Waltzing With the Wallflower by Rachel van Dyken, Leah Sanders Page A

mind, causing him to hold her arm tighter. If any other gentleman touched her, he would kill him.
    Ambrose swallowed and pursed his lips, trying to think of something witty to say to get the girl to confess her thoughts aloud. Unfortunately, nothing came to mind save to ask the girl outright if she enjoyed the kiss. What was happening to him? Was it possible the girl had broken down so much of his defenses that he no longer knew how to flirt or manipulate a woman’s affections?
    “Cordelia,” he blurted her name then inwardly cursed, for now he needed to finish his thought.
    Her eyes met his. “Ambrose?”
    His gaze fell to her full lips, which she delicately nibbled on in thought.
    “I…” He couldn’t tear his eyes away.
    “You…?” She prompted, squinting towards him.
    “The kiss.” His voice was hoarse. “Do you think of it?”
    Cordelia’s gaze darted away without answering the question. He felt like a fool until she leaned in and whispered so lightly he almost missed it, “Every day.”
    The intense need to kiss her again washed over him as the dance ended, and he noticed her blushing again. Bet or no bet, it mattered not. The importance of showing her how he felt was at the forefront of his mind.
    “Shall we take some fresh air?” he managed to choke out as he led her in the direction of the balcony. She flashed him a knowing smile and nodded her head.
    “I believe this is my dance, Lady Cordelia.” A young man interrupted their escape plans with stars in his eyes for the lady. Ambrose knew it would cause more whispering if he didn’t allow the man to dance with her. He stepped aside and nodded, then whispered in Cordelia’s ear for her to join him on the balcony as soon as the dance was finished.
    Ambrose made his way to Anthony. The last thing he desired was to watch Cordelia dance in another man’s arms. He winced from the pain of the image, then located Anthony and Wilde and joined them.
    “Is it true then?” A man in the group asked.
    “What am I missing?” Ambrose asked, looking at his twin brother. Something had transpired. He wasn’t sure what it was, but a sickening feeling told him it had to be something important, for the look on Wilde’s face was absolute horror.
    “Are you her protector then?” the man continued.
    “ Who are you?” by the tone of his voice, Ambrose made it clear that he didn’t care to even know the individual.
    “You didn’t answer my question. You see, I’m looking for a new mistress, and I was wondering if you planned on keeping yours.” His smug grin made Ambrose want to stab him where he stood.
    “Mine? Obtuse idiot, I don’t have a mistress!”
    Anthony choked. Wilde appeared ready to lose his dinner, and the rest of the men looked curious.
    “Of course you do. Weren’t you just dancing with her?”
    Ambrose looked to Anthony for help, but his twin brother was now staring at the ceiling as if a silly painting were on display.
    “You are mistaken, sir.” Ambrose kept his voice curt, his answer polite, though he wanted nothing more than to pummel the man with his bare fists.
    “I heard it from a reliable source, Hawthorne. It’s common knowledge. Lady Cordelia appears to be your mistress. It makes perfect sense. I mean no ill will towards the chit, but her reputation isn’t quite shining. I can imagine at least a hundred young women who would be a better fit for a titled lord. As an indentured servant, you can be sure she was no stranger to a man’s attention. So, I ask again. Is she under your protection, or is she in need of a protector?”
    His pulse thudded against his ears as Ambrose grew dizzy with rage. He drew a slow, steady breath and blew it through pursed lips, forcing his balled fists to remain at his sides. Mustering all the self-control he possessed, he muttered, “You are mistaken. Lady Cordelia is in no need of a protector. Not now, not ever. Assume what you must, but stay away from the lady.”
    Cursing, Ambrose spun on