Page 39 of Passions of a Wicked Earl
They left their wraps in the parlor before proceeding on to the grand room where the dancing was taking place.
Claire knew it was rude to gape, yet at her first sight of the room she seemed unable to help herself. The ballroom was far more magnificent than anything she’d imagined. The crystal chandeliers were alight with what must have been a thousand candles. So many flowers scented the room that Claire was fairly certain not a single bloom remained anywhere else in London. But it was more than the gilded mirrors, the orchestra playing from a balcony, the beautiful gowns, the glittering diamonds. It was the atmosphere of joy and gaiety. Here there were no worries. Nothing except fun.
She was startled to hear, “Lord and Lady Westcliffe and Lady Beth Michaels!”
Where before devastation at the reality of her position had engulfed her, tonight she felt an almost unheralded sense of pride as she descended the stairs with Westcliffe’s hand laying lightly, almost possessively, against her back. If the years continued to be as kind to him as they’d been so far, as he grew older, ladies would swoon from the mere mentioning of his name.
At the foot of the stairs, he formally introduced her and Beth to their host and hostess: the Duke and Duchess of Greystone. They were a handsome couple, and she had no doubt they adored each other—it was clearly telegraphed in each glance, every touch.
Westcliffe then led them over to an arrangement of chairs near some potted fronds. “I’ll return in a bit,” he said, and before she could respond, he’d walked away.
The reality of their situation began to take hold as no one approached.
“Do you know anyone to whom you can introduce me?” Beth asked after a while, and Claire heard the rising panic in the high pitch of her voice.
“I’m looking.”
“No one is going to ask me for a dance.”
“Be patient, Beth.”
But even she had begun to lose hope when the Duchess of Greystone walked over with a young gentleman in tow. “Lady Westcliffe, Lady Beth, Lord Bentley has asked for an introduction.”
His introduction seemed to signal a mad dash, because Beth was suddenly catching the attention of every eligible young buck in the room. Within half an hour, so many introductions had been made that her dance card was completely filled.
“Lady Beth, have I arrived too late to snag a dance?” The question was asked smoothly, as though an answer in the affirmative would be equivalent to receiving Cupid’s arrow through the heart.
Beth beamed up at Ainsley. “Your Grace, I fear you have indeed.” She waved her dance card in front of his face. “Can you believe it?”
Claire grabbed her sister’s wrist and pulled her hand down to her side. “Beth, don’t be obnoxious.”
“But I cannot believe how popular I am. Oh, listen!” Dramatically, she set her hand to her ear. “The first waltz. Lord Bentley.”
As though she’d summoned him with her excitement, Lord Bentley appeared and escorted her sister to the dance floor. After all of her worrying, Claire couldn’t believe that the night would go so well.
“And what of you?” Ainsley asked.
Claire shook her head lightly. “I’m not the one having the Season.” She touched his arm and held his green gaze. “Thank you so much. I know your promise to attend has helped matters where Beth is concerned. I didn’t expect you to appear.”
“My mother may not hold with the value of promises, but I do. And if my brother is too daft to ask his wife for a dance, allow me the honor.” Bowing slightly, he extended his arm.
She shook her head more vigorously. “Oh, no, that would not be wise.”
“Afraid he might get jealous?”
“More afraid, I think, that he won’t.” She lifted a shoulder. “I’m not even sure what I meant by that. But in either case, I believe one of us would get hurt.”
“By that logic, he should be storming over here now simply because I’m talking with you.” Leaning near, he winked. “I promised our hostess I’d dance once before I left. I’d rather it be a married woman. Don’t want to give any unmarried young misses hope. And if you don’t dance with me, I’m doomed to spend a rather boring evening here, and if word gets around that I’ve stopped attending—”
“Oh, all right,” she said, laughing. “Although in truth, Westcliffe receives invitations to balls.”
“But not as many as I garner.”
Unfortunately, the music ceased. Beth returned to her side, where the charming Earl of Greenwood made his appearance and whisked her away.
“He’ll be a marquess someday,” Ainsley said as he gallantly escorted Claire to the dance floor. “I suppose you know that already.”
With a proper distance between them, he took her into his arms, and they began to circle the dance floor.
