“It’s true. I’ve seen it.”
“You have something in common with my brother then,” Francesca gestured to her brother cutting a swath through the crowd. Thea practically heard the unattached young ladies sigh in longing and the married ones smack their lips as he passed by. “He doesn’t dance either.”
Thea couldn’t believe it. “Christian can’t dance either?”
“Oh no,” Anna injected, dryly, “Christian does everything well.”
“He just doesn’t dance,” Francesca clarified. “Ever.”
Thea looked at her friends, one at a time, for clarification. “Ever?”
Anna and Francesca each nodded once, decisively. “Ever,” they chorused.
The three of them turned as one and observed as Christian wound his way towards them. Thea noted he wasn’t rude precisely; he wasn’t especially polite either. He did not stop to chat with the ladies — young or old alike. He simply nodded an acknowledgment as they tossed greetings at him like girls toss flowers at a conquering hero in a parade.
Thea thought the whole display was repugnant.
He wouldn’t dance? Was he too vain? He was absurdly handsome, she couldn’t deny it. She assessed him as he approached their group, all cavalier yet cultured sophistication. She was sure he was aware and had no doubts exactly how he was perceived: debonair, relaxed, and devil-may-care. All those things, plus the man radiated desire, and it was obvious she wasn’t the only woman who sensed it. Even the most virginal maiden in the room had a reaction to him. Yet he wouldn’t dance with a single one of these ladies? Wasn’t that his obligation as an eligible bachelor? If he wouldn’t dance, why come to a ball? Knowing his kind, it most likely to find a partner for his bed. Thea wondered about his selection process. Did he already have someone picked out for the evening, or would he interview ladies while he was here? Did those women whose eyes followed him lustily hope to be in the running? Or did they already know the pleasures of his bed and were vying for another opportunity?
“Good evening, ladies.” His voice rumbled smoothly over her. Listening to him was a sensual pleasure. She could well imagine if she had another agenda how his voice would affect her.
“Your Grace.” Thea thought she should attempt to keep things formal or tempt fate. Her mother had often warned her against men who made a woman tingle.
“Miss Ashbrook.” Christian countered, equally formal in speech, but his smiling eyes led her to believe he was thinking of her as Thea. “I am to understand the next set leads with a waltz. Will you give me the honor?”
“What?” Francesca and Anna squeaked out the question.
“We just finished telling Thea you don’t dance,” Francesca protested.
“Clearly I dance.” Christian replied, his tone dry and bored. He held his hand out to Thea. “I trust the waltz is still open.”
“I won’t dance with you.” Thea was firm in her denial of his request for a number of reasons. First and foremost, she had no intention of humiliating herself at this party. Second, if she danced with him she would be despised by every woman in this room, possibly all of London, within minutes and that wouldn’t help her cause at all.
Christian slipped his gloved fingers under her forearm and caressed her skin until he reached her wrist. He said, sotto voice. “The gentlemen in the card room have started wagering.” Her hand slid easily into his grasp and then alit in the crook of his elbow. Before she knew what was happening, he had drawn her to his side, and they were turning towards the dance floor.
Thea glanced over her shoulder at Anna and Francesca, both of whom wore matching gob-smacked expressions. “What are they wagering on?”
“You, Thea dear.”
“What? Why?” He was guiding her inexorably closer to the other dancers.
“None of them know exactly why it is you won’t dance, but now they’re laying wagers on who the first man will be
“You have something in common with my brother then,” Francesca gestured to her brother cutting a swath through the crowd. Thea practically heard the unattached young ladies sigh in longing and the married ones smack their lips as he passed by. “He doesn’t dance either.”
Thea couldn’t believe it. “Christian can’t dance either?”
“Oh no,” Anna injected, dryly, “Christian does everything well.”
“He just doesn’t dance,” Francesca clarified. “Ever.”
Thea looked at her friends, one at a time, for clarification. “Ever?”
Anna and Francesca each nodded once, decisively. “Ever,” they chorused.
The three of them turned as one and observed as Christian wound his way towards them. Thea noted he wasn’t rude precisely; he wasn’t especially polite either. He did not stop to chat with the ladies — young or old alike. He simply nodded an acknowledgment as they tossed greetings at him like girls toss flowers at a conquering hero in a parade.
Thea thought the whole display was repugnant.
He wouldn’t dance? Was he too vain? He was absurdly handsome, she couldn’t deny it. She assessed him as he approached their group, all cavalier yet cultured sophistication. She was sure he was aware and had no doubts exactly how he was perceived: debonair, relaxed, and devil-may-care. All those things, plus the man radiated desire, and it was obvious she wasn’t the only woman who sensed it. Even the most virginal maiden in the room had a reaction to him. Yet he wouldn’t dance with a single one of these ladies? Wasn’t that his obligation as an eligible bachelor? If he wouldn’t dance, why come to a ball? Knowing his kind, it most likely to find a partner for his bed. Thea wondered about his selection process. Did he already have someone picked out for the evening, or would he interview ladies while he was here? Did those women whose eyes followed him lustily hope to be in the running? Or did they already know the pleasures of his bed and were vying for another opportunity?
“Good evening, ladies.” His voice rumbled smoothly over her. Listening to him was a sensual pleasure. She could well imagine if she had another agenda how his voice would affect her.
“Your Grace.” Thea thought she should attempt to keep things formal or tempt fate. Her mother had often warned her against men who made a woman tingle.
“Miss Ashbrook.” Christian countered, equally formal in speech, but his smiling eyes led her to believe he was thinking of her as Thea. “I am to understand the next set leads with a waltz. Will you give me the honor?”
“What?” Francesca and Anna squeaked out the question.
“We just finished telling Thea you don’t dance,” Francesca protested.
“Clearly I dance.” Christian replied, his tone dry and bored. He held his hand out to Thea. “I trust the waltz is still open.”
“I won’t dance with you.” Thea was firm in her denial of his request for a number of reasons. First and foremost, she had no intention of humiliating herself at this party. Second, if she danced with him she would be despised by every woman in this room, possibly all of London, within minutes and that wouldn’t help her cause at all.
Christian slipped his gloved fingers under her forearm and caressed her skin until he reached her wrist. He said, sotto voice. “The gentlemen in the card room have started wagering.” Her hand slid easily into his grasp and then alit in the crook of his elbow. Before she knew what was happening, he had drawn her to his side, and they were turning towards the dance floor.
Thea glanced over her shoulder at Anna and Francesca, both of whom wore matching gob-smacked expressions. “What are they wagering on?”
“You, Thea dear.”
“What? Why?” He was guiding her inexorably closer to the other dancers.
“None of them know exactly why it is you won’t dance, but now they’re laying wagers on who the first man will be
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