One Tempting Proposal by Christy Carlyle Page B

mouth?—­ruined the effect.
    â€œMy goodness, it’s the first time I’ve heard someone call me that. It sounds shockingly formal. I hope I can live up to it.” Lady Philippa cast a wide, wary gaze up at her brother, and he nodded, offering her a look brimming with such love and encouragement that Kitty found herself, for the first time in her life, wishing she had an older brother.
    â€œEveryone calls me Pippa. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to being called Lady Philippa.”
    Her comment revealed more than a hint of disdain for her honorific. Cynthia Osgood and the other young ladies would no doubt disparage the girl for her lack of delicacy. Titles were more valuable than currency to men like Kitty’s father, and she suspected all the ladies in her circle had been instructed in deportment as she had. Those lessons included admonitions not to be too delighted, or disgusted, with anything, never to appear overly enthusiastic, and to absolutely refrain from bald truth. The refreshing charm of Pippa’s honesty and her lack of feigned exuberance made for a delightful change from the usual ballroom inanity.
    â€œWould you care to join us in our search for a bit of fresh air, Lady Philippa?”
    Pippa nodded and Kitty turned to the lead the two young women away, relieved for the opportunity to offer Annabel an apology, and even more eager to remove herself from Wrexford’s scrutiny.
    She glanced back to offer him a nod and take her leave, but before she could dip her head, he cut in.
    â€œActually, I was just attempting to entreat Miss Benson to dance with me. She insists she is disinclined to dance this evening.”
    That slate gaze of his held her again, though less demanding than in the sitting room. In fact, she imagined a flash of the heat she’d glimpsed when he touched her. Before he’d scolded her and left her trembling like a fool.
    â€œWould you to join me for the next waltz, Lady Katherine?”
    Kitty swallowed hard. Then once more. She struggled to make her tongue obey. No. She couldn’t dance with him. That would require touching him, that he touch her. She’d already allowed him that liberty once, and he’d dashed off as if the experience horrified him.
    When she took too long to answer, Kitty sensed the weight of their gazes on her, especially Hattie’s, who no doubt expected her to be amenable to Mr. Treadwell’s aristocratic friend.
    â€œYes, I will dance with you, Your Grace.”
    Move, go, walk away. Her glued-­to-­the-­floor feet were the least of her problems. Every individual in the circle around Kitty broke into a grin. Even the duke who’d been so eager to castigate her in the sitting room wore a pleased smirk that tilted precariously toward smug.
    She usually made a man work a bit harder to secure a dance with her, and the little group seemed terribly pleased with her acquiescence. As if she’d finally transformed from an obstinate mare into a tame show filly, as compliant and biddable as every daughter of a marquess ought to be.
    But it was only one dance. She hadn’t agreed to marry the man. No matter how much his gaze unsettled her, her determination not to take the bridle her father had been attempting to impose all her life hadn’t wavered. Not even when Wrexford touched her. One dance with the man meant nothing. He was a wealthy duke, practically the brother of the man Hattie wished to marry. Dancing with him would be impossible to avoid. Why not dispense with it now and settle any awkwardness between them? Perhaps it would ease the buzzing in her belly.
    S E B ’ S G R I N W I DENED as Kitty rushed away, Miss Benson and Pippa falling in behind her in a symphony of swishing satin and taffeta silk. But the mirth ebbed and his face stiffened until he was certain he was grimacing rather than indicating an ounce of the pleasure he felt at the notion of having Lady Katherine in his