Page 37 of Miss Prim and the Duke of Wylde
Why not?
He shoved the thought aside and whirled them through a turn, and as they started up the room again, observed, “I just realized. As we both enjoy waltzing and we’re engaged, there’s nothing against us indulging in however many dances we wish.”
She studied his face. “So we can avoid more questions about the how and where and when?”
Among other reasons.
He nodded. “There’s only so many times one can repeat oneself and still sound believable.”
With a smile, she tipped her head in concession. “There is that.”
Meg just hoped that she could hide her intensifying awareness of him. She’d thought the leaping of her pulse, the skittering of her senses whenever he drew close, would have worn off by now, but no. If anything, the sensations had only grown more intense, more distracting.
The pressure of his hand splayed across her back and the grip of his fingers on hers left her lungs cramped and her breath shallow.
She concentrated on appearing unaffected throughout the succeeding dances. Somewhat contrarily, she breathed a silent sigh of relief when the musicians finally paused for a break, and she and Drago were once more forced to engage with those seeking to congratulate them. With the first rush of exclamations and congratulations waning, inquiries as to their engagement ball grew more frequent. While she felt confident in fending off such questions, and thankfully Drago was, too, the process definitely wore on their nerves until she was almost wishing for the musicians to return.
Luckily, when they did, it was for a set of only three dances, one of which was a country dance. Drago insisted on retaining her hand for all three, and as supper mercifully followed the third dance and Drago managed to secure them a small table for two, her hyperaware senses gained a short respite.
When they returned to the ballroom, it seemed the worst was over. They strolled in more relaxed fashion along the side of the room that boasted long windows opening to a paved terrace. It was a blustery night, and no one had ventured outside. Nevertheless, Drago eyed the terrace speculatively, then glanced around the room. “I don’t suppose,” he murmured, “that we could steal away?”
Meg huffed repressively. “With your reputation? Regardless of our engagement, no. That would cause all sorts of whispers, which, after all, is precisely what we’re striving to avoid.”
He heaved a resigned sigh, making her grin.
Then she spotted a trio of well-dressed gentlemen gathered in a knot by the wall. They appeared to be trying to surreptitiously attract their—or at least Drago’s—attention, but as he idly scanned the room, they weren’t in his line of sight.
She pinched his arm. When he looked down at her, she nodded toward the three. “Do you know them?”
He looked, then smiled widely and replied, “George, Viscount Bisley, Lord Harry Ferndale, and Thomas Hayden.”
“Your three friends?”
“Yes. And I’m amazed to see them here.” He set course for the three.
“So they know…” She left the question hanging.
“Yes. But don’t worry. They won’t say a word.”
She had to accept his assurance on that point.
They joined the trio, and Drago introduced them.
In turn, Meg offered her hand, over which all three very correctly bowed.
“Delighted to make your acquaintance, Miss Cynster.” George, Viscount Bisley, was a bluff-looking sort but, like Drago, very nicely turned out, with his expertly trimmed golden-brown curls gleaming.
“As am I.” Lord Harry Ferndale possessed shining brown hair and hazel eyes that signaled very clearly that he was curious about her, but not in a pushy way.
Thomas Hayden, also brown haired and almost as tall as Drago, had pleasant, even features and a winning smile. “We”—he cast a swift glance around the room—“felt we should come in case you needed rescuing.”
For would-be rescuers, all three appeared distinctly nervous, of which Drago was plainly aware.
“Are you sure that was wise?” His eyes were dancing. “You three are almost as eligible as me and, until now, have proved equally elusive.”
“Don’t tempt Fate,” George warned.
“I have to admit”—Harry cast a wary eye over the still-considerable crowd—“I had no idea how well attended this event would be—I’ve seen my mother and two aunts, for pity’s sake—nor that so much attention would be focused on you two.” He smiled apologetically at Meg. “I hadn’t truly appreciated what a prime event Drago and you getting engaged would be.”
