Chapter 4 #2
All three of them flinched at the unexpected voice. Thalia used the distraction as an opportunity to yank her hand away from Mr. Pembroke’s grasping fingers.
Jonathan whipped around, fury contorting his face, mouth open to blast whoever had made the dubious decision to interrupt. But his jaw remained slack, and no words came out for a moment or two.
“Your Grace…” He cleared his throat. “I… I did not see you there.”
Thalia stared up at the Duke of Thornhill, wondering if she might have fallen at some point and hit her head on the floor. Perhaps she was delirious or hallucinating. That would make a great deal more sense.
The Duke only flashed her a quick, amused smile. His gaze flicked from her to Mr. Pembroke, then back again, and she could have sworn she saw sympathy in his eyes.
“Have you forgotten, Lady Thalia?” he asked, smiling easily. “You and I are to stand up for the waltz.”
“I do apologize if my sister has gotten confused,” Jonathan managed, recovering his composure. “She is, in fact, engaged for this dance. There, see?”
He grabbed Thalia’s wrist and lifted it so that the Duke might see the dance card. Sure enough, Mr. Pembroke’s name was angrily scratched in for the waltz, the only name on the otherwise blank card.
“Oh dear,” the Duke responded softly. “Whatever shall we do?”
Jonathan shrugged. “I daresay you can stand up with her for the next set. Will that suit you?”
The Duke sighed. “No, I’m afraid it won’t.”
He reached out, curling long, cool fingers around Thalia’s forearm. He gently turned it wrist-up between the four of them. Delicately producing a pencil—she could only assume that it had been in his pocket—he carefully crossed out Mr. Pembroke’s name and wrote his own.
Not his title, she noticed, but his name. Christian Lockwood.
Oh, she found herself thinking with mild curiosity. His name is Christian.
“There you are,” he said easily, releasing her. “A simple misunderstanding. There is my name, clear and easy.”
Jonathan and Mr. Pembroke both gaped at him in mingled disbelief and horror. For her part, Thalia was not sure she could have spoken even if she’d tried.
“Now,” the Duke continued, “we really should take our places. Shall we, Lady Thalia?”
He extended his large hand, long fingers curling in a beckoning way. Before she knew what she was doing, Thalia placed her hand in his, and he towed her away through the crowd. Jonathan and Mr. Pembroke were left behind, although there would most certainly be consequences.
They reached the dance floor, which was just about full. Even so, people threw the Duke quick, frightened looks and inched away from him. The end result was that they had a little more space in the middle of the floor.
“Jonathan will be furious,” Thalia managed, somewhat breathlessly. “And Mr. Pembroke will be mighty offended.”
“Did you wish to dance with Mr. Pembroke?”
“No!”
“Well then, cease your complaining. I have rescued you. It was heroic of me.”
She swallowed, nervously glancing around. “Everybody is looking at us.”
“I think they are looking at you,” he said gently. “They are wondering who is dancing with the Lord of Scandal. That’s me, by the way.”
“So I surmised.”
“They’ll recognize you as Lady Thalia, and gossip will go round London within a day.”
“And… and that is a good thing?” she queried.
Before he could answer, the music began with a flourish.
Abruptly, he stepped close to her, so close that she could feel the heat radiating off his body.
The waltz hold was a simple one. One hand rested in his, the other hand rested on his shoulder, and his hand…
his hand settled on the curve of her waist.
His touch burned.
Were his hands hot? Was that it? She could have sworn that his fingers were cool when he’d touched her arm earlier. But now her skin tingled and prickled like it was burning, and try as she might, she could not force herself to raise her eyes to his.
“I am not very good at dancing,” she admitted, concentrating on not stepping on his boots. It seemed unlikely that her thin satin dancing slippers would hurt his feet, encased as they were in sturdy boots. But even so, she would rather avoid it. “I am clumsy.”
“And I am not,” he responded coolly. “I think a dance requires only one dancer in a pair.”
She glanced up at him, arching an eyebrow. “Explain.”
“Of course, not every dance suits such an arrangement,” he acknowledged. “But this one does. You can simply hang onto me and follow my lead. See, we go along together very well.”
Now that she’d looked up at him, she could not look away. His eyes were not black, as she’d initially thought. Nor were they simply brown. They must be hazel, the color shifting from green to amber with every blink.
Or perhaps that was her imagination.
“I will pay the price for snubbing Mr. Pembroke,” she said. “He’ll be angry and embarrassed. He’s a powerful man.”
The Duke shrugged. “I am more powerful. Besides, if our engagement is to be convincing, we will need to appear smitten with each other. I can certainly be as fascinated as the situation requires. Can you manage it?”
She licked dry lips. “I think so.”
He had a ruby pin nestled in the heart of his cravat, as bright and shiny as a drop of blood. She felt the strongest urge to reach out and touch it.
“Very good. Then we shall begin at once.”
The music, Thalia realized, was coming to an end. How had the whole dance gone by in a blink? Generally, her dances dragged on endlessly.
What a strange evening.
“As for the pages,” he continued, voice dropping just a little, “we shall look through them tomorrow night.”
“Tomorrow night?”
“I shall send a carriage for you at midnight. Don’t be late.”
Before she could object, the music ended. The dance was over. Applause broke out, and the Duke gently released her, stepping back. He executed a low bow, his eye catching hers.
She could have sworn that he winked.
And then he straightened up and strode away into the crowd, leaving her standing alone on the dance floor, entirely bewildered.
What on earth has just happened?
Well, one thing is for sure. I am not going to meet that man at midnight tomorrow night or any other night for that matter.