Page 24 of One Night of Scandal
Jack turned his attention to Lady Viola. “I came to ask if you’d like to dance.”
“No.” She looked as though he’d asked her to clean his boots after he’d trudged through a dung-laden field. She hastened to add, “Thank you.”
Her Grace smiled even as she sent Viola a somewhat stern look. “What Viola means to say is that she doesn’t particularly care to dance rightnow.”
Lady Viola nearly scowled—Jack watched her mouth tighten, and then she seemed to force herself to slowly relax, her lips loosening but not quite elevating into a smile. He tried not to laugh. “Yes, that’s what I meant to say. I should like to promenade, however.”
“Excellent.” He offered her his arm and nodded toward the duchess. “Please excuse us.”
When they were several steps away, he felt Lady Viola relax. Not completely, but enough that he realized just how tense she’d been. “Do you not like dancing?”
“Not particularly. I’ve successfully avoided it almost entirely the past several years.” Her muscles tensed again. “My grandmother has decided it’s time I get back to it.”
Jack surveyed the ballroom in search of the Dowager Duchess of Eastleigh. Petite, with hair the color of snow and a stare that could make a man’s bollocks shrink to the size of peas, she was an intimidating force. He’d met her only once and had decided he hadn’t needed to repeat the experience.
Only now, he was promenading with the woman’s granddaughter. Just what the hell was he doing with the sister of a duke?
“I’m surprised to see you here,” Lady Viola said, glancing at him from the corner of her eye. “I thought you said you were going to be at Brooks’s.”
“So I did. However, I found I was unable to avoid coming here first once I knew you would be in attendance.”
“Please say you aren’t flirting with me.”
“Blo—no.” He caught himself before swearing. “Don’t take that personally. I don’t flirt. With anyone.” Except he wondered if maybe he was.
“Me neither. What would be the point?”
He nearly laughed again, then shot her an admiring look. “Indeed. If your grandmother wants you to dance, is she hoping you’ll do something else?”
“Marry, you mean?” Lady Viola’s features tightened, her brow furrowing and the flesh around her mouth pulling. In profile, she looked decidedly perturbed.
“Can’t a woman dance without being expected to marry?” he asked.
She stopped and turned her head to stare at him. After a moment, she said, her voice barely audible, as if she were astounded by his query. “Yes.That exactly.” She started walking again.
He guided her along the perimeter of the ballroom, steering clear of other ball goers. “Is that why you hate to dance?”
“Probably. There are always expectations. If not marriage, then some anticipation or assumption is made depending on whom I danced with and how many sets I danced.” She rolled her eyes. “It’s exhausting.”
“I think you find it more than exhausting,” he said with a hint of a smile.
“Mr. Barrett, I daresay you are coming to know me far too well.” She peered over at him in mock alarm.
“I disagree. There is much I don’t know about you. For instance, I just tonight learned you were betrothed before.” A flush started up her neck, and he immediately regretted indulging his curiosity. “Never mind that I mentioned that. Please.”
She lifted the shoulder of the arm entwined with his. “It’s all right. That happened so long ago. Scarcely anyone mentions it anymore. I’m surprised you just now learned of it.”
He heard a question there—why had someone brought it up now? “I was admiring you across the ballroom.” He didn’t mention that he wasn’t alone in doing so or that the other man had been the one to point out her “failings.”
“You were?” The question came out higher than she usually spoke, and much higher than the voice she used as Tavistock.
“It’s difficult not to—your gown is striking.” As was her hair, the graceful column of her neck, the slope of her breast. He worked to banish such thoughts.
“Thank you.” She paused near the doors leading to the terrace. “May we step outside for a moment? I’m feeling a trifle overheated.”
“Of course.” He led her onto the balcony that overlooked the walled garden. They strolled to the railing, and she withdrew her arm from his. He found he missed her touch. That had never happened before.
She was quiet a moment as she stared out over the garden. Then she turned to face him. He hadn’t even pivoted toward the railing—his body had remained aligned completely toward hers, like a sprout seeking the sun.
