Page 13 of The Trouble with True Love

“I beg you not to refuse me,” he cut in smoothly, “for if you do, I shall feel no end a fool.” His smile seemed to stiffen even as it widened. “Everyone’s watching us, you see.”

Oh, God. Her cheeks flamed with heat, for she hated being conspicuous, and she had to suppress the urge to glance around. He was probably exaggerating, but even a single pair of eyes seemed a pair too many.

Unfortunately, he had just conveyed upon her what anyone watching would regard as a great honor, and since she had not been engaged for this dance by another partner, there was no excuse possible.

“Thank you, yes,” she murmured and took his hand. As he led her onto the ballroom floor, she appreciated with a sinking feeling that even if no one had been watching them a moment ago, every pair of eyes in the room was certainly fixed on them now.

She paused with him at one end of the ballroom, waiting as other couples desiring to dance lined up along the edges of the dance floor, preparing to follow them in the Grand March. A few moments later, he glanced at her, gave a nod, and started forward.

Clara moved with him, acutely uncomfortable as they paraded across the ballroom floor under the scrutiny of over a hundred people. How ironic that she’d spent her entire youth wishing she could make a successful debut into society, and yet, once Fate had at last decided to grant her the chance to fulfill that seemingly impossible wish, all she wanted was to make a mad dash for the nearest door.

At the top of the room, they turned to face each other. He looked at her, and she looked at his white tie as he lifted their clasped hands. The other couples who had followed them ducked beneath the arch formed by their raised arms, then circled back around to line up along the edges of the dance floor, men on his side, women on hers.

When all the couples had gone through, Galbraith turned and so did she, and they started back across the room, other couples in their wake.

“Surely we must have a bit of conversation, Miss Deverill,” he said, breaking the silence between them.

“Must we?” The moment she said those words, she regretted them, for it wasn’t in her nature to be impolite. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled, casting a sideways glance at him. “That s... sounded rude. It’s just that I’m not... I don’t... that is, c... conversation isn’t... my greatest talent.”

“I see.” In his extraordinary eyes was a hint of what might have been sympathy. Or pity.

She stiffened and looked away, wishing she hadn’t been so frank. “It’s only with strangers.”

They paused where they had started, turning to face each other, and as they waited for the other dancers to move into the proper formation, she felt impelled to underscore a lack of familiarity. “I don’t know you, you see.”

“A fact which is wholly my loss.”

Given what she knew of him, Clara was inclined to agree, but of course, she couldn’t say so. “Rather the opposite, I should think,” she said instead, forcing a laugh, trying to make light of this awkward situation. “Your invitation to dance was at your aunt’s behest, I’m sure.”

A kindlier man might have rushed to deny it. Galbraith did not. Instead, he studied her face for a moment, then his lashes lowered, the gold tips catching the light as he glanced down.

Heat rushed into Clara’s cheeks at once, for she knew what he was looking at, and she was quite aware that there wasn’t much to see. Resisting the urge to squirm, she lifted her chin a notch and endured it, reminding herself that she didn’t care two straws what a man like this thought of her or of her figure. But when his gaze returned to her face, something in his grave expression made her catch her breath just the same.

“You hide your lights under a bushel, Miss Deverill.”

“Do I?” she muttered, feeling a bit frantic as he leaned forward and took up her hand. “No wonder I can never find them.”

He laughed, though Clara couldn’t understand why. “You have wit, I see,” he said as he began turning them in a circle, the first movement of the quadrille. “What a delightful discovery.”

“An odd one,” she replied as they switched hands and began turning in the opposite direction. “Since I have no idea what I just said that was funny.”

Still smiling a little, he lifted their clasped hands above their heads, entwining his arm with hers as his free hand held her free hand tightly between their bodies. “No,” he agreed, looking at her through the opening formed by their upraised arms, his smile fading away, his gaze roaming over her face as they turned in a circle. “I suspect you don’t.”

Entangled with him this way, his open stare on her face, his absurd compliment hanging in the air, she felt trapped and terribly vulnerable. Even through the layers of her clothing, she could feel his knuckles brushing against her belly, sending a jolt of panic through her entire body and impelling her to speak. “Do you flirt with every woman you meet, Lord Galbraith?”

He seemed surprised, though whether that was due to her question or the tartness of her voice as she’d asked it, Clara couldn’t be sure. “Not usually, no,” he answered. “Not with young ladies anyway. It’s a rule of mine.”

“I shouldn’t think a man like you had any rules,” she muttered, and immediately wished she could take the words back, for a little frown knit his brows, and his gaze narrowed speculatively.

The steps of the dance caused them to separate before he could reply, however, and as they moved through the next figure with other partners, Clara reminded herself that her best means of keeping her secret was to keep quiet, something she’d never had any trouble doing in her life before.

Galbraith, unfortunately, did not seem inclined to let her take refuge in silence. “A man like me.” He echoed her words in a musing voice the moment the dance brought them together again. “What sort of man is that, exactly?” he asked, grasping her hand in his and moving them in a circle. “Your choice of words makes me curious.”

Oh, Lord, his curiosity was the last thing she needed.

“Come now, Miss Deverill,” he said when she remained silent. “Despite your declaration of reticence, you seem to have little trouble conveying what you think of me.” He gave a rueful smile as they changed hands and reversed direction. “Seems a bit unsporting to form a judgement so quickly. After all, we’ve only just been introduced. Unless I’m mistaken?” He paused, and though he was still smiling, Clara saw the sudden watchfulness in his gaze. “Have we met before?”

“Of course not,” she denied at once, and cursed herself for how unconvincing she sounded. Taking a deep breath, she tried again. “At least, I don’t believe so. I don’t move in society much, so if we’d met, I’d remember it.”

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