Page 49 of The Earl's Bluestocking Bride
They made their way to the lemonade table. He grabbed two glasses—one for each of them. They stood side by side on the edge of the dancing, both content not to speak. Andrew had always liked talkative girls, but he had to admit that there was an appeal to Amelia’s quiet, steady presence.
He spotted his mother and Mrs. Hart in an alcove at the end of the room. The dowager met his eyes and winked.
“Miss Hart.”
Andrew jolted. The masculine voice had caught him off guard. He hadn’t noticed anyone approaching.
The Duke of Wight looked down his imperious nose at Amelia. “Are you engaged for the next dance?”
She glanced at Andrew, nibbling on her lower lip, visibly uncertain of how to respond. He shrugged discreetly. They hadn’t announced their betrothal yet, so it would be improper for him to intervene.
“I am not.” Dread laced her tone.
“Then you must dance with me.” He extended a long-fingered hand toward her. “Come.”
She accepted his hand and allowed him to lead her away, casting a narrow-eyed look back over her shoulder. He liked it more than he should that she clearly didn’t want to dance with the duke. It gave him a strange sense of satisfaction.
Instead of watching while they danced, he carried his lemonade around the room to where his mother now stood alone.
“Where’s Mrs. Hart?” he asked.
“Speaking with Lady Bowling.” She didn’t take her eyes off the dance floor. “She asked about you.”
“Who? Lady Bowling?”
“Mm.”
He grimaced. “I suppose that’s inevitable. I’ll have to avoid her until the announcement of our betrothal. Lady Esther is nice enough, but my search for a wife is over.”
She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, a smirk playing at the edge of her lips. “Miss Hart is very quiet.”
He scoffed. “Until you get her talking about something she’s passionate about.” He hesitated, then added, “I get the impression her mother told her not to speak about her interests because she doesn’t consider them socially acceptable.”
Lady Drake made a sharp sound of surprise. “How so?”
“Miss Hart likes to read. She is fascinated by different civilizations and other parts of the world. You should have seen how alive she became when I took her to visit the museum.”
“You like her.”
He didn’t know why she was surprised by this. “Of course I do. I’d hardly have agreed to marry her otherwise.”
He searched her out on the dance floor, only to frown when he noticed she was no longer dancing with the Duke of Wight. Instead, she was on the Marquess of Overton’s arm.
Did the marquess really need to hold her so closely?
He was not her intended.
As the pair turned, Overton’s hand grazed Amelia’s hip. Andrew’s feet carried him toward them without his consent. He forced them to stop after two paces. There was no reason for him to intervene. Perhaps Overton was being more familiar than Andrew would like with his future countess, but until their engagement was made public, he couldn’t tell the other man to back off.
“That’s not what I mean,” his mother said, stepping up beside him. “You’re bewitched by her.”
“No, I’m not.” That was ludicrous. He was simply possessive because Miss Hart was the key to securing his family’s future.
Certainly, that was all it was.
Even he couldn’t convince himself of that. He was attracted to Miss Hart, plain and simple.
As soon as Overton bowed to her, Andrew was at their side, inserting himself between them.
