Page 55 of Oddity of the Ton
“You promised not to flatter me, Your Grace,” Eleanor said.
“What I promised was to be truthful,” he said. “Now have a care—the ground is more treacherous near the steps.”
Eleanor grasped her skirts and lifted them while she tiptoed over the piles of dung, taking care to ensure the hem was clear. Her companion helped her toward the steps, and when she glanced at him, she saw him staring at her ankles. Then she let her skirts fall, and he looked up and smiled.
“You’re out of danger,” he said, his voice hoarse, “from dung, at least.”
Her blood warmed at the hunger in his eyes. Then he offered his arm and escorted her inside.
What had he meant, danger? A small voice whispered in her mind that it was a danger to be relished.
*
After the initialcloud of terror dissipated, Eleanor found herself enjoying a ball for the first time in her life. Whitcombe’s presence wasn’t as stifling as she’d expected, and she managedto conquer her body’s instinct to flee from such a predatory male.
Then the musicians began tuning their instruments, indicating that the dancing was about to begin.
Couples lined up, forming sets of six, the ladies chatting gaily as if they’d been looking forward to the prospect of dancing all day.
Eleanor’s partner led her toward the dance floor, and fear curled inside her stomach.
“Miss Howard, are you well?”
“Are you expecting me to…dance?”
“Is that not the principal reason for attending a ball?”
“Yes, b-but I…”
“Do you trust me?”
“I…” She hesitated, then he caught her chin in a firm, but gentle, grip.
“Look at me when you give me your answer…Eleanor.”
He tilted her face, and she lifted her gaze. The bright sapphire of his eyes had darkened to the color of a midnight sky, and in their depths, she saw a flicker of desire.
He slid his fingers along her skin and stroked her cheek with his thumb. The air filled with the masculine scent of him, and she fought to contain the raw need curling through her body, but her legs crumpled beneath her.
Then, before she collapsed in a pile of undignified shame, he caught her in his arms and swept her onto the dance floor with the practiced movement of the expert seducer.
How many other women had he rendered helpless with a single touch?
Or was it just her—weak and unsophisticated as she was—unable to withstand such an assault on her senses?
She clung to him as he steered her toward two couples set apart from the rest. Her cheeks warmed with shame as sherecognized the Duke and Duchess of Westbury, and the duke’s eldest son. She didn’t recognize the other woman.
Would Westbury rebuke her for having insulted his son’s birth?
But, rather than frown, he smiled warmly.
“Miss Howard, how delightful to see you,” he said. “You know my wife and son, of course.”
“Thank you, Your Grace,” Eleanor said. “And Mr. Drayton, I’m so pleased to see you again.”
“As am I.” The young man bowed, then gestured to his partner—a slender, sweet-faced woman in a pale blue gown. “Do you know Mrs. Trelawney?”
“I-I’m afraid not,” Eleanor said, dipping into a curtsey. “A pleasure to meet you.”
