“Wonderful.” The duke smiled widely and extended his gloved hand. “I believe it’s a waltz.”
***
She said yes…
Dominic had taken a chance, thrown the dice, and Miss Artemis Jones had accepted the challenge and was now quite willingly accompanying him onto the dance floor. As soon as he’d entered the ballroom and surveyed the assembled guests, he’d quite unexpectedly spotted her. In that moment, he’d felt a frisson. A thrill right down to his bones.
Artemis Jones might be a bluestocking, but it had been clear to him at first glance that she had elevated connections. She wouldn’t be at the Castledowns’ ball otherwise. Or attired in a haute couture gown of crimson silk that was the perfect foil for her dark auburn hair and deep brown eyes. Indeed, Artemis Jones stood out like a flame, beckoning him closer. She was, without a doubt, the most arresting woman in the room. Her boldness of character—her willingness to take a gamble—made her appealing as hell.
It had been no trouble to secure his hostess’s help in engineering a formal introduction. Within no time at all, he’d learned that Miss Jones’s aunt was a wealthy dowager baroness. Although he was certain Lady Wagstaff was none too pleased by the turn of events. The matron’s eyes had fairly popped out of her head when her niece had agreed to dance with him.
Of course, he’d expected blatant stares and tongues to begin wagging as soon as he singled out Miss Jones. The entire room was presently agog, the crowd watching and whispering with an excitement that bordered upon frenzied as he slid one gloved hand about her corseted waist and his other hand enveloped hers.
He sought her gaze as the orchestra began to play the opening bars of a Viennese waltz. Something by Strauss no doubt. “Thank you for accepting my invitation, Miss Jones. I must say, I admire your pluck.”
Her eyes sparkled with amusement. “My pluck? What a curious compliment, Your Grace. And here I was about to say something terribly prosaic about how much I admired the sapphire pin nestled in the artful folds of your cravat.”
Dominic pressed forward as the dance began. “You may jest all you like, Miss Jones, but I have no doubt that you’d already heard certain rumors about me even before Lady Castledown introduced us. It takes a considerable amount of courage to brave the stares and whispers at such a large gathering of exceedingly influential members of high society.”
“Pfft.” Miss Jones lifted her hand from Dominic’s shoulder and waved it in the air as though she were shooing away a pesky gnat. “They might be talking about me now, but I’m really no one of consequence. I’ll be forgotten about as soon as this waltz is over and you move on to another partner. Yes, I think it’s safe to say it’syouthat everyone is interested in. Aside from that”—her lips quirked with a wry smile—“I thought it might irk my aunt if I agreed to dance with you.”
He cocked a brow. “I’m flattered.”
“Oh, you should be,” she returned. “I don’t dance with just anybody, Your Grace. In fact, I’d rather stick your cravat pin in my eye than waste my time dallying with most of the gentlemen here.”
“Forgive me for being so frank, but you’re not here to find a husband?”
She gave a small unladylike snort. “Hardly. No, I’m here to support a dear friend and my sister, Phoebe, who are both making their debuts. Although, my aunt would be most pleased if I did happen to catch an eligible gentleman’s interest.” Miss Jones glanced over his shoulder in the direction of Lady Wagstaff. “Well, someone other than you, Your Grace. No offense intended, of course.”
He couldn’t suppress a sardonic smile. “Of course.”
They danced in slightly strained silence for another minute or two, and then Dominic noticed that Miss Jones’s lovely mouth, the color of crushed berries, had curved into a small, wicked smile.
“What is it?” he asked. “I know I haven’t waltzed for some time, but I didn’t think I was making a complete hash of things.”
She laughed. “No, no, it’s not that. You dance very well, Your Grace. It’s just that we’ve passed my aunt again, and I can tell by her expression that she is fretting that you and I might become entangled in some sort of untoward way. Which amuses me no end. She’s probably having conniptions imagining the headlines in tomorrow’s scandal rags:The Rebellious Bluestocking and the Dastardly Duke Waltz the Night Away.” A becoming blush blossomed across Miss Jones’s high cheekbones. “Oh, I’m so sorry. That was entirely thoughtless of me to say that.”
“Do not worry. It’s not as though I haven’t been addressed by that name before,” Dominic said as blithely as he could. “Too many times to count, in fact. But returning to something you said a moment ago…” He paused to deftly execute a tight turn at the end of the room before capturing her gaze and murmuring, “I rather like the word ‘entangled.’”
The word lingered in the air between them, hovering like a possibility. An ember that could spark a blaze at any moment. Miss Jones’s dark eyes widened, and he swore he caught the tiniest hitch in her breathing before she recovered her impressive composure and gave him a wry smile. “Really? ‘Entangled’ has all sorts of uncomfortable connotations in my opinion.” Her expression grew mischievous. “‘Entwined.’ Now that’s a word I much prefer.”
“Like this?” Dominic couldn’t resist threading his fingers through hers. It was a shocking breach of etiquette, and she knew it. This time, there was no mistaking her sharp intake of breath and the flare of heat in her eyes as her gaze flew to his. “I also like the sound of ‘enticed,’” he added in a low, soft voice by her ear.
He sensed that her mouth twitched. Whether it was with mirth or annoyance, he could not say.
“You have a way with words, Your Grace,” she whispered huskily.
“‘Enchanted’ is another favorite of mine,” Dominic continued. “Closely followed by ‘enraptured’ and ‘entranced.’”
“The breadth of your vocabulary is impressive indeed,” she returned. This time, her tone was clearly laced with dry amusement. “If you’re not careful, I shall soon be reduced to a puddle of enthralled womanhood at your feet.”
Dominic laughed. “Ah, I think I do recall some swooning in puddles the first time we met outside Paddington Station.”
“There was no swooning,” she countered. “You bumped into me and almost knocked me clean off my f—”
She got no further as at that moment the waltz ended, and Dominic spun her to a halt. Her crimson skirts billowed and swayed about her like an elegant flare of flame.
“Thank you, Miss Jones”—Dominic released her from his hold and tilted into a gentlemanly bow—“for the dance and the simple pleasure of your company. It’s been most entertaining. For me at least.”
“I trust that the rest of your evening will be equally enjoyable,” replied Miss Jones. As Dominic studied her face, the color rose in her cheeks again. He shouldn’t deliberately flirt with her like this. Not in such a public setting. But he couldn’t seem to help himself. To say that he was enchanted wouldn’t be a lie.
Reluctantly, he escorted her back to her waiting aunt.
One thing was certain: Artemis Jones was no shrinking wallflower. She was more like an arbor rose—beautiful and as beguiling as sin. And despite the fact he was an infamous duke, she was unafraid to aim a well-deserved barb or two his way. She was definitely a refreshing change from the usual fare on offer at society balls.
While furthering his acquaintance with Miss Jones might not help him solve his problem with finding a duchess—she’d clearly stated that she wasn’t looking for a husband and her quip about being “a rebellious bluestocking” had a ring of truth to it that he couldn’t ignore—Dominic decided he hadn’t quite sampled enough of her just yet.