Chapter 4
Chapter
Four
E vangeline finished her dance with Mr. Fournier, and he led her over to the side of the room, his attention unnervingly fixated on her. The man was either far too interested in her person or she had some kind of food stuck to her lip.
Self-consciously, she reached up and checked that she did not have anything on her face before stepping back a little to give herself more space. “Thank you for the dance, Mr. Fournier. I’m certain I shall see you about town in the coming weeks.”
“Indeed you will, and I look forward to another dance with Lady Evangeline. I will not dally with your time and not say that I’m seeking a wife, and think that should our future meetings be as enjoyable as this one has been, you shall be seeing me even more than you think.”
Evangeline smiled and held out her hand. He reached for her gloved fingers and kissed them—lingering over them far longer than was appropriate.
“Lady Evangeline, Ravensmere has requested I escort you into supper.”
Lord St. George’s voice startled her, and she wrenched her fingers from Mr. Fournier’s hold. She looked up at the earl and was surprised to see the displeasure on his face, as if escorting her into supper was an annoyance he did not wish to partake in.
“You’re at the ball, my lord. I did not think you were going to attend after our earlier conversation?”
“I was persuaded to come.” Lord St. George glanced at Mr. Fournier, who continued to stand with them, his look of annoyance growing.
“Lord St. George, this is Mr. Fournier. Mr. Fournier, this is Lord St. George.”
“An honor,” Mr. Fournier said, a smirk crossing his mouth before he turned his attention back to Evangeline. “But alas, I must be off. Another ball to attend. I wish you a pleasant evening.”
“And I you, Mr. Fournier.” Evangeline watched Mr. Fournier make his way through the crowd before turning her attention back to the earl. “Shall we join the duke and duchess?”
“Yes.”
His lordship did not say another word, merely led her through the room to the large supper room already filling with guests eager for a repast and a moment’s retreat from the ball. They found Rosalind and the duke waiting for them at a table, four glasses of wine already poured, and—thankfully—Rosalind had procured some of Evangeline’s favorite delicacies since coming to London.
They sat, and Evangeline fought to ignore the large, imposing gentleman seated beside her. There was something about him that made her nervous, and as much as she fought not to be affected by his presence, she felt as though she were on tenterhooks. She didn’t want to stare too long and give the impression of being simpleminded. Nor gape at his height. Nor fixate on his mouth, which remained a very lovely shape.
He would kiss very well, she was certain.
She sighed and picked up her fork.
“Are you not enjoying your evening, dearest?” Rosalind asked. “That sigh was very telling.”
Heat washed over Evangeline’s face, and she fought not to look at Lord St. George, who she could feel was watching her closely.
“I’m perfectly well. Merely growing tired. It has been a busy day and evening, but I’m so grateful to you both. Thank you for the wonderful coming-out ball.”
Rosalind smiled—a proud older sister—and Evangeline was grateful she had believed that was the reason behind her sigh.
For some time they sat and ate, enjoying their roasted duck, sugared pears, and delicate petits fours with the wine, before the music started up again and dancing recommenced.
“And now to enjoy the second half of the ball,” Rosalind said, standing. The duke linked their arms, and Evangeline followed them back into the ballroom, the presence of Lord St. George making the hair on the back of her neck prickle.
She was so much smaller than the gentleman. She was certain he could pick her up and toss her about the room like a doll if he wished. Still, his presence caught the attention of many ladies in attendance, and their appreciative glances were not unnoticed.
“I fear that you shall be tasked to dance very soon if you continue to remain at this ball, my lord,” Evangeline teased, grinning up at him.
He met her gaze, and something in his expression softened when he looked at her—made her stomach flutter sweetly.
“I do not care to dance with any of the ladies present. Bar one.”
Evangeline turned her attention back to the gathered throng, hating the little bite of jealousy that coursed through her at the thought of his lordship interested in anyone here. There was nothing wrong with that, of course. Just because she thought him handsome and so very interesting did not mean he found her the same.
“You ought to ask the lady to dance, my lord. I know you’ve been away from society for some time, but I think it would do you well to have a little enjoyment—maybe just this once.”
“Perhaps she will say no if I were to ask.”
Evangeline chuckled and shook her head. “I do not think she will. I believe you would find many ladies most eager for your hand in a dance.”
“Well then…”
Lord St. George’s hand materialized before her, and she looked up at him, wondering what he was about.
“I could not dance with anyone other than the lady whose ball this is in honor of.” He grinned, and she bit back another sigh, not wanting to give herself away—that her earlier sigh had, in fact, been because of him. “Would you do me the honor?”
Evangeline took his hand far quicker than she probably ought. But then, she was never one to pretend, nor did she want him to rescind his offer and walk away. She wanted to be in his arms. To float about the room and be lost in his warmth and strength, if only for a few minutes.
His hand clasped hers—gloveless, strong, and large. She went with him without question, fighting the nerves that tumbled about inside.
The first notes of a waltz commenced, and he pulled her into his arms. Even though he was tall, she fit him perfectly well, giving her the ideal opportunity to study him as they danced. To drink in everything she had started to like about the man.
And that was exactly what he was. A man. A virile, fully grown gentleman. No boy. No popinjay who flattered because that was the way they had been instructed to behave around ladies.
He was the kind of man who reminded her of Rosalind’s husband. And she wanted one of those for herself. But was Lord St. George the only gentleman in town of his caliber? Surely that would not be the case.
“Thank you for the dance, my lord. Should I forget to thank you after the fact. You dance very well.” She met his gaze, and he watched her. His eyes flickered with interest, and yet his face remained unreadable.
He was an enigma, which only made him more intriguing. Not that she believed he wished to be intriguing for anyone. He was paying her a kindness. Dancing with his friend’s sister-in-law at her coming out. That was all, and she would be deluding herself to think it went any further than that.
“You’re welcome, Lady Evangeline.”
She hoped he would say more, but stubbornly he remained quiet, merely moving them about the floor with effortless grace. His steps were faultless, his conduct impeccable.
What would it take to rattle this kind of gentleman? What would it take to rattle him …
“You’re very tall, my lord. And broad. Has anyone ever mentioned that to you before?”
He met her eyes, his brows raised. “A woman of your breeding certainly has not.” He paused. “Do I intimidate you, my lady?”
“No,” she blurted before even thinking about her answer. But now that she had, the answer still remained true. He did not. And she doubted he would want to hear what, in fact, he did intrigue within her.
Lust.
Appeal.
Hope.
“No, you do not. I think you’re quite charming. And I hope to see more of you during the Season.”
“And I look forward to watching you make a grand match and marry. I know from speaking to Ravensmere that they have high hopes you’ll have a successful Season.”
“Yes, I’m certain they do. And thank you.”
His response dampened her enjoyment. She didn’t want him to stand aside and watch. She wanted him to partake . To throw himself before her and possibly court her too.
Not that she believed anyone else would get a look in should he do so.
Already, she was a little smitten.
And that would not do at all with a gentleman who wasn’t interested in return.