Chapter 8

Lady Carrolton's London abode had the dubious distinction of being the smallest townhome in Mayfair. No matter what she did to disguise it—including a wall of mirrors on one side of the ballroom—it was still a tight squeeze when accommodating more than six couples. Marcus would've chosen a bigger establishment, in a somewhat less fashionable neighborhood, rather than suffocate his guests. To some people, however, address was everything.

This evening, it appeared the entire ton had turned out. People crowded the sides of the dance floor, which looked to be the size of a good parlor rug. Throngs of people milled through the house, so closely packed he could barely fight his way through, blazing a path for Letitia and Aunt Alexandra.

They settled at last in a corner under a sconce, the room hot as blazes without the addition of the flame's heat, but his sister felt more comfortable in an out-of-the-way spot. So he mopped his brow with an already sodden handkerchief and kept an eye out for Miss Locke.

He'd made his peace, such as it was, with the situation. The introduction to Finley had been arranged at his club earlier this evening, necessitating his refusal of Ainsley's invitation. Which had been a blessing in several ways. He'd arrived home to find his sister and aunt already engaged for dinner and to have had to try to dine with Miss Locke with those rather erotic notions still buzzing around his head would've been torture of a kind he'd never experienced before.

The introduction had gone well, although Finley and Hamilton had regretfully informed him the investment deal had already taken place. That, unfortunately, had left Marcus with no time to find another viable venture and no other options save one. Now he stood determined to woo Miss Locke and win her favor. A daunting task, perhaps, considering the list he'd found, but forewarned was forearmed. Knowing the things that displeased her most, he would be on his best behavior and try to keep control of his tongue and temper. He feared he'd be a candidate for sainthood before it was all over, most saints being martyred in gruesome ways before their deaths.

The crowd by the door stirred as people made way for Viscount Ainsley, followed immediately by his sister.

Marcus held his breath.

The woman looked stunning tonight, he'd give her that. If they did end up married, she would make a brilliant countess. Her gown of blue muslin shimmered in the dancing candlelight, the cloth shot through with metallic silver, giving Miss Locke a luster he'd not noticed before. Her neck had a regal arch to it, her auburn hair coiled high on her head, adorned with a circlet of silver flowers, like a crown. And her face—wreathed in smiles as she spoke to acquaintances—made his heart stutter. Lord, if only her temper matched her exquisite exterior, he'd be brought to his knees here and now.

That being far from the case, Marcus breathed deeply, affected what he hoped was a pleasing smile, and plunged across the dance floor toward her. He kept his gaze on her brother, hoping Ainsley would suggest they dance, as every word he'd practiced for this moment had dropped out of his head like ninepins falling.

"Ah, Haversham." Ainsley bowed, looking smug, the dirty devil. "Good to see you this evening. Did you have a productive day? Those investments you spoke of looking into went well?" He managed to keep a straight face, but his eyebrows rose to new heights.

"Good evening, Ainsley." The scathing glare he shot at the viscount would've killed him on the spot had it been an arrow. He turned and bowed to the ravishing woman he could scarcely take his eyes off. "Miss Locke, delighted to see you."

"And you as well, my lord."

Her silken tone brought Marcus up short. Instead of answering his friend, he trained all his attention on the lovely woman at his side.

"The room is very warm, wouldn't you say?" Miss Locke fluttered her fan very prettily. "I hope it will not be too warm, for I had so set my heart on dancing each dance tonight." She continued to ply her fan back and forth languorously, staring into the corner from which the random squeaks of the tuning orchestra arose.

Ainsley's face was carefully blank. He shrugged and turned to speak to an acquaintance, giving Marcus no help at all.

Might as well take the fight to the enemy, then. "Miss Locke, I may not have acquitted myself very well as your dance partner last evening, but I beg you to give me one more chance to prove myself able." He clenched his jaw, determined not to flinch, no matter her outrageous reply.

"Thank you for that kind offer, Lord Haversham." She raised the fan to cover her face, revealing nothing. "I am not engaged at the moment, so yes, I will be happy to accept you." She smiled and curtsied, for all the world as though she meant it.

Words failed him. He managed a bow and grabbed his friend's arm, hauling him away from Miss Locke's disturbing presence. "What did you say to her?" he demanded as soon as they were out of earshot.

"Not a word. Why? Has she trampled your efforts before they are even born?" Ainsley's frown—without a hint of mirth around the eyes—convinced Marcus his friend spoke the truth.

"She accepted me."

Ainsley slowly cocked his head. "Isn't that the desired outcome of an invitation to dance?"

"Of course it is, jingle-brain. But when have you ever known your sister to be that gracious to me? She only agreed to stand up with me last night because of that stupid wager."

"She told you about that?" With his mouth hanging open, Ainsley reminded Marcus of a gargoyle at Notre Dame.

"No, on-dit this morning from Aunt Alexandra. So I have you to thank for her ill-will toward me last night?" Marcus would've been sterner, but Miss Locke's startling acceptance had him baffled.

"Guilty." Ainsley shrugged. "You can't blame me for trying."

"Oh, yes, I can, and will, should your sister lay some devious trap to expose me to society while retaining her reputation."

Miss Locke continued to smile and sway a bit to the music, as if anticipating the dance. If he hadn't known her so well, he would've thought that was true. What the devil was she plotting?

"Well, you have no time to think about your next move as you are being called to a quadrille." Ainsley gestured toward the floor then toward Marcus's partner, still standing and smiling. Not impatient, not angry, not even a frown to mar her pretty face.

"Is that indeed your sister? I'd lay a wager she was not, but of course, I am out of funds."

"It's just as well you did not wager, as you would only have lost again." His friend laughed and clamped his hand on Marcus's shoulder. "She is my sister, and I made no threat nor bargain with her." They walked back toward the entrancing figure in blue, still gazing over the sea of people with bright eyes. "Perhaps she has at last succumbed to your dash and charm."

"Hah." Marcus contemplated a disparaging comment, thought better of it, and turned his full attention back to Miss Locke, who stared up at him as though he were her North Star. Damn it. Someone was having him on, and he'd better find out soon if Miss Locke had laid a plan to make a fool of him, or if Ainsley had made this all up as some heinous jest. It had to be one or the other, considering he knew exactly what she thought of him. He stepped before his adversary and presented his arm. "I believe this dance is mine, Miss Locke."

"Indeed it is, Lord Haversham. I was beginning to lose hope of you." Words that normally would've been sharp with criticism held only a lilt of amusement. What was she really plotting for the evening with that engagingly sincere smile on her face? The woman was undoubtedly about to roast him like a tailor's goose, and there was nothing he could do but try to deflect her barbs as best he could. Meanwhile, he would pray.

* * * *

Kate had dressed in her finest new gown, suffered Clarke's ministrations over her toilette for almost two hours, endured her brother's threats about her behavior on the carriage ride to the ball, and finally stood amidst the candlelight and sweating bodies with a pleasant smile plastered on her face. Her cheeks ached abominably after just ten minutes. A lot of pain and suffering to withstand; however, the object for whom they had been undertaken, Lord Finley, was indeed present. She'd glimpsed him when she and Nathan had entered the cramped townhouse. Now to attract his attention and hopefully gain a dance or two herself.

To her dismay, her conference with Celinda had been less than helpful. In the throes of ecstasy over a bouquet of flowers Lord Finley had sent her, her cousin had given her no assistance whatsoever with discerning three more traits she could dislike about Lord Haversham. And truth be told, she scarcely wished to continue the wager. But Nathan would make her pay the forfeit if she did not finish it, so she'd begged another day to complete the list and hoped to be able to discover something about the earl tonight she could add to it.

So Kate had surveyed the ballroom as soon as they'd managed to shoulder their way to an unoccupied spot out of the great crush. Really, Lady Carrolton should not have invited quite so many people. The crowd was monstrous. Shaking off that thought, she snapped her fan open and perused the gentlemen—plentiful for once, it seemed. Who could she signal to approach so they might ask for the first dance?

"Did you wish me to lead you in this set?" Nathan had returned from speaking to Lord Carrolton.

"I believe I can find a partner on my own merits, dear brother." She smirked at him then tried to catch the eye of the very attractive Lord Merriweather. The young earl, however, seemed not to see her interest. Drat. She needed a handsome man for the first dance, one she could laugh and flirt with, and thereby draw Lord Finley's attention. If she was vivacious enough, surely he would ask her for a dance? And not just any dance, but the supper dance. The main idea was to spend as much time as possible with his lordship.

"Suit yourself." Nathan turned his back and began speaking to Lady Alice Braeton.

Kate looked about once more. Who was available? Almost immediately, she spied Lord Haversham and sighed a little guiltily. Thank goodness he had no idea of the disparaging thoughts she'd had about him all afternoon. Even in his ignorance, she doubted he'd ask her for another dance after her rude behavior last night. Not that he didn't deserve some censure for treating his sister so callously, but stamping on his foot might've been taking things too far. Still, it was a pity he wouldn't approach her. Even though she could not abide him, she had to admit he was a fine-looking gentleman. Dark hair, surprisingly bright eyes, and a striking profile made him one who would catch the eye of others when they paraded around the ballroom together.

Of course, there was Bertie, although he certainly wouldn't have the same effect. Lord Somersby was dashing enough, but she did not want to get swept up into his tangled web. One dance wouldn't hurt, perhaps.

Lord Camford would not ask her after their loud disagreement last Season, nor Lord Parkington, nor Mr. Reed. How had she come to disagree with so many young men? She turned hopeful eyes to Mr. Turner, with whom she'd danced and flirted quite often in her first Season.

The man stared back at her then raised his quizzing glass and abruptly turned away. Oh, dear. She had set him down rather strongly over his opinions on cattle. He simply had no idea how to discern good horseflesh from bad, and she'd told him so. Was she supposed to feign ignorance? Camford, Parkington, Reed, Turner, and now, likely, Haversham as well disliked her. She had managed to offend all the most eligible parti s in the ton . A dreadful sinking feeling hit her stomach, and her mouth tasted metallic. She glanced about the room, where gentlemen were busily requesting dances of every young lady present. Save her.

She closed her eyes, suddenly weary. Her abominable tongue might just have doomed her to a life of spinsterhood.

"Miss Locke, delighted to see you."

Kate jumped, and her eyes flew open.

Lord Haversham stepped from behind her where he'd apparently been speaking to her brother.

"And you as well, my lord." She fought to regain her composure. Heat coursed through her body, and she plied her fan to cool her cheeks. Had he come to devil her some more? But no, even his greeting seemed mild-mannered enough tonight, no hint of sarcasm in his voice. So far. Of course, if she disparaged Lord Haversham again, Nathan might actually make good on his threat to leave her at home. Or worse, insist on that outing with Haversham whether she managed to complete her list or not. Perhaps she should try honey instead of vinegar to get a partner.

"The room is very warm, wouldn't you say?" She fluttered her fan delicately. "I hope it will not be too warm, for I had so set my heart on dancing each dance tonight."

"Miss Locke, I may not have acquitted myself very well as your dance partner last evening, but I beg you to give me one more chance to prove myself able."

"Thank you for that kind offer, Lord Haversham." She raised her fan quickly to hide a sudden smile. That had been rather easy. "I am not engaged at the moment, so yes, I will be happy to accept you." She lowered the fan to reveal the smile and curtsied.

He seemed astounded by her answer, for his eyes widened and his mouth opened, although nothing came out. He managed a bow then grabbed her brother's arm, hauling him a short distance away.

She continued to fan herself, swaying to snippets of music as the orchestra tuned in preparation for the first dance, trying to keep her smile pleasant, although the thought of the coming dance with Haversham set her teeth on edge. Why had he asked her? Had it been because of her hint or did he have a more devious purpose in mind? Still, if the other gentlemen saw her being amiable with him, perhaps they would relent and ask her as well.

"I believe this dance is mine, Miss Locke." Haversham had returned, offering his arm.

"Indeed it is, Lord Haversham. I was beginning to lose hope of you." She smiled up at him, trying to relax. He was still behaving himself, thank goodness.

Haversham's mouth quirked. "I do apologize that it is not a waltz. I know how fond you are of those."

"Wretched man." The words slipped out as if they had a life of their own.

His smile didn't change, but the lines around his mouth whitened.

Curse her tongue. She batted his arm with her fan and slid her hand through the crook of his elbow. "You had best not step on my feet this time, Haversham." She tugged on his sleeve, and they sallied forth onto the dance floor.

Lord Haversham's face changed at least three times. He scowled at her words then his eyebrows rose startlingly high when she took his arm. Now he looked at her through mere slits of eyes. "If I recollect correctly, Miss Locke, you were the one who stepped on my toes."

"I am certain that was not the case, my lord. Here is our set." Kate guided him to a group making up with several couples she knew well. Lord Camford was part of couple number two, glaring at her, but he could go hang.

"I believe I could show you your footprint on my best pair of dancing slippers, Miss Locke. That is why I am currently wearing my second-best pair." His voice had a severe tone, but his eyes gleamed with amusement.

"Nonsense." Kate bit the inside of her mouth to keep from laughing out loud. He looked so doleful and serious. "I'm almost lame from the blow."

"Why does the world report that Kate doth limp? Oh, slanderous world." He furrowed his brow, and she couldn't stop a giggle.

"Where did you study all this goodly speech?" she shot back. Shakespeare was her favorite playwright, especially for the play with her name in it.

"You inspired me, Miss Locke," he said, grinning boyishly. "The Bard notwithstanding, of course. Shall we?" He bowed to her and took her hand.

Warmth shot through her glove and up her arm, surprising a gasp out of her.

"Oh, now, Miss Locke." He gave her a stern look that somehow didn't seem very stern at all. "I truly came nowhere near your foot."

"No, my lord, you didn't. I…" Kate couldn't think what to say. Prickles of excitement suddenly burst through her body, simply from that touch on her hand.

The music commenced with a Scottish Reel, and thank goodness Haversham took control, leading her through the turning and twisting steps until she pulled her senses together and began to enjoy the dance. The earl was an excellent dancer, taking all the steps with ease, making faces at her during the short solo steps for the gentlemen that made her giggle despite herself.

They took hands and spun in a turn, faster than they should have, but Haversham seemed hell-bent on making her dizzy. Kate threw back her head and laughed, the speed and warmth from his hands as intoxicating as any wine.

"Are you quite well, Miss Locke?" He peered into her face with mock concern. "I've made a concerted effort not to tread on your toes."

She laughed again. Why hadn't she realized his sense of humor fell naturally in with hers? "I…yes…well… Do you think it very warm in here?" Almost breathless, she fought to keep up with the next set of steps. She looked into Lord Haversham's face, and her laughter subsided. The handsome features she'd more or less taken for granted earlier now struck her as more attractive than any man of her acquaintance, including Lord Finley. Curly chestnut hair to rival Lord Byron's, high cheekbones, a strong jaw, and sherry-brown eyes she could've drowned in. How had she not seen it before?

"Warm? Well, perhaps a trifle." They waited while the third and fourth couples made a bow and the ladies clasped hands in a circle. "There is a terrible crush, you know." He led her in a skipping step down between the dancers. "If you are not well, they will forgive us for stopping."

The attention that would call to them would be disastrous. "Oh, no, I am fine." They circled hand in hand. The heat in her face increased. "We should continue to the end." If she didn't drop down dead first.

The reel wound on, Kate running hot and cold as though stepping into and out of an icehouse. What was wrong with her? At last, the music ended.

"Come, we will let you rest a moment." He took her by the hand—which helped her peculiar feelings not at all—leading her through the throng of guests to a relatively quiet corner.

A young lady stood with her back against the wall, gazing about at the people with interest. Her white silk gown showed beautiful hand detailing in lace and rosettes of tambour work. Still, her air, so hesitant, made her seem as though she'd escaped from the schoolroom. An older woman stood beside her. Kate recognized her as Haversham's aunt, a rather no-nonsense matron with a deal of influence in the ton .

"Aunt Alexandra, may I present Miss Katherine Locke? I've managed to tire her out sufficiently in barely a dance. And not even a waltz. What shall we do if we needs must dance that as well?" His mouth puckered, but he brought it under control. "Miss Locke, my aunt, Lady George Pye. She has taken my sisters under her wing." He drew the girl in white out of the corner—gently, as though not to frighten her. "Letitia, my dear. Come meet Miss Locke."

The girl blinked and tried to draw back, but her brother coaxed her forward. "Lady Letitia Stowe, may I present my partner Miss Locke? Will you take good care of her while I fetch her some lemonade?"

Lady Letitia nodded, her big doe eyes casting a dubious glance at Kate. "Will you fetch me some as well, Marcus?"

"I will indeed, my dear." He beamed at her then turned to his aunt. "Would you like some refreshment as well, aunt?"

"No, my dear. But Miss Locke," the imposing woman turned her piercing eyes on Kate, "if you would oblige me by staying a moment with Lady Letitia? I just caught sight of Lady Ivor and must have a word with her."

"Of course, my lady." Kate curtsied, her mind suddenly clear and focused. "I would be delighted to become better acquainted with Lady Letitia."

"Then I shall return shortly, suitably laden." Lord Haversham bowed and started to leave.

"You might remember, my lord." Kate caught his eye, and his brow rose. "Enough is as good as a feast." Lord knew she could not deal with yet another brimming glass tonight.

He chuckled, and his eyes sparkled in the flickering light. "I will remember that, I promise."

She followed him, her rapt gaze keeping track of his lean figure, a graceful and dangerous animal, until he turned the corner toward and disappeared from sight.

Kate settled back, coming down from her tiptoes for the first time since Haversham had appeared. She snapped her fan open and fanned until her hot cheeks cooled. Forcing a deep breath, she smiled at Lady Letitia, who had retreated into her corner. "You must come watch the dancing from here, my lady. Your next partner will be looking for you shortly."

"Oh, no, Miss Locke." The girl gave a nervous shake of her head and pressed backward until her shoulders hit the wall. "I am not engaged until the supper dance. Then I am to stand up with my cousin, Lord Carstairs."

There were at least three sets before the supper dance. This would never do. Lord Haversham should've seen to Lady Letitia's partners. "We shall fill your evening with dancing, never fear, my lady. We cannot countenance you as a wallflower. You should be out on the floor for every dance."

Lady Letitia shook her head, still trying to inch her way into the corner. "Oh no, Miss Locke. I do not fancy the dances as much as my brother does, or most of the other young ladies here tonight."

"Truly?" Kate couldn't fathom such a thing. Everyone of her circle adored dancing. "Perhaps you simply need a partner already of your acquaintance." She glanced about for Nathan and spied him directly across the dance floor from them. "I see my brother just there, my lady." Kate pointed her fan at the tall figure deep in conversation with Lady Diana Cholmondeley. "Let me summon him. I am certain he would be most eager to stand up with you." A brilliant idea hit. "He is an excellent partner in the waltz. I've practiced with him for years." She leaned toward the lady, who visibly trembled. With anticipation, perhaps? "Your brother wouldn't ever have to know," she whispered.

Lady Letitia's gentle eyes widened, and she shook her head until her hair came down in straggles. "Oh, please, no, Miss Locke. Marcus promised to—"

"What, Letitia?"

Both of them jumped.

Marcus stood beside her, so quiet Kate hadn't heard him at all. "I promised to what, Letitia?"