Chapter 26 - Dahlia
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX- DAHLIA
William was here.
Of course Dahlia had known he would be. She'd assumed he'd been in attendance for quite some time, now.
But now he stood at the edge of the dance floor, staring.
Ladies surrounded him, fluttering their lashes, their fans, their skirts, casting sly, hopeful glances at his face. He was an immovable boulder in the midst of a river of ladies in silk. He stood, legs braced, arms crossed against his impressive chest, his dark eyes firmly on her.
There was no denying who he was watching—his interest was so marked, so plain, there would be rumors in the morning.
Dahlia did her best to ignore him, grateful that the dance steps were second nature to her now.
Her mind tripped and skidded over a multitude of thoughts, but her body remained gracefully in sync with the music.
William didn't seem to notice the ladies who fluttered around him.
Dahlia did—they were a pastel foil that set off the crisp black perfection of his suit.
Dahlia's mind slipped back to memories of four years ago, at a ball very similar to this.
William had worn a suit much like the one he wore now.
He was a different man now—taller, stronger, more successful. Bigger in every sense of the word.
Though she pointedly ignored William now, their eyes had met for a single moment when he first stepped to the front of the crowd. He'd looked incensed. If he was angry about Dahlia using the silk, about commandeering his seamstresses on her own behalf, she would deal with it.
What could he do to her, after all? He wasn't a family member. They weren't even business partners anymore. She should have known from the start that was all he saw in her—a way to get ahead. A lever to push to gain more success for himself and his sisters.
The thought bolstered her. She sunk into the dance more fully, letting her steps become more languid, smiling up at Lord Pearson as if it were he she thought about every night until she berated herself to stop so she could finally sleep.
She'd heard the words from William’s very lips—he didn't intend to marry until all of his sisters were settled.
Perhaps if all of his sisters were as beautiful and as kind as Lily, Dahlia might have thought he meant to wait only a single Season.
But one of his sisters was Claire, and Dahlia couldn't imagine the kind of man who'd be strong enough to take on that particular challenge.
Besides, there were four more of them who weren't even in the country yet.
William didn't intend to marry soon. He certainly didn't intend to marry her.
So Dahlia was somewhat surprised that—when the music came to an end and she curtsied gracefully at Lord Pearson, who bowed in return—she arose from her curtsy to find William towering over them, a half-frown on his face.
"Good evening, Lord Cavendish," she said politely.
If anything, his frown deepened. His voice was kind yet firm when he said, "I'd like the next dance, Dahlia."
Lord Pearson skittered away, murmuring something about how it had been his pleasure. Dahlia sighed. She couldn't hardly blame the fellow for his cowardice. In his dark suit, William looked every inch the dangerous pirate he was rumored to be.
"Apologies, Lord Cavendish. I already have a partner for the next dance."
His eyes narrowed at the tiny decorative booklet dangling from the chain at her wrist. "Whoever it is, I'm sure he owes me money; I can make him go away."
"You assume I want to dance with you."
"Why wouldn't you, Dahlia?" His green eyes bored into hers. "We are friends, are we not?"
"Yet all the men on my card made a point to actually ask for a dance. They didn't just lumber up and demand one."
William gave a smile that hinted at smugness. "Come now, Dahlia. You and I both know I never lumber."
Drat it, but he was right. He was exceedingly graceful, especially for a man his size.
Thankfully, she was saved from responding by the appearance of her next dance partner, Lord Mullins.
He was a handsome enough fellow—brown curls that flopped just-so over his forehead, brown eyes crinkled at the corners by his warm smile.
Except next to William, Lord Mullins suddenly reminded Dahlia of a weak sapling being crowded out by a mighty oak. She sighed internally, hearing the scratching of a pen in her mind as she crossed out his name from her neat gridlines.
Lord Mullins held out his hand, a slight tremble in his fingers. "Miss Warrington, I believe I have this dance?"
It hardly made it better that Lord Mullins had phrased it as a timid question, not a confident statement.
William smirked. "If you don't turn around and walk away immediately, Lord Mullins, your ships may have problems finding safe harbor from London to Bombay."
The man's eyes went wide; he about-faced with near military precision and retreated into the crowd.
"Coward," she muttered, though she understood—if met with the feral look of anger in William's eyes, she would have fled the dance floor, too.
"Shall we?"
"Very well, but only because the music's starting. And I warn you, William—if you try to scare away my next dance partner, I'll leave you standing on the dance floor alone."
"Fair enough."
For being insistent that he have the next dance, he certainly didn't have much to say once they'd started.
He danced with the same precise, ruthless intensity with which he did everything else.
He stared down at her until discomfort forced her to look out over the crowd. Many eyes followed them; she sighed.
"Why did you demand this dance?"
"I didn't demand. I asked very politely."
"You scared Lord Mullins half to death."
"It isn't my fault he has a weak constitution."
"You told him you'd attack his ships."
"I most certainly did not." He had the gall to sound affronted. "I said his ships may have problems, not that they most definitely would and that I would cause them."
"You strongly implied it."
"I've learned to pay attention to what people actually say, not what I think they've said. A very handy skill, especially when reading contracts."
"I pay attention to what people actually say as well. Tell me, William—are all your sisters married yet?"
"Of course not."
"Then why on earth are you wasting time dancing with me?"
"I don't think it's a waste of my time."
"Let me rephrase—why are you wasting my time?"
He blinked down at her as if surprised by the venom in her voice. A slow smile spread across his face. "My dear Miss Warrington, are you cross with me?"
"Of course not. It's only that I intend to be married by the end of this Season—"
"How convenient."
She couldn't read his tone, so she grandly ignored him. "And I need to use my time wisely."
"Is dancing with an eligible bachelor of great fortune a waste of your time?" he teased.
She stiffened. "I'm serious."
"As am I."
"Then I'll answer you as such. You've stated you won't marry until your sisters are settled. As I intend to wed within the year, we're completely ill-suited."
"This is regarding my comment of the other day?"
"You aren't the only one who pays attention to what people actually say," she said crisply.
He grinned as if delighted she was being so prickly. "It's true I said that. However, I reserve the right to change my mind at a moment's notice."
"Hardly a positive trait."
William chuckled, the sound rich and low.
It did more to her limbs and stomach than the glass of champagne she'd had at the outset to calm her nerves.
He was watching her again; it was far more unsettling than before.
She didn't know how to interpret his words; she was too close to him to even try at the moment.
Dahlia cast her eyes around them, then frowned.
"Who is Lily dancing with?"
William's head lifted; he followed her gaze and frowned. "I don't know the fellow."
"Some chaperone you are."
"I confess I've been very distracted this past quarter hour. All my sisters could be galavanting in the gardens and I wouldn't even know it."
Dahlia's cheeks heated as they did every time he made reference to illicit meetings in a garden. He gave a satisfied smile as if he saw it and was pleased.
"In fact, I might have to bring another chaperone in for reinforcements. A pity I don't have more aunts."
"Your future nieces and nephews won't share the complaint."
He laughed; several more heads turned their direction. "Certainly not. Hopefully they won't be in want of uncles, either."
"Whoever he is, that gentleman seems keen on filling the role."
Dahlia wasn't exaggerating. The gentleman dancing with Lily was dashingly handsome, if not a bit serious-looking.
His thick dark hair was a striking contrast to Lily's light brown.
The man stared down at her with an intense, unreadable expression on his face.
Lily flushed as if exerting herself to bear the weight of such attention.
"I shall have the truth of it over breakfast." William's eyes had already returned to Dahlia. "Doubtless, that won't be the last gentleman unintentionally wooed by Lily's beauty and sweetness."
Dahlia disagreed with his assessment. The man, whoever he was, looked very intentional, indeed. Not to mention Lily’s expression. Then again, William had only flicked a glance the couple's direction.
"Oh, Claire is dancing, too."
William frowned as if displeased with the distractions. "It's just that friend of hers, Lord Rutheridge. I'll warn her in the morning that too much time spent in his presence will only scare the other gentlemen off."
"I don't think you have to worry about Claire. She'll have thought it through."
He smiled. "I'm glad you two have come to an understanding."
"She sees more than people give her credit for. I wish her nothing but the best."
The song was ending; Dahlia was relieved.
It had been more difficult than she'd realized to keep an intelligible conversation going while his large hand clasped her waist, while the heat of it seeped through the expensive brocade he'd gifted her weeks ago.
The music faded. There was a rustle of silk and a murmur of dancers taking their polite leave of one another.
William still held her waist, still stared down at her. The whirl of the dance had placed Claire and Lord Rutheridge directly beside them.
Claire narrowed her eyes and stepped forward. "William, are you going to ask someone else to dance?"
"I hadn't planned on it."
His hands finally slid from Dahlia's waist. It was like breaking the surface of water—she felt she could breathe again.
"That's ridiculous," Claire said, tartly. "You'll dance with me next."
Dahlia could have hugged her. If William had strode onto the dance floor, only danced with Dahlia, then strode away again, it would have caused a furor of gossip. Even as it was, a disproportionate number of people were still watching.
Dahlia cast about subtly for her next dance partner, but the man had disappeared. Perhaps he'd witnessed William's treatment of her last companion and thought it better to preemptively retreat.
"Miss Warrington," Lord Rutheridge said with a smooth smile. "May I have the privilege of this dance?"
Dahlia nodded numbly and allowed him to lead her gently away.
Lord Rutheridge had reddish-brown hair and blue eyes.
He was quite handsome, Dahlia realized after they'd been dancing in silence for several moments.
Though perhaps she was more inclined to think so after the great kindness he'd just shown her.
"Apologies," she murmured.
"Whatever for?" He looked genuinely curious, as if, in his mind, she had nothing to be sorry for and he couldn't imagine what she was on about.
"I'm not quite at my best at the moment."
"Yet you look ravishing." He grinned down at her.
Dahlia couldn't help but notice that his eyes strayed often toward where Claire and William danced. Claire had finagled him halfway across the floor in the opposite direction—not an easy task, as their dance appeared a constant battle for control—and Dahlia was grateful.
"Claire looks exceptionally pretty tonight, too," she said.
He gave her a speculative smile. "Indeed, she does. Partly your doing, by the sound of things."
"I think she's beautiful all the time."
He chuckled. "You needn't talk her up to me. What's that old saying? That's like shipping coal to Newcastle."
"That sounds promising."
He shook his head. "Afraid not. She has her requirements set, after all."
Dahlia winced.
"Ah, yes. I had heard your name in passing in that regard. Tell me—is it true you aim to finally put the gentlemen out of their collective misery and choose a husband this year?"
"Where did you hear that rumor?"
"I find it charming you think that men don't gossip just as much as the females."
"I assumed as much. I just didn't think you were talking about us."
He chuckled. "What could be more interesting than the topic of beautiful ladies?
Look around—who's more interesting, the men or the women?
Everything about you lot is designed to garner notice—from the bits in your hair all the way to the bobs on the tips of your shoes.
You cannot blame us for giving you what you ask. "
Dahlia found herself charmed, despite the circumstances which had dictated their dance to begin with.
"I think that the gentlemen are worthy of some attention, too."
"A charming notion, but we both know you're lying. Men's clothing is less interesting than ladies' for a reason."
"Which is?"
"That you are the ones worthy of attention, and we shouldn't fight you for it."
"Someone ought to pass that message along to Lord Calhoun," she murmured and inclined her head to where a large, pale man waltzed by in a bright purple waistcoat.
Lord Rutheridge laughed; several heads turned their direction. Dahlia relaxed further, especially when she noted her next dance partner waiting patiently along the edges of the swirling floor. William's brutish behavior hadn't sent every man scrambling away, at least.
Dahlia couldn't imagine William's purpose in dancing with her to begin with.
When he'd first approached, she'd been certain it was to upbraid her for abusing his trust regarding his seamstresses.
He hadn't mentioned that at all, though by his repeated glances she ascertained he'd noticed—and appreciated—her gown.
Lord Rutheridge freed her from her contemplation by saying, "You know, on second thought, I think the purple waistcoat suits him. He rather reminds me of scone smeared with blackcurrant jelly.” He grinned down at her. “I love blackcurrant jelly."