Page 11 of A Murder in Trinity Lane
I turned sharply.
Steele stood beside me, impeccably clad in evening black, his cravat a crisp slash at his throat. His dark hair was neatlybrushed back, but his eyes—those impossibly clear gray eyes—held nothing but mockery and heat.
“I wasn’t glowering, Your Grace,” I said with prim dignity.
“No?” He glanced toward the dance floor. “If I were Sefton, I’d be checking my back for daggers.”
My lips thinned. “He’s far too old for her.”
“He’s four years younger than I am.”
“That’s hardly reassuring.”
One brow arched as he extended his hand. “Come. Dance with me.”
I blinked. “I beg your pardon?” My presence at balls this season was merely for Chrissie’s sake, not mine. Something he very well knew, as I’d made my feelings known the last time we danced. And yet, here he was asking for something I had no desire to do.
“If you’re going to glare at Sefton for the entire set, you might as well do it from the dance floor. You’ll have a far better vantage point.”
He had a point. If Sefton acted in any way inappropriately, I could more easily step in and avoid a scandal.
“Very well,” I said crisply, placing my gloved hand in his.
The moment our palms touched, a jolt passed between us—ridiculous, unwanted, and wholly undeniable. I made my mind up to ignore it.
He led me to the floor with practiced ease, his presence both commanding and uncomfortably intimate. As his hand settled lightly at my waist and he drew me into the first turn, I became acutely aware of the heat radiating from him through layers of silk and lace.
“You don’t approve of him,” Steele said, tone deceptively mild.
“Of course I don’t. He’s a rake.”
“An attribute many young ladies find . . . intriguing.”
“Chrissie has more sense than that.”
“Does she?” He nodded toward my sister, who appeared utterly enthralled by whatever Sefton was saying.
“That’s because she doesn’t know what he is.”
“And once you tell her?”
“She’ll realize he’s not the man for her.”
“Or perhaps she’ll think she can change him. Have you considered that?”
I kept my eyes on the dancing couple. “It’s dangerous to believe a man can be reformed by a woman, especially one as innocent as Chrissie. He’s likely to fascinate her. But once she’s ensnared on his hook, he’ll move on, breaking her heart in the process.” My gaze snapped back to Steele. “I don’t intend to give him the opportunity.”
“And how will you stop him?”
“I’ll talk to her. Bar him from Rosehaven House, if I must.”
He chuckled, low and dry. “That will only make her want him more. Denial has a way of sharpening desire.”
I met his gaze squarely. “Surely you don’t approve of him.”
“Nothing he’s done has warranted my censure,” he said calmly.
“Because he’s simply ‘sowing his wild oats’? Is that what you did, Your Grace?”
