“I suppose so,” Corrie said. “My money’s on the fox, though.”
Devlin laughed.
James took a small step forward, crowding this interloper, his voice aggressive. “Perhaps Corrie told you that I’ve known her since she was three years old, Devlin. I suppose you could say that I know her better than I know the planets. And I know the planets very wel
l indeed. Naturally I’ve always looked out for her.”
“Ah, but perhaps she’d like to hunt sometime with me, you think?”
“No, she has night blindness,” James said and narrowed his eyes on Devlin’s pale, pale face. Then he smiled and offered his arm. “Would you care to dance, Corrie?”
Corrie ignored him, giving a blinding smile to Devlin Monroe. “Thank you, my lord, for the lovely dance.” James watched Devlin’s smile widen, and wanted to smash his fist into his pale pretty face.
“Perhaps another waltz later?” he said, half an eye on James.
“Oh yes,” she said. “I should like that.” When she turned back to James, he was still frowning as he watched Devlin disappear into the crowd.
“What was that all about, James? You were rude to Devlin. All he did was dance excellently with me, and amuse me.” When he just kept looking ahead and said nothing, she was presented with a delightful opportunity: she was free to look at him. If she looked fine, then James looked beyond fine. Every feature blended with every other feature, as if by an artist’s hand. His eyes looked pure violet this evening beneath the swarm of candles that shown down from scores of chandeliers.
“Your cravat is crooked,” she said, placing her arm on his and walking to the dance floor, not looking at him, but at the gaggle of girls heading their way. Oh dear, would they walk over her and haul him away?
They stopped only when James had led her into the center of the dance floor. He said, “I would ask you to straighten it but I doubt that is a skill you possess.”
She wanted to snarl at him, kiss him, maybe even hurl him to the floor and bite his ear, and so she twitched the cravat this way and that until it was as straight as it had been before she’d touched it.
All the while, he was looking down at her, a curious smile on his face. “Your gown is lovely. I assume my father selected the pattern and the fabric?”
“Oh yes,” she said, her eyes still on the blasted cravat that wouldn’t cooperate.
“I assume my father also thought that the gown is cut too low?”
“Well, he did gnash his teeth a bit, and he did point out that the gown was cut so low my knees were nearly on display. He started to hoist it up himself, like he does with your mother’s gowns, but stopped fast when Madame Jourdan told him he wasn’t my father, so his odd notions of bosom coverage weren’t to the point.”
An understatement. James could hear his father roaring.
She dropped her hands from his cravat, then lightly traced her fingertips over his shoulders and down his arms. “Lovely fabric, James. Nearly as lovely as mine.”
“Oh no, surely not. Is my cravat perfect now?”
“Naturally.”
“I also assume you learned how to waltz?”
“You certainly weren’t around to instruct me, were you?”
“No. I had to come to London. There were things I had to do.”
“Like what?”
“None of your business.” He put his arm around her, actually touched her back, and she nearly fell off her slippers.
“Pay attention, Corrie.” The music started and so did they.
“Ah, you have the steps down, that’s good.” And he whirled her about, making her nearly swallow her tongue with the excitement and pleasure of it.
“Oh, this is wonderful!” She was smiling and laughing, and he continued to dance her through every part of the dance floor, her wide skirt swishing around his legs, the lovely white of her attire like snow against the black of his trousers. She was panting for breath when he finally slowed. “James,”-pant, pant, pant-“if you are unable to do anything else of use in your life, know that you are excellent at waltzing.”
He grinned into that shining face that had long since lost its rice powder. A face, he realized, he knew as well as his own. Those breasts, though, he didn’t know them at all. One thick braid looked in danger of unwinding. He didn’t think, just said, “Keep moving, slowly.” And he reached up both hands and slipped the wooden pins skillfully back into the braid, anchoring it. Then he slid one of the half dozen white roses securely back in.