Page 32 of The Earl's Bluestocking Bride
None of the men who’d shown interest in her this seasonwould have done so without Mrs. Hart’s persistence and the Hart family fortune. If she were a simple untitled miss of average means with timid parents, no one would look at her twice.
She had no charms of her own, which only made her more certain that the Earl of Longley must be up to something.
Mrs. Hart jostled her shoulder and jerked her chin toward the entrance.
Speak of the devil.
He stood tall in a simple black suit of elegant cut just inside the entrance. The suit fit his broad shoulders perfectly and tapered inward to his waist. He was taller than many of the gentlemen present, although not the tallest man in attendance. He lifted his hand to push his richly colored hair away from his face, and her heart gave a little sigh.
She frowned.
No. She could not afford to find him handsome. He was manipulating her, and she needed to know why. It wasn’t as if he could possibly have taken one look at her hiding behind a shrub and decided that she was his future countess. Therefore, she could not trust him.
But when he caught her eyes and grinned, the full force of his warm, sparkling gaze hit her, butterflies flooded her stomach, and it was difficult to remember that. He excused himself from his conversation and made his way through the revelers toward them.
“Excellent,” Mrs. Hart murmured.
“Fancy seeing you here,” the earl said as he came to a stop several feet away.
“What a surprise,” Amelia said dryly. “It’s almost as if we told you we would be in attendance.”
Mrs. Hart discreetly sank her elbow into Amelia’s ribs, and the breath wheezed out of her lungs.
The earl cocked his head. “Are you all right, Miss Hart?”
“Fine,” she gasped. “My apologies. I had a tickle in my throat.”
He looked concerned. “Nothing bad, I hope?”
“No, no.” She forced herself to smile more widely even as her eyes watered. “I’m quite all right.”
“I’m happy to hear that.” He glanced from Amelia to Mrs. Hart and back. “May I ask to save a dance?”
She nodded and offered him her card. He jotted his name beside her next dance… and then to another dance later in the evening. Eyes wide, she stared at him. Everyone knew that claiming two dances was as good as declaring a courtship. What on earth was Longley doing?
Beside her, Mrs. Hart muffled a high-pitched sound of excitement. “You honor us, my lord.”
He released Amelia’s card and straightened. “The honor is all mine. Miss Hart, I believe our waltz is about to begin. Will you join me?”
A waltz?
Her gut flipped over, and a fizzle of pleasure burst inside her. Damn her naive, optimistic heart. It yearned to believe he was genuinely interested in her.
Whatever his motivation, she could no longer deny that he was courting her. There were few more public ways he could make his intentions clear.
She took his hand, and he guided her onto the dance floor. As the first chords of a new song rang through the assembly, they began to move. She’d never enjoyed the waltz. Being so close to someone didn’t appeal to her. The pressure to perform made her uncomfortable, and she feared making a misstep.
With the Earl of Longley as her partner, she practically glided across the dance floor. Every time they brushed against each other, the silk of her skirt whispered, and the heat from his body cocooned around her.
Her feet moved instinctively. Fleeting touches made her shiver.
She was unaware of anything but him.
The square line of his smooth-shaven jaw. The way his eyes seemed to change color as they caught the light. His full lower lip, so ready to smile.
And then it ended.
He gazed at her, his breathing slightly ragged. “That was….”
