Princess Charming (Legendary Lovers 1)

“There you are, my dear,” Dunmore said in a fond tone. “You promised me your hand for the next set of dances, remember?”

Her purported suitor, Jack noted, had even, rather handsome features but thinning hair that was graying at the temples. In his mid-forties, the duke was also taller than average, but his aristocratic bearing was marred by his slight paunch.

After a brief hesitation, Miss Fortin answered with a gracious smile. “Yes, of course I remember, your grace.”

Seeing that entrancing smile bestowed on the nobleman, Jack felt an inexplicable pang of jealousy. Absurd, since he had no claim to Miss Fortin’s affections whatsoever.

The duke might have felt a touch of jealousy as well, for he cast Jack a sharp look before offering the lady his arm.

“Who was that pirate fellow?” Dunmore asked as he led her away.

“I am not certain,” Jack heard her say as they took their positions on the grass dance floor.

When the music began for a waltz, Jack watched their progress with bemusement, wondering what Miss Fortin saw in the Duke of Dunmore other than his illustrious title and fortune.

They did not appear to be well-matched as dance partners, for Dunmore was remarkably uncoordinated and kept treading upon her toes. Her expression remained serene until the third time he ground down on her foot, and then she couldn’t conceal a grimace.

Dunmore seemed to realize he had hurt her, for he halted in his tracks and began apologizing profusely. “My dear, pray forgive my clumsiness.”

Miss Fortin forced a smile. “It is no matter, your grace. There are all manner of people who find the waltz difficult to negotiate, since it is so new. But perhaps we should not attempt it any longer?”

When Dunmore readily agreed, they moved back to the sidelines and stood conversing until the dance ended. A short while later, she excused herself.

When she turned toward the house, Jack could see her struggling to hide her limp. She was putting on a game face but was clearly in real pain.

With some thought of helping her, he followed her inside in time to see her hobble down a corridor and slip through a doorway. Curious as to what she was about, he pursued her.

She had taken refuge in the library, of all places, Jack realized upon pausing at the threshold. A table lamp had been lit, no doubt for the convenience of the ball guests, and Jack watched as Miss Fortin sank gratefully onto the sofa nearest the lamp.

Bending down, she raised her skirts to her knees, then removed her left dancing slipper and stocking. She muttered something inaudible before taking off her mask, perhaps the better to see as she examined her toes.

When she grimaced again, Jack stepped forward. “May I be of assistance, Miss Fortin?”

She gave a start of surprise and eyed him warily as he crossed the room to her. Without waiting for her agreement, Jack knelt before her and took her bare foot in his hands.

“Allow me,” he said, ignoring her sharply indrawn breath at his boldness.

Her smallest toe was bleeding, he could see. “Does it hurt to bend it?” he asked, gently prodding.

“Yes, but not excruciatingly so.”

“Then it is only bruised, not broken,” he pronounced. “It should heal in a week or so. Trust me, I speak from experience, having been injured by many an iron-shod hoof in my youth.”

Finding the end of his waist sash, he tore off a strip of fabric and used the makeshift handkerchief to blot the blood on her toe.

“You can wrap a piece of cloth around your wound until you can fashion a proper bandage.”

“Thank you,” she murmured.

At her genuine expression of appreciation, Jack made the mistake of looking up. Her face was so very close that he froze.

She had stunning eyes, he realized. Luminous and thickly lashed. That dark shade of blue was almost violet.

Who had violet eyes? Jack thought irritably, struggling to resist her allure. This near, she was even more of an enchantress than he first realized, and his body reacted accordingly. The stab of desire that shot through him was as powerful as any he could remember.

In self-defense, he summoned a gruff voice. “Why did you allow Dunmore to trample your feet and half cripple you?” he demanded.

She had frozen at his nearness as well, but she looked taken aback by his inquiry. “I was being courteous, if you must know. It would have been unkind to point out his shortcomings. Dunmore cannot help it if he is a terrible dancer. Some people are cursed with two left feet.”