radiant smile. It felt unnatural, as though suddenly twice the usual number of teeth were wedged into her mouth.
What was the matter with her?
“My friends do. And I hope we will become friends.”
“Any friend of my sister’s is a friend of mine.”
Said with pretty, impartial gravity.
And the faintest hint of what she suspected was, again, amusement.
Genevieve made a small sound in her throat. Tansy glanced at her curiously. It sounded almost like skepticism. Perhaps a warning.
“We’re on a quest to fill Tansy’s dance card with the most splendid dancers, Ian.”
It sounded very like Genevieve didn’t want to include Ian in that number.
“I’ve been a bit of a wallflower, I’m afraid.”
Tansy lowered her gaze demurely. Which gave her a clear view of his hands. Big hands, long straight fingers. A prickle of interesting heat started up at the back of her neck. “I’d be honored if you would dance with me, Mr. Eversea.”
Very, very bold of her. Quite inadvisable, and yet, she could blame it on American manners, and she knew no English gentleman would be able to refuse.
She suspected that hadn’t been Genevieve’s intention at all, for whatever reason, but even so.
She looked up again to find Ian exchanging an unreadable look with Genevieve and mouthing words. They looked like: Must I?
The. Nerve.
“It would be my honor and privilege if you would share a waltz with me,” he said solemnly, but with a glint in his blue eyes, which he probably thought was devastating.
The fact that it was devastating was beside the point. So devastating she nearly forgot he’d just been insufferable.
As nearly as insufferable as she’d been.
“I shall look forward to it greatly, Mr. Eversea,” she said just as gravely, as Genevieve towed her away again.
Chapter 6
M ISS D ANFORTH WAS DANCING a quadrille with Simon. The young man looked dumbstruck by his luck, and frequently stumbled over his own feet. Ian would warrant young Simon had danced that particular reel a hundred times in his life if he’d danced it once. Miss Danforth smiled radiantly at him each time he stumbled, as if he’d done it on purpose for her entertainment.
Ian frowned faintly.
His sister appeared at his elbow.
“Good evening, again, Genevieve. Did the dancing exhaust your husband?”
She rolled her eyes. She was so confident of her husband’s vigor that insults and jests regarding his age rolled off her. “He was pulled into an impromptu meeting. Something regarding an investment he’d like to make.” She paused. “It’s thoughtful of you to be . . . kind . . . to Miss Danforth, Ian.”
He smiled a slow, grim smile. “So thoughtful of your husband to warn me not to corrupt her.”
“Oh. Did he?” She didn’t sound surprised, however. “You can see where he might be sensitive on the topic, however.”
She was teasing him. Mostly. He tried to work up righteous indignation, but it was difficult to remain self-righteous when it came to Genevieve. Especially since she was so happy with the duke that she all but walked about glowing like a medieval saint.
And also because he wasn’t exactly proud of cuckolding the man with his former fiancée.
He sighed. “I’m not a corrupter of innocents , Genevieve.” The implication being that the duke’s erstwhile fiancée had hardly been an innocent, and had been rather complicit in the whole episode.
Genevieve made a noncommittal sound.
And said nothing for a time.
And then, “She’s very pretty, Miss Danforth,” she said carefully.
He sighed. “I suppose she is. Then again, so many women are, to my everlasting gratitude.”
And, he was certain, Miss Danforth was quite accustomed to being called pretty, quite taken with herself and quite accustomed to wielding her eyelashes and big eyes to get what she wanted from men. Yet she was the veriest child, for all of that. The blushing. The blinding smile. The awkward conversation. He had seen it before, a million
What was the matter with her?
“My friends do. And I hope we will become friends.”
“Any friend of my sister’s is a friend of mine.”
Said with pretty, impartial gravity.
And the faintest hint of what she suspected was, again, amusement.
Genevieve made a small sound in her throat. Tansy glanced at her curiously. It sounded almost like skepticism. Perhaps a warning.
“We’re on a quest to fill Tansy’s dance card with the most splendid dancers, Ian.”
It sounded very like Genevieve didn’t want to include Ian in that number.
“I’ve been a bit of a wallflower, I’m afraid.”
Tansy lowered her gaze demurely. Which gave her a clear view of his hands. Big hands, long straight fingers. A prickle of interesting heat started up at the back of her neck. “I’d be honored if you would dance with me, Mr. Eversea.”
Very, very bold of her. Quite inadvisable, and yet, she could blame it on American manners, and she knew no English gentleman would be able to refuse.
She suspected that hadn’t been Genevieve’s intention at all, for whatever reason, but even so.
She looked up again to find Ian exchanging an unreadable look with Genevieve and mouthing words. They looked like: Must I?
The. Nerve.
“It would be my honor and privilege if you would share a waltz with me,” he said solemnly, but with a glint in his blue eyes, which he probably thought was devastating.
The fact that it was devastating was beside the point. So devastating she nearly forgot he’d just been insufferable.
As nearly as insufferable as she’d been.
“I shall look forward to it greatly, Mr. Eversea,” she said just as gravely, as Genevieve towed her away again.
Chapter 6
M ISS D ANFORTH WAS DANCING a quadrille with Simon. The young man looked dumbstruck by his luck, and frequently stumbled over his own feet. Ian would warrant young Simon had danced that particular reel a hundred times in his life if he’d danced it once. Miss Danforth smiled radiantly at him each time he stumbled, as if he’d done it on purpose for her entertainment.
Ian frowned faintly.
His sister appeared at his elbow.
“Good evening, again, Genevieve. Did the dancing exhaust your husband?”
She rolled her eyes. She was so confident of her husband’s vigor that insults and jests regarding his age rolled off her. “He was pulled into an impromptu meeting. Something regarding an investment he’d like to make.” She paused. “It’s thoughtful of you to be . . . kind . . . to Miss Danforth, Ian.”
He smiled a slow, grim smile. “So thoughtful of your husband to warn me not to corrupt her.”
“Oh. Did he?” She didn’t sound surprised, however. “You can see where he might be sensitive on the topic, however.”
She was teasing him. Mostly. He tried to work up righteous indignation, but it was difficult to remain self-righteous when it came to Genevieve. Especially since she was so happy with the duke that she all but walked about glowing like a medieval saint.
And also because he wasn’t exactly proud of cuckolding the man with his former fiancée.
He sighed. “I’m not a corrupter of innocents , Genevieve.” The implication being that the duke’s erstwhile fiancée had hardly been an innocent, and had been rather complicit in the whole episode.
Genevieve made a noncommittal sound.
And said nothing for a time.
And then, “She’s very pretty, Miss Danforth,” she said carefully.
He sighed. “I suppose she is. Then again, so many women are, to my everlasting gratitude.”
And, he was certain, Miss Danforth was quite accustomed to being called pretty, quite taken with herself and quite accustomed to wielding her eyelashes and big eyes to get what she wanted from men. Yet she was the veriest child, for all of that. The blushing. The blinding smile. The awkward conversation. He had seen it before, a million
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