Talk of the Ton (Free Fellows League 5)

Emily’s heart winged almost free of her chest. “How kind of you to ask, my lord,” she said, and in her haste to put out her hand, lest he retract his offer, she dropped her fan. Montgomery stooped down and picked it up, put it solidly in her hand, then even went so far as to curl her fingers around it so that she did not drop it again, before holding out his arm to receive her hand.

Emily laid her hand on his sleeve. He put his hand over hers, his fingers warmly surrounding hers, and she smiled brightly.

He led her to the edge of the dance floor where the waltz was starting. Emily curtsied deeply; he gave her an amused smiled and bowed with a flourish before helping her up. With her hand securely in his, he stepped forward, put his hand lightly on her waist, and Emily sucked in her breath as she put her hand on his shoulder.

As he pulled her into the dancing, she felt a thousand butterflies in the pit of her belly, waltzing about on their own as he smoothly led her in time to the music. He moved so elegantly, so expertly, all the while smiling down at her, his eyes warm and liquid, and the very color of fine tea. Oh yes, oh yes, this was the man she would marry!

“And have you found the May Day Ball to your liking, Miss Forsythe?” he asked, his eyes never leaving her, one hand gripping hers firmly, the other riding high on her waist and covering her ribs.

“Quite,” she managed to get out, unthinkingly staring at his remarkably full lips. Full and glistening and—

“I’ve always found the spring season to be the best time of year for balls, as it is neither too cold nor too warm.”

Actually, Emily felt a little warm. “It’s quite lovely,” she rasped. “Perhaps the loveliest of all that I’ve attended thus far. Yet I understand that the annual Charity Auction Ball is much grander than this. Have you attended in the past?”

“I have, from time to time.”

“Do you think it is more or less grand than the May Day Ball?”

He chuckled at her eagerness. “In truth, I have not given it as much thought as that. I suppose I find all balls rather grand.”

“Then do you plan to attend this year’s Charity Auction Ball?” Emily asked, immediately regretting her words, rea

lizing how forward she must seem.

As if to confirm it, he cocked one brow high above the other. “I have not as yet made plans,” he said politely.

Anxious to cover her gaffe, Emily quickly stammered, “You . . . you are a wonderful dancer, my lord.”

“How kind of you to remark. But I must give all credit to my partner, for she makes it quite easy to move about the dance floor,” he said, and twirled her around, pulling her closer as he did. Emily could only hope that her knees wouldn’t buckle with the force of her exhilaration.

She stared at his perfectly tied neckcloth for a moment, trying to push the feel of his hands on her body out of the forefront of her mind. When she looked up again, she noted that his gaze had shifted away from her; he was looking at someone else. “My mother and I enjoyed our ride in the park,” she said quickly to draw his attention back to her.

“Did you? I found it quite pleasant, particularly after the rain we’ve endured.”

“Yes indeed . . . I am glad the rain has gone for the time being, but I’m rather impressed with the spring flowers that have begun to pop up. They are flourishing in the park.”

“Quite right, Miss Forysthe. I am certain that in a fortnight’s time, the blooms will be a magnificent sight to behold.” He twirled her one way, then the other.

“Yellow tulips are my favorite,” she added breathlessly, and had a sudden image of him on her doorstep, an enormous bouquet of yellow tulips wrapped in bright paper in his arms.

“Mmm,” he said, twirling her around again.

“Do you have a favorite flower, my lord?”

The question seemed to take him aback; he blinked. “I don’t believe I have a favorite, Miss Forsythe. I like them all, I suppose. Including your yellow tulips.”

Emily beamed up at him. He smiled again, then shifted his gaze above her head, and spun her into the thick of the dancers. He did not speak again, and Emily, having quite exhausted her repertoire of suitable things to discuss with a gentleman when one is dancing, could not seem to find anything to say. It was as if her mind was completely blank, save the incredible sensation of his hands on her body.

As the dance came to its conclusion, Montgomery stepped back and bowed, and Emily curtsied, frantically thinking of how to keep his attention. As he escorted her from the dance floor, she could think of absolutely nothing civilized with which to keep him engaged, and in a moment of sheer insanity, she put the back of her hand to her forehead and said in a whimper, “I feel a bit weak.”

Montgomery instantly put his hand on her back to steady her and grabbed her arm. “Are you quite all right, Miss Forsythe?”

Not entirely, for she hadn’t thought past this bit of drama, and now she felt as if she’d gone too far with it. She didn’t know what to do—other than faint.

Right into his arms.

She heard the shriek of a woman, heard Montgomery bark for someone to clear the way, felt him pick her up, one arm beneath her knees, the other beneath her back, and carry her—carry her!—to the chairs along the wall. As he put her down in a chair, he pressed his palm to her face. “Miss Forsythe!”