lord Lensborough’s sort got far more enjoyment from making sport of a shy, clumsy creature like her. Yet they were both displaying the same tolerance of her gauche mannerisms as her uncle and her cousin’s husband, Peter, did.
She frowned as she watched Lord Lensborough dancing a stately minuet with the ponderously large Henrietta and making her laugh at some comment he had made. She shook her head, thoroughly bemused. Ever since she had fallen foul of Lord Lensborough’s single-minded determination to beat Stephen in that race to The Holme, she had written them both off as boors. But now, here was Stephen being kindness itself, and there was the marquis…
And hadn’t he just referred to Lionel as an idiot? She had thought when they met in the library Lord Lensborough had found a kindred spirit, and that was why they spent so much time out of doors together. Could it possibly be true that all this time he had been taking steps to shield her from Lionel’s unwanted attentions?
At that very moment, as if he was aware she was thinking about him, he turned his head and his eyes locked with hers. For a breath, a heartbeat or two, it was as if there was nobody else in the room. She had never felt anything like it before. The physical distance between them faded to nothing as she connected with him in a way that was beyond rational explanation.
She blinked, determined to free herself from the spell Lord Lensborough’s obsidian eyes had cast over her. She stumbled, Mr Farrar gently corrected her false step and the contact with Lord Lensborough was broken. She could hear the music again, the babble of conversation of the other dancers.
‘Mama,’ Julia trilled when that dance came to its courtly climax, ‘would it be improper to have a waltz next?’
Hester felt her hard-won composure shatter. A country dance was bearable when the only contact was brief, confined to the holding of hands, and the gentleman who partnered you was as considerate as Mr Farrar, or his lordship. But a waltz, when a man held the woman in his arms and forced her to submit to every manoeuvre he cared to make? It was a vile public demonstration of male domination over womankind in which she would never participate.
‘I see no reason why not.’ Impervious to the message Hester’s entire body was silently screaming, Lady Susan gave her blessing to the enterprise. ‘This is just a private family gathering. There can be no impropriety in it.’
Having caught the horrified expression on Hester’s face, Em rose from the piano stool. ‘I beg to differ, my lady. Not all present are members of the same family. We have here three single gentlemen quite unrelated to your daughters or your niece.’
‘Don’t be such a prude, Emily,’ Lionel drawled. ‘Must I sit out watching, while others enjoy themselves, because of your antiquated notions of propriety?’
‘By no means. You could waltz with me, I suppose, since we are cousins of a sort. Lady Hester may take my turn at the piano, since it would be unfair to put her in the position of having to refuse any of the guests in her aunt’s house.’
As the two girls crossed the room to swap positions, Lord Lensborough’s brow arched in the gesture with which Hester was becoming all too familiar.
‘You do not waltz, Lady Hester?’
Throwing him a defiant look, she shook her head. Well, now she would see him in his true colours. He would be bound to sneer—the decency she had thought she could discern beneath that haughty exterior would prove to be nothing more than a mirage after all.
‘Well, I see nothing wrong in waltzing either,’ Julia declared. ‘When I was in London, I waltzed with all manner of gentlemen to whom I am not in the least related.’
‘Then you must certainly waltz with me.’ Lord Lensborough ceased his contemplation of Lady Hester, and walked to Julia’s side. But his voice was gentle as he remarked, ‘And we will have the pleasure of hearing Lady Hester play, for the first time during my visit.’
Hester sank down on to the piano stool. Once Stephen had asked Phoebe for the dance, each lady who wished for it had a partner, and Hester struck up a waltz.
Her fingers caressed the keys softly as she followed the printed notes across the page. She was not mistaken, not this time.