Page 41 of Passions of a Wicked Earl
When they arrived at their spot, Ainsley took her gloved hand and pressed a kiss to it. “Thank you for allowing me to fulfill my obligations here. I know a lady who will very much appreciate my ability to arrive earlier than planned.”
A lady who was not at the ball? She idly wondered how much of a lady she could actually be, then chastised herself for doing exactly what she didn’t want done of her. “Does your mother know of her?”
He gave her a devastating grin. “God, I hope not.”
He left her then, and at that precise moment, across the ballroom, Westcliffe stepped into her line of sight. She did hope that Ainsley walked quickly, because based on her husband’s expression, he was fully capable of committing murder.
Westcliffe grabbed two flutes of champagne from a passing footman. He’d only taken a few steps when Ainsley nearly collided with him.
“So, are you going to dance with her?” Ainsley asked.
“Her?” Westcliffe repeated. “First ball of the Season, there are probably more than a hundred women in attendance. Did you have a particular her in mind?”
“Your wife.”
“You danced with her. I’d think that would suffice.”
“She’s quite accomplished.”
“So I noticed.”
Ainsley smiled, blast him. He’d wanted Westcliffe to notice.
“She didn’t want to, you know,” Ainsley murmured.
“What’s that?”
“Dance with me. She was afraid it would anger you.”
“Smart girl.”
“Not a girl. More of a woman I’d say.”
His jaw clenched, and he had to fight to unlock it. “I suppose you’d know, holding her as you were.”
“I was most respectful. Poor thing was afraid you might strike me.”
“I might yet.”
“No, you won’t. Enjoy the evening.”
As his brother strode away, heading for the stairs, Westcliffe regretted that he couldn’t go with him, that he had obligations here. He continued in the direction he’d been heading before Ainsley’s interruption.
As he neared Claire, he was struck once again by her beauty. When they’d first arrived, he’d been caught unawares by her amazement when her blue eyes had widened as they’d walked into the ballroom. Quite honestly, he didn’t understand why a woman would want a Season if she didn’t need one. Claire had been betrothed. Why go through all this nonsense? He’d thought he was saving her from a fate worse than death.
Just as he did, he suspected that many a man considered tossing a rope over a nearby chandelier and hanging himself when attending one of these affairs.
She smiled at him as he came to stand beside her.
“Champagne?” he asked.
“The last time I drank champagne, my judgment was not at its best.” Still, she took the offered flute and sipped delicately.
He was not yet ready to joke or tease about that night. It could still cut him to the quick, so he said instead, “I see your sister is dancing.”
“Yes, can you believe it? Her card is completely filled.”
“And what of yours?”
