“You, sir, are impertinent,” Bess returned sharply.
His eyes narrowed as he regarded her, and he was about to answer her when the earl arrived. The earl dismissed Holland with a withering look and bent over Lady Bess’s hand to say quietly, “I have asked for a waltz to be struck up.”
Bess eyed him woefully, suddenly diverted into a grimace and a mild wail. “Oh, a waltz! I am not certain that I can waltz with you.”
“Why ever not?” he answered in surprise.
“I have never waltzed with anyone other than my father, Fleet, and Robby—except for some nonsensical boys I met in London who couldn’t do the thing any better than I. I don’t think I am terribly graceful at it.”
He laughed. “Doona think, lass, just give yerself over to me. Coom then,” he said sweetly as he led her away.
His hand on her waist, his other hand holding hers, she felt protected and impassioned all at once. She couldn’t meet his gaze because all she could think was she wanted him to kiss her.
She heard him chuckle, looked up into his blues, and felt herself lost. What was she going to do? She loved him,
and he was a rogue.
“Don’t distract me, my lord,” she said. “I am minding my steps.” He laughed again, and she clucked her tongue. “Don’t laugh at me, my lord.”
“I am not laughing at ye, sweet lass. And as to minding yer steps, ye are doing that very well.”
She looked up and beamed, and he indicated with his chin another couple on the floor. She saw Donna and Robby, and now it was her turn to laugh.
“Aye, we seem to be doing a great deal better than they.”
“Yes, but Robby is so very sweet. Whenever he tried to waltz with me, he was all feet. He doesn’t quite feel the music.”
“No, but ye—och lass, ye feel it,” he said on a husky note.
As she glanced away from Robby and Donna, she saw Bernard Holland looking at her and the earl and said, “That awful man, he is Mary Russell’s cousin, and he is the same one—”
“I know, I recognized him at once and made it m’business to find out aboot him. He is, in fact, her cousin, and the entire incident and the way he is looking at ye now makes m’want to land him a facer.”
Bess saw by the set of his mouth that an excellent chance existed the earl meant to do just that, and she clutched at his hand.
He did something then, very sensual, very provocative, something that made her heart race. With his left hand he held her hand up and out a bit as they waltzed, as was the custom, but then he brought it to his chest and clutched it there at his heart.
This simple act turned her knees into porridge. This simple, sensual move made her stare into his blues, and she felt the excitement rush from his eyes into hers, scurry through her body. She knew a moment when she wanted to purse her lips, right there in the ballroom, right there in front of the world.
She cleared her throat as she sought for control of herself and stammered, “You must not.”
“Och, lass, but I must,” he said on a low-throttled growl, and at that moment she wasn’t sure of his meaning.
She needed to think of something else. She turned the subject back to Bernard Holland. “I believe I am being fanciful, and I am certain he is nothing but a harmless dandy … yet I have this ‘feeling’, if you will, that something horrible is going on, something to do with that Gypsy.”
“Aye, I agree that while he appears no more than a foppish fellow, there is more to him,” the earl said, glancing away from her to glare at Holland, who turned away and began conversing with the woman at his elbow.
“We, no doubt, are attributing sinister character to the fellow, simply because we do not like him. It is probably not fair,” Bess suggested doubtfully.
“Ye doona believe that,” he said, and as the waltz had ended, he led her off the dance floor and towards Donna and Robby.
Fleet came up to them at that moment and pointed with a show of his chin. “See that fellow there … Mary Russell’s cousin. Havey cavey fellow.”
“Really, Fleet, we were just saying much the same. Why do you say that?” Bess asked curiously, as she watched the earl walk towards a newcomer.
At that moment the woman turned, and Bess sucked in air. She was beautiful. Bess heard someone whisper her name—she was the Lady Sonhurst.
Bess’s heart took a shot straight through, and when the shot exited her back, it made a turn and came through her heart again. How could she compete with that woman?