Page 2 of An Unwitting Alliance
“You owe me.” Laughing at Ian’s ridiculousness, Tom sauntered away from his friend and casually moved toward the master of ceremonies. After only a few steps he jerked to a stop. The man had veered to the side to speak with none other than Tom’s mother. The worst thing Tom could do was request an introduction to a young lady while Mama listened in. She’d joined a matchmaking club only months before, and he had no desire to be leg-shackled to Miss Smith because of one dance.
He turned to find Ian again. Where had he disappeared to? Hiding, probably. How was Tom to meet this Miss Smith now? Some favor he’d agreed to.
The ridiculous convention of proper introductions was one of Society’s rules Tom would gladly do without. The thought sparked an idea. Why not start tonight? Was he a Rebel or wasn’t he? Besides, he’d done his fair share of acting. Certain of his decision, he pivoted and pushed through the crowd toward the blonde curls and the red dress.
He approached Miss Smith from behind, reached up, and nimbly pulled the red ribbon from her hair without her feeling a thing. Her previous dance partner continued to babble away, but this did little to deter Tom from his purpose. Being a Rebel had provided sufficient practice for manipulating situations to his favor, so this was child’s play.
“Excuse me.” Tom stepped directly in front of her gentleman partner, effectively cutting off their conversation and commanding Miss Smith’s full attention. First, a harmless white lie. “It appears you have lost your ribbon.” Second, his winning smile. With cheeks stretched wide and his straight teeth hopefully dazzling her, he held up the strip of satin.
In the briefest seconds after speaking, something he saw in Miss Smith made him second-guess himself. His overconfident smile faltered. What was it about her that did not match the other debutantes in the room? Was it the discerning intelligence in her captivating blue-gray eyes or the competent air about her person? He could not decide. So many women went to great lengths to hide their intelligence, acting coy or feigning timidity. Either way, he had a distinct impression that he’d underestimated his task.
“How clumsy of me.” There was no fuss or regret. She simply extended her hand to accept the ribbon.
He’d had every intention of returning it before, but now his fingers curled around it, and he drew it away from her. A slight change of plans wouldn’t make any difference to Ian. All he had to do was keep her occupied, so why not take his time? “I know I could never do it justice, but may I tie it back in your hair for you? I am excellent with knots.”
Hesitation tightened her features. “Oh.”
“Surely we can find a woman who could assist.” The other gentleman moved from behind Tom to beside him, but his eyes trailed after a woman not too many feet away, lingering there. Tom did not care for men with wandering eyes.
“What a splendid idea.” Tom pointed at him. “Do you mind fetching amaidto help?”
“Not at all,” the man grumbled.
Tom bit back a grin. Whoever this gentleman was, he had just volunteered to leave Miss Smith in Tom’s all-too-capable hands. And it seemed he was doing Miss Smith a favor as much as he was Ian, by ridding her of her unfaithful companion.
So why did Miss Smith look truly sorry for the imposition it caused her friend?
“Thank you, Mr. Gibbons.” She held the man’s eye for much too long, and Tom did some easy deducing. Mr. Gibbons meant something to Miss Smith, even if the sentiment was not reciprocated. It seemed Ian had competition.
When Mr. Gibbons stepped away, Tom removed his gloves. “I really am quite good at knots. Shall I have a go at it?”
Miss Smith raised her delicate brows. “If you are the alternative to a maid, I can manage on my own.” She removed her own gloves and held out her hand.
Tom’s flirtations had not worked, but he could not say he minded. He set the ribbon in her hand, not expecting the brush of their bare fingers to spark such an indescribable sensation. She abruptly pulled away, her cheeks glowing, and slid the ribbon around her curls. With deft movements, the satin was transformed into a perfect bow.
Tom blinked hard to cease his staring and remembered his intent. “You must allow me to partner you for the next set. Now that I’ve found your ribbon, we’re practically old friends.”
The bridge of her nose scrunched as she replaced her gloves. “Old friends who’ve never been introduced?”
Tom scoffed and donned his own gloves again. “I cannot know what you mean. At least acknowledge us as old acquaintances. I know who you are, and I cannot believe you would have forgotten me.”
She examined his face more thoroughly, her eyes revealing that she did not believe a single word he said. “You will have to remind me, for I cannot recall having met you.”
“I take no offense but will remind you of my charming and trustworthy nature in case that too has fled your memory.”
Looking over his shoulder—either at Ian or in search of Mr. Gibbons, he could not tell—she mumbled, “I daresay I would have remembered such impertinence.”
Miss Smith was as fiery as she was beautiful, it seemed—a combination he would find most attractive were he looking... which he was not.
The music started for the next set, and the couples began to gather in a long line down the center of the dance floor. Surely Mr. Gibbons would return soon.
Tom spoke quickly. “Terribly impertinent. Utterly so. To my mother’s dying shame. You do see why I need you to dance with me; no one else dares to.”
“No one?” The smallest hint of a smile touched her lips. She was cracking. “Are you sure we’ve met before?”
“Is my face so truly forgettable?”
A small laugh escaped. “Apparently so. Remind me of your name.”
