Page 19 of The Earl's Bluestocking Bride
“Ah, but I have met your mother, and I am certain I have her blessing to introduce myself to you.” Mrs. Hart had been practically gleeful when he’d asked her about her daughter. “I’m the Earl of Longley.”
To his surprise, she cringed. “I see.”
She didn’t say anything more, and he wasn’t sure why his identity caused her distress.
“Would you like to dance?” he asked, to break the silence. “Assuming this dance is not promised to someone else.”
She laughed. “I am quite sure it is, but I’m avoiding taking part.”
He grinned, relieved she was conversing with him again. “Well, what about the next one, then?”
“I suppose so.” She held out her hand for him to look at her card.
He hid his amusement as he did so. He wasn’t accustomed to young women being quite so unimpressed by him. He read the list of names on her card, his eyebrow rising. Mrs. Hart hadn’t wasted any time in thrusting her daughter at every available titled man in the room, and a few second sons as well.
The next dance already had a name scrawled beside it, but he crossed it out and added his own. Her lips parted, and a breath gusted between them.
He put a finger to his lips. “Our secret. Trust me, you don’t want to dance with Lord Brunner.”
He half expected her to protest, but instead, her mouth curved into a sly smile.
“In that case, I appreciate your assistance.”
The music ended, and he offered her his hand. “If we intend to dance, we must, unfortunately, leave the cover of your beloved shrubbery.”
She stifled a laugh. “You are absurd, my lord.”
He winked. “Better that than boring.”
He guided her into position. She moved with the effortless grace of someone who had been dancing for years. No doubt her mother harbored long-held aspirations of marriage into the aristocracy and had been preparing her daughter for such. Although the fact that he’d found Miss Hart behind the shrubbery told him she was cut from a different cloth than her mother.
She swept past him, the soft fabric of their gloves brushing as they moved through the steps of the dance. He wondered how her bare skin would feel against his.
It was odd, but for some reason she fascinated him. She wasn’t a great beauty by the ton’s standards. Slim without being waifish. Dark hair rather than the blond that was currently in favor. Slightly taller than was usual for a woman.Yet her eccentricities charmed him.
As she drew near, her remarkable eyes met his. Those were certainly noteworthy. As was the faint scent of peppermint that lingered on her skin.
“I appreciate you not treading on my feet,” she said, humor gleaming in her eyes.
“I aim to please.” The song rose to a crescendo. It would soon end, and a mild sense of panic rose within him at the thought of losing her company. “Tell me about yourself.”
He spun her, and as she returned, her eyebrows were furrowed.
“What would you like to know?” she asked.
“Anything you care to share.” They swayed past each other again, and he breathed in her minty aroma.
She considered this. “Very well. I enjoy learning about other places and civilizations.”
He shook his head, his grin widening. “Of course you do.”
A woman like Miss Hart would not be interested in ribbons or watercolors. She was of a different bent.
Her eyes narrowed. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Only that you seem the type of person to be intrigued by the world around you.”
“Oh.” She clearly didn’t know what to make of that.
