The music stopped, the waltz finally ended. Women smiled and laughed, waved themselves vigorously with dainty fans, gentlemen tried not to let anyone see how winded they were.
Nicholas watched the older man lead her to a knot of people standing on the opposite side of the ballroom.
It was time to do what he was supposed to do, time to do what he was meant to do.
3
He walked directly to the older man who'd danced with her, and bowed. "Sir, I am Nicholas Vail and I would like to dance with—" Nicholas stalled. Could she be his wife? Surely not. His daughter? "Ah, this young lady, sir."
The man gave him a brief bow in return. "I know who you are. As for the young lady, she has already promised this waltz to my son."
Nicholas flashed a quick look at a young man around his own age, smiling at something the girl said to him. He looked up, cocked his head to one side, and nodded to Nicholas. Then the girl turned to look at him, straight on, her eyes never leaving his face. So joyous she'd been, but now her expression was remote and unreadable. But he saw something in her eyes, something—knowledge, secrets, he didn't know. Ah, but he would, and soon. Then the young man spoke to her and she placed her hand on his forearm and let him lead her to the dance floor. She did not look back at him.
It seemed to Nicholas that she'd recognized him. Well, he knew her, so it made sense she would recognize him—but he just wasn't sure. She'd never met him, but her eyes—the light-filled blue, just as he'd known they would be—yes, he'd found her, even though he didn't yet know her name.
The older man cleared his throat and Nicholas realized he'd continued to stare after her. He said to Nicholas with amusement, "I am Ryder Sherbrooke. This is my wife, Sophia Sherbrooke."
Nicholas bowed to the woman, plump and pretty, her mouth full and soft, but she wasn't smiling, she was looking at him with a good deal of suspicion.
He felt huge relief. She wasn't his wife. He bowed to Sophia Sherbrooke again. "Ma'am, a pleasure. I am Nicholas Vail, Lord Mountjoy. Your husband is an excellent dancer."
She squeezed her husband's arm, laughed, and said, "My husband tells me he was born with accomplished feet. When we were younger he would let me dance on his accomplished feet. I was known as the most graceful female of the season."
Nicholas was charmed.
Ryder said, "As I said, I have heard of you, Lord Mount-joy, and I am not at all certain I wish you to meet my ward, much less dance with her."
His ward? Nicholas admitted to surprise. He hadn't imagined anything like this.
"I have not been in England long enough to earn a reputation to alarm you, Mr. Sherbrooke. May I inquire why you feel concern about me?"
"Your father was a man I would have gladly challenged to a duel had he but once crossed the line rather than always toeing near it. I suppose I am foisting his deficiencies upon you, his son, grossly unfair of me, I know, but there it is."
"To be honest, sir," Nicholas said slowly, "I escaped him as soon as I could. I rarely saw him after he wedded his second wife, which was during my fifth year."
An eyebrow went up. "I understand his three younger sons would gladly stick a knife in your throat." Ryder paused a moment, looked at the young man searchingly. "You are aware, I assume, that Richard, your eldest half brother, feels the title should be his?"
Nicholas shrugged. "Any or all of them are free to try for my gullet, sir, but I am a difficult man to dispatch. Others have tried."
Ryder believed him. He looked big and hard, a young man who'd had to make his own way, a man who knew who and what he was. He watched Nicholas Vail look yet again toward Rosalind, who was laughing, as she always did when she waltzed. Ryder said, "It grows late, sir. After this waltz, I am taking my family home."
"May I call upon you tomorrow morning?"
Ryder looked at him appraisingly. Nicholas felt the weight of that look, wondered if he would be found acceptable. Of course he'd heard of the Sherbrookes. But to find this couple acting as her guardians, he simply didn't understand, and he knew to his gut that complications would now billow up like a raging wind. How had it come about?
Ryder slowly nodded. "We are staying at the Sherbrooke town house, on Putnam Square."
"Thank you, sir. Ma'am, a pleasure. Until tomorrow, then." Nicholas strode from the ballroom, oblivious of the guests who moved out of his way.
Ryder Sherbrooke said to his wife, "I wonder what this young man is about."
"Rosalind is beautiful. It is probably the simple interest of a man in a woman."
"I doubt there is anything at all simple about Nicholas Vail. I wonder who and what he is."
"If he is a fortune hunter, he will learn soon enough that Rosalind isn't an heiress, and he will look elsewhere."
"Do you think he is in need of an heiress?"