Page 9 of When She Loved Me
She was ignored while his hard stare remained. “I see less than ten feet now,” he warned ominously, and Nicole was aware of Guy Fellows, somewhere in her periphery, scrambling hastily to be away.
Only then did Trevor lower his gaze to her, his hand still on her arms. “What would possess you to rendezvous with a villain such as Fellows?” His voice was a whispered hiss.
Nicole’s jaw gaped. “’Twas no rendezvous! We—we were to meet Miss Borrow and Miss Clare,” Nicole answered, a crack in her voice. “My lord, why are you angry?” Her brows lowered, her lips remained parted in surprise at his unaccountable fury.
WHYwashe angry?
This was not Sabrina. Not his betrothed. Not his...anything. With supreme effort, he gentled his gaze and his words, “Nicole, never go anywhere unchaperoned—least of all, out into the darkness. At the very least, appropriate a friend, or if you have to,summon me.” He loosened his hold on her arms, sorry that he had behaved so boorishly. With greater calmness, he tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow and led her back into the ballroom.
He could sense about her still an apprehension wrought by his very uncharacteristic —very inappropriate—response to having spied her being led out of the house and into the darkness by that bounder, Fellows.
He noticed immediately that his own betrothed stood in quiet and seemingly charming conversation with that Marcus Trent across the room. Trevor took note of the smiling couple, wondering at his lack of proper outrage now, and lowered his head toward Nicole. His cheek was tickled by the softness of her shiny curls. He inhaled the soft, fresh scent of her. “Promise me you won’t disappear again.”
She turned those green eyes up to him and nodded briefly, though she seemed to search his eyes for some explanation for his ill-mannered conduct.
“Shall we dance?” He asked, by way of apology, leading her out onto the floor without actually waiting for her consent just as a waltz was about to start.
A quick glance at her before raising his eyes above her to give an air of proper disinterest to any attentive onlookers showed her still mulling over the confrontation, her teeth worrying her bottom lip.
“I have two questions,” she said after a moment.
He’d expected as much, tilting his head now to attend her. Her green eyes were not so much troubled as they were confused.
“Do you think it acceptable behavior for me to be dancing a waltz?”
Trevor considered this. The likely answer was no, but he put her mind at ease with, “This is not Almack’s and no aged patron—who in all likelihood was never once herself invited to waltz—presently holds a quizzing glass to her eye, committing your name to memory, to castigate at some further instance.” He watched her acknowledge this with a bare nod of her head while they moved smoothly about the floor. “And, too, you are to be my sister by marriage very soon, which gives it some legitimacy, actually makes it rather boring, I’m afraid.”
“Pity, that,” she said, her eyes sparkling. “Next question: did you, my lord, or did you not, just instruct me to seek out your most august and reputable presence when next I am invited to partake of the fresh night air with some young swain hopeful of only some private moments with me so that the three of us, then, might convene a tête-à-tête?”
Well, yes, he did then recognize the absurdity of such a request.
He supposed and appreciated this quality that surely must be instilled well in her, quick to lose her reactions to affronts against her, and similarly unlikely to hang onto ill-humors.
Trevor smiled down at her now laughing green eyes. “You are a cheeky little miss, are you not?”
She favored him with a saucy smile, which he hoped she practiced upon no other, and asked, “Would it at that time be more formally called, a tête-à-tête-à-tête?”
And now he laughed out loud, causing several heads to turn at the sight and sound of the Earl of Leven expressing amusement, enjoyment even, upon a dance floor and with a debutante.
“The point, my dear,” he clarified, so that the lesson not be lost, “is for younotto partake of anything in private with anyone.”
“Duly noted, my lord.”
He had never been an enthusiast of the waltz, as he didn’t know anyone whom he’d care to hold this close—in public. Dancing with Nicole, however, irrevocably changed his opinion of said dance. As with simply walking, she had a young woman’s grace about her. She was light in his arms and on her feet, her head coming not quite to his shoulder. Rather inexplicably, the hand he’d pressed lightly into her lower back pulled her closer, ostensibly forgetting who she was or where they were.
His drawing her close had not gone unnoticed. “Ah, is it your plan then to make Sabrina jealous?” She raised an inquiring brow at him, though this was tempered by the lightness in her eyes. “If that is the case, this shall never do.”
“Because you are her sister?”
“Well, at the very least, yes. Because I am just Nicki—Sabrina hasn’t cause to be envious of me,” she told him, and Trevor left off giving his opinion of this. “But mostly,” she continued in her soft voice, “because Marcus and Sabrina have left.”
He was watching her lips as she spoke, two perfectly pink and tempting crescents forming words around her tongue and teeth, words that did not immediately register, as his mind had taken up with other matters.
“They’ve exited through the French doors to the west terrace. Or is that the east?”
He did now consider this news. The waltz was drawing to a close. He passed a glance over the doors to the left of the orchestra, as she indicted, but there was no sign of Sabrina or Marcus. “Damn,” he cursed heatedly, ignoring Nicole’s widening eyes as he strode then in that direction, leading Nicole by the hand.
NICOLE FOLLOWED GAMELY, though she hadn’t any idea why she needed to be present for the fetching of Trevor’s fiancé.
