Kathryn Smith by For the First Time Page B

everyone exactly the same—with great patience and kindness. Who wouldn’t be drawn to such condescension? No doubt, tonight he would partner all those poor women no one else would stand up with.
    At least she wasn’t in that group. The only thing that saved her was the fact that many of the men present were personal friends of Miles. Two of them had already requested dances. Blythe wasn’t certain which was more embarrassing; not dancing, or dancing because your brother’s friends felt sorry for you.
    It wasn’t that she couldn’t dance—she could. It was her height that kept many men from asking. It took a man very comfortable in his skin to dance with a woman his height or taller. The fact that Blythe had instructed her maid to pile as much of her hair on top of her head as she could didn’t help either. It made her even taller.
    She had also worn her flashiest gown. It was made of shimmery gold gauze over a pale cream silk underskirt. The low square neckline showed a scandalous amount of her bosom, but was still less shocking than other gowns in the room. She loved this gown. It flattered her figure and complemented her coloring perfectly. This dress made her feel like a woman—or rather how she’d always believed a woman should feel.
    Powerful. Pretty.
    And she didn’t care if she danced. No doubt if someone other than his friends asked her to dance, Miles would try to marry them right there on the spot. She didn’t want to explainthat Lord So-and-So was only after her dowry or that Lord Fat Pants just wanted her because she had “good hips for breeding.”
    Besides, Miles might have actually gotten to the point where he was desperate enough to accept one of them! And then that would just lead to more trouble when Blythe refused and then—
    “…dance?”
    “Hmm…what?” She turned around and found herself staring at a very simply but well-tied cravat and a smoothly shaven jaw. She raised her gaze. Staring down at her, as though she were the only woman in the room, were two gorgeously dark eyes, set beneath long, arched brows and framed by eyelashes so thick and lush any woman would envy them.
    His smile was lopsided. Her heart skipped a beat. “Oh. Forgive me, Mr. Ryland.”
    His gaze was teasing, but there was a touch of flush along his high cheekbones. “Do you ignore all men who ask you to dance, Lady Blythe?”
    “Dance? Oh no, you do not have to dance with me, see?” She held up her dance card. “I have several partners for this evening.”
    He frowned at the card. “It’s not full.”
    Heat suffused Blythe’s cheeks. “Well, no, but I do have partners. I am not one of your wallflowers.”
    Thick brows crept high up onto his forehead as he returned his attention from the card at her wrist to her face. “Wallflowers? Lady Blythe, I asked you to dance because I want to dance with you, not because no one else will.”
    Her cheeks became even warmer. “Oh.” He wanted to dance with her. Wanted to dance with her. Why?
    The answer was simple. She was the only woman in the room that he wouldn’t get a pain in his neck from looking down at. Of course he would want to dance with her.
    Or perhaps he thought she looked pretty in her gown. Maybe he wanted to dance with her just because he wanted to. Did there have to be another reason?
    “Forgive my rudeness, Mr. Ryland. I would be honored to dance with you. Which dance would you like?”
    “The first and last waltzes.”
    The waltz? How long had it been since she had waltzed? The last man she waltzed with had been Carny. Good Lord, she didn’t know if she remembered how to waltz! And he wanted the first and the last. With her!
    Her cheeks warmed. She would make an idiot of herself, of that there could be no doubt. “I have not waltzed in a long time. I’m afraid I will not be very good at it.”
    Devlin smiled—a subtle tilt of his mouth. He had dimples. She’d never noticed before now. “Just follow my lead.”
    His lead? Oh Lord,