Page 34 of The Love Potion
His eyes widened in horror. His gait hitched for the briefest of moments but then smoothed out.
She frowned. Had she done something wrong? For all that they continued to twirl about the ballroom, his expression seemed strained, and both his hands tightened.
She wanted to ask what had happened, but she hadn’t the breath. And his expression didn’t seem to encourage conversation. It was too intense and a little bit sick. His steps were not as smooth as before and—
Oh no!
She stepped down on a piece of fabric. She knew immediately what it was. Her slippers were so thin, she could feel the shape of it immediately.
Most gentlemen wore a thin piece of fabric over the laces of their shoes. It was called a spat, and it was attached to the shoe by simple buttons. Sometimes, especially when one was dancing vigorously, the buttons came undone. The fabric then flapped about and sometimes it got caught underfoot. Not very dangerous in the normal course of a dance, but they were waltzing in very close quarters.
She’d had no idea what was wrong until she stepped on his undone spat. She felt the fabric, knew then that he wouldn’t be able to move as he needed, and immediately saw all the other couples whirling about the dance floor.
Oh hell. That was all the time she had to think as she tried to push off the fabric. But she didn’t have the right balance, and herfoot slipped out from under her. She overbalanced backward. He couldn’t possibly hold her. Which meant she was about to land flat on her backside and go skidding across the ballroom floor.
On her one dance with a duke.
Her hand slipped off his shoulder. She might have gripped him if she’d had the chance, but she didn’t. Besides, there was no sense in bringing him down with her. Except he didn’t let go of her.
He must have felt her slip. His hand tightened around hers as he wrapped his arm about her waist. She threw her free hand out, planning to stop the full descent to the floor, but the moment of impact never came.
He picked her up and spun her around.
She was so startled, she gasped. But that quickly turned into a laugh as her feet flew out behind her. It felt just like being spun in her father’s arms when she was a child, only it was so much better. The duke was a man with strong arms, and he grinned at her as he held her aloft, slowly spinning to a stop while the couples around them abruptly scrambled out of the way. She had no idea how he kept her feet from hitting any of them, but no one was harmed, least of all herself.
And when she at last touched down to the earth, his eyes seemed to twinkle as he chuckled. “I haven’t done that since my sister was young.”
“I’m sure I’m a great deal heavier—”
“You were perfect.”
She could have happily stood there just gazing into his eyes for the rest of her life. But all too soon, she became aware of the stares all around her. The musicians had stopped playing, the dancers formed an angry circle around them, and most everyone was glaring at her.
She felt her cheeks heat to burning. After all, she was a simple companion with a dubious reputation. And she’d justgone flying about in a duke’s arms. The biddies were going to crucify her for this.
“My fault,” the duke said by way of apology. “Entirely my mistake.”
With a dramatic air, he stuck his one foot straight up in the air. There, flapping about, was the dangling spat. He grabbed it with one hand and ripped it off, tossing it aside as if it were so much trash. Kynthea saw a footman scramble to grab it off the floor where it landed.
“I’ve always hated those infernal things,” he said. All around them, other gentlemen nodded their agreement which lightened the mood considerably. The women, however, were not so easily convinced. Which meant that Kynthea needed to beat a hasty retreat.
She started to back away, an apology on her lips. “I’m so so—”
“Gentlemen,” the duke interrupted as he gestured to the musicians. “Once again, if you please,” he said. Then he turned back to her and made as if to begin the waltz again.
“I should go,” she whispered. She’d risked a glance at her aunt. The lady looked purple with fury.
“Don’t be silly,” the duke said, loud enough for everyone to hear. “You have promised me a waltz and I intend to collect it. If you don’t mind risking yourself again, that is. I am wearing one more spat, you know.”
Oh my. He was being delightful, and after all the strain of the last week, she needed the flash of levity. Besides, how could she resist a duke who smiled so sweetly at her?
She arched a brow and feigned looking down at his foot. “Is it securely buttoned down?”
“Good point,” he said. Then he abruptly dropped down and unbuttoned the second spat, neatly tossing it to the footman who had recovered the other one. Then he glanced at the nearestyoung man to him. “Go on,” he said as he straightened up. “You know you hate them too.”
He’d picked the right gentleman. “Too right, I do,” the man said as he too knelt down and pulled off his own spats. And he wasn’t the only one. As the duke turned his gaze to the other gentlemen, most of them grinned and happily removed their own spats.
After all, no one wanted to refuse a duke.
