Page 3 of When the Viscount Seduces
He sputtered. “You’re a menace!” Then he stalked off.
Pivoting on her slipper, Gwen took a step after him—what was she going to do?—and promptly slipped. She’d put her new slipper, the soles of which were still quite smooth, directly on the spilled liquid, and there was simply no help for it. She was going to fall.
Her foot slid forward, and her arms windmilled as she fell to her backside. Her skirts rose to her knees, exposing her lower legs. Somehow, she managed to keep hold of the stupid, now quite empty, cup.
While the music kept on, every other sound in the ballroom seem to grind to a halt. Certainly, the conversation stopped. A brief glance around revealed that everyone in Gwen’s vicinity was now staring at her. She hurriedly brushed her skirts down her legs, frantically working to cover her exposed calves and ankles. Heat flooded her neck and face. She prayed her mother wasn’t watching, but of course she was. Instead, Gwen prayed her father and brother hadn’t yet arrived.
A strong hand gripped her arm and put a hand to her back. “Permit me to help you,” the man murmured, his voice familiar.
Gwen turned her head and saw the arresting features of the Viscount Somerton, his green eyes fixed intently—and sympathetically—on her, his jaw firm, his lips impossibly supple. Could a man have supple lips? Regardless, Somerton did.
He helped her swiftly and effortlessly to her feet, then took the empty cup from her. In a fluid movement, he deposited the vessel on a tray of a footman standing against the wall. Theviscount’s actions were so graceful, so easily maneuvered that Gwen wanted to weep with envy.
“Time for our dance,” he said, sweeping her toward the dance floor.
“But it’s the middle of a set.”
“It’s a line. We can simply insert ourselves.” He gave her a confident smile, and Gwen had to bite back an absurd laugh.
“It might be simple for you,” she muttered as he guided her to the end of the line of ladies.
“Never fear,” he whispered. “We are late enough joining that we may not even have a turn before the set ends.”
She snapped her gaze to his, a rush of gratitude flowing over her. “You are brilliant,” she whispered.
Inexplicably, a shadow passed over his features. “I’m not. Understanding the mechanics and timing of a dance doesn’t signify above-average intelligence, but I appreciate you thinking so.” He flashed a smile, and she wondered if she’d imagined the momentary darkness.
Unfortunately, their turn came up before the set ended, and Somerton did his best to keep Gwen from losing her balance or bumping into someone. She managed fairly well, though her dancing would never be called elegant. When they reached the end, the music drew to a close.
Breathing heavily from her exertions, Gwen curtseyed as the other ladies did to their partners, and Somerton bowed. He offered her his arm and escorted her from the dance floor.
“Where shall I escort you?” he asked.
“My mother is over there.” Gwen inclined her head toward where she’d left her mother earlier, hoping she would still be there. She’d no desire to wander the ballroom in search of her. The stares and whispered comments around her at the moment were difficult enough to bear.
“Just hold your head high,” Somerton said quietly. “And laugh. As though I’ve just said the wittiest thing.”
She did as he said and laughed. At least her laugh wasn’t embarrassing.
“Now look at me,” he said.
She followed his command and nearly tripped, for he was already looking at her, his eyes glowing with a particular heat she suddenly felt in the very core of herself. He put his hand over hers on his arm. “Steady there,” he whispered. “Smile.”
Realizing her lips were parted, she pressed them closed and smiled. Her pulse had begun to slow after the dance, but was now picking up speed again.
His hand remained over hers, a warm presence that gave her a comforting sense of security. She felt protected with the viscount walking beside her, and it actually wasn’t difficult for her to keep her head up.
They arrived at her mother, whose skin looked a bit pale. She smiled upon seeing them. “Good evening, Lord Somerton.”
“Good evening, Mrs. Price. Your daughter and I enjoyed a splendid dance.”
“I thank you for your attention to Gwen,” Gwen’s mother said.
Somerton took his hand from Gwen’s, and she reluctantly removed her grip on his sleeve. Her charming anchor was now gone, and she felt the chill of the ballroom in every part of her.
He bowed to Gwen. “Thank you, Miss Price.”
She curtseyed again even though he’d told her not to. “Thank you, my lord.”
