Chapter 16

CHAPTER16

“What are you doing?” Lady Finch demanded to know.

Confused, George rubbed his bruised leg. “I was seeking refreshment, and I happened to find Lady Agnes, who has somewhat soured the taste of the punch.”

“Nonsense, Lady Agnes is as sweet as honey and looking far too beautiful to be a wallflower at this fine ball,” Lady Finch chided, giving George another, lighter knock in the leg. “The pair of you ought to be dancing. As for you, Lord Mullens, I suggest you sit down until you have sobered, lest you fall into this table and upend everything.”

William bowed his head, shamefaced as a schoolboy. “Apologies, Lady Finch. The punch is very strong.”

“Of course, it is, but you have supped a barrel’s worth!” Lady Finch shook her head, returning her attention to Agnes and George. “Now, both of you, to the dance floor. I do not wish to hear a single complaint.” She brandished her cane as a warning, leaving the pair with no choice but to consent.

Straightening up and smoothing down the lapels of his tailcoat, George offered his arm to Agnes. “Lady Agnes, would you do me the honor of dancing the next set?”

“If I must,” she replied curtly, her sparkling eyes still fiery with the heat of the argument.

Lady Finch gave her a gentle smack on the back of her thigh. “Try again, Lady Agnes. I know you have been raised better than that, for I am exceedingly fond of the woman who nurtured you into this resplendent lady that I see before me.” She offered a soft, knowing smile that prompted Agnes to drop her gaze to the ground. “Go on, dear girl. Try again.”

“I would be delighted, Your Grace,” Agnes said quietly, accepting his proffered arm.

Her fingers closed around his wrist, tighter than expected, as though he was driftwood in a storm; the only thing keeping her from drowning. The gesture made his heart jump into his throat, wondering what it would be like to have her cling to him as she gasped for air, crying out in the throes of passion.

He swallowed the thought, remembering her disapproval of him. “Let us attempt to enjoy one another’s company,” he muttered, leading her toward the square of giddy couples.

As they walked together, George noticed the blaze of eyes upon them. Ladies turned to whisper to their companions, lips pursing as if they had sucked upon a sour lemon. Meanwhile, gentlemen stared without shame, asking out loud, “Who is that divine creature? Does anyone know of her name?”

Her name is Lady Agnes Weston, George replied tersely in his mind, and she is not for any of you. This chase is between me and her, and not one of you shall join it.

“Have I something upon my face?” Agnes suddenly whispered, gripping his wrist tighter. “Why is everyone staring?”

George peered down at her. “Do you not know?”

“Know what?” She trembled slightly, her breath coming in shallow pants that stirred his loins into a frenzy.

“That you, Agnes, are the only lady worth staring at tonight,” he replied, aware that he might not have another opportunity to put himself in her good graces.

She glared up at him. “Do not tease me, Your Grace.”

“I am not.”

Her eyes crinkled in doubt, her throat moving as she swallowed her nerves. “I do not believe you.”

“You should, for no matter what you might think of me, I do not lie,” he told her. “Well, I do not lie if it is not entirely necessary, and as you have made it clear that you find me wretched, it would not serve me to fib to spare your feelings.”

A faint smile turned up one corner of her lips. “Who said I find you wretched?”

Before he could respond, the orchestra faded to a close, initiating a rush and crush of bodies as couples exchanged places—some leaving, some arriving, some moving to their next partner.

Agnes grabbed his wrist and tugged him toward the fray, dragging him into the middle of the two lines that were quickly forming. Evidently, she was eager to dance, but George could not tell where he stood in the grander scheme of things.

Perhaps, despite everything, she was not as averse to being caught up in his net as he had thought. But as he gazed across at her, her eyes shining with excitement, her cheeks flushed with youthful pink, her hair slowly sneaking toward wildness again, looking so beautiful that his body ached for her, he felt no relief or satisfaction in the notion of her returning his desires. Instead, he felt… terror.

You were partially right, he realized, his heart sinking. I have not ruined lives—I have been too clever for that—but I have broken hearts. And… I do not think I could bear to break yours. He had never been so possessed by any woman before, but what if it ended the same way—what if, when he had what he desired, his longing disappeared?

“It is beginning!” Agnes called, clapping her hands together, all evidence of her anxiety gone.

George put on his best smile. “Then let us dance as if this will be our only encounter upon a dance floor.”

“I pray you can keep pace with me,” she taunted, flashing a grin.

He mustered a laugh. “No, Lady Agnes, it is you who must keep pace with me.”

For he knew that if he wanted to protect her from himself, this would have to be their last and only dance together.

* * *

Perhaps, it was the candlelight, flickering beneath a spring moon, reflecting the constellations above, or maybe it was the music, conjuring a spell in the warm night, or it might have been the sapphire jewel at Agnes’ throat, bewitching him as it caught the moon’s glow in sporadic flashes—George did not know, but there was assuredly magic in the air.

Agnes danced as well as he had dreamed that she would, becoming quite a theatrical spectacle. Guests gathered upon the edges of the dance floor to watch, gentlemen nudging one another out of the way as if they had paid a high price to behold the graceful dancer. Even the ladies had lost their expressions of envy and seemed to be making silent notes as they observed.

“It is unfortunate that they are yet to permit waltzing at polite gatherings,” George said as she twirled around him in a horseshoe, her fingertips lightly touching his.

“And why is that? Are you anxious that you might not be gossiped about enough?” Agnes replied, gracefully gliding back in front of him.

He chuckled. “No, I just thought a waltz might really give these vultures something to gawp at.”

“I imagine you would hear the resounding percussion of their jaws hitting the floor.” She pulled a face as she leaped in the shape of a diagonal cross, her toes striking the ground to precisely the beats of the music. “Hmm… what a horrifying picture that created in my mind. I have been listening to too many of Lady Finch’s terrible tales about darkened London alleyways and the monsters that lurk in the shadows.”

George swallowed thickly, catching a glimpse of Agnes’ stockinged ankle as she leaped rather too vigorously back into the center of her ‘cross’. “Lady Finch does have a penchant for telling wicked tales. I remember, as a child, not being able to sleep for a week after she told me of horse-like creatures that trick children into riding on their backs before dragging them down into rivers and lakes, drowning them.”

“Wherever did she hear a story like that?” Agnes gasped, thrilling him as she brushed past his shoulder and whirled around him for a second time.

“I did not dare to ask, but I would not ride my horse for a month, either.”

Agnes laughed as she joined his line, slotting between him and the next gentleman. She pressed her palm to George’s, and they walked forward and back together in a swaying rhythm, looking intently at one another as if the rest of the dancers did not exist.

“I did not realize you spent periods of time with Lady Finch when you were a child,” she said, her palm warm and soft beneath his.

He nodded, ignoring the urge to slide his fingers between hers, entangling them. “I resided with her from the age of ten when I was not attending Eton, and after that, upon each holiday, I would return to her.”

“I am sorry for your loss.” She broke away, adding a pirouette as the line of ladies reformed. A ripple of awe rose up from the gathered guests, but she did not seem to notice; her eyes were fixed upon George.

“My loss?”

She nodded as they met in the neutral territory between the two lines, beginning a mirrored dance that George began. What he did, she copied. “To lose your mother and father so young is a terrible thing. Unless I am mistaken?”

“You are, and you are not,” he replied, pausing to watch her emulate the steps he had performed. “My mother was lost to me, but my father was not. I was… unruly and would likely be living in a monastery in France if it had not been for Lady Finch’s intervention.”

Agnes arched an eyebrow as George began his steps again. “You were abandoned?”

“I prefer to think of it as being too difficult for my father to manage,” George answered with a bite in his tone. “But he has passed now, so he cannot tell me how he perceived it.”

Agnes’ glistening brow furrowed as she swept back toward him, their palms pressing, their bodies barely an inch away from the embrace he craved. “How awful. It is a terrible thing to be unloved by a parent.”

Somehow, her pity was worse than her indifference. He did not know why he had revealed so much of his past, but he could not stuff it all back into his mouth, and now, she was staring at him like he was a wounded animal that needed coddling. Discomfort prickled in his veins, making his hackles rise.

“Fortunately, I was not left to raise myself or any siblings. I shall always be grateful that I had no brother or sister to be responsible for as I imagine it would have prevented me from enjoying the life I have led,” he said, knowing he was being unkind but unable to stop it.

Agnes’ pity transformed into an ice-cold glare, and as she lifted one leg into a dainty hop, her shoe came down upon his foot. Hard. If she had been an ungainly dancer, he might have been able to forgive it as an accident, but Agnes was no amateur.

“Apologies,” she muttered, resuming the merry bounding that drew every spectating gentleman’s eye to her bosom. “How clumsy I am.”

“You did that on purpose,” George hissed, seconds away from seizing her hand and marching her away from the dance floor—to do what, he did not dare to consider it fully, for it would only make him want her more.

She shrugged into a twirl, casting a sly look back over her shoulder. “I would not do such a childish thing.” She moved into position before him, smiling. “I must have been so shocked by your remark that I missed my footing. Let us hope that not too many people saw, or they might think me inept as a dancer, and I was looking forward to a full card tonight.”

“Pardon?” he growled, his body flaring with jealousy.

“I can only dance twice with you, Your Grace, and I have done so. It would be unseemly of me if I were to continue dancing with you,” she replied, flashing that too-sweet smile that incensed him. “But as I believe I have performed rather well, I am hopeful of more requests. You see, this is my first time being allowed to do as I please at a ball, and I shall not waste the opportunity.” She edged closer, drawing murmurs from the crowd. “Are they watching, George?”

The sound of his name from her lips was like a musket shot to the heart, causing him to miss a step. As he struggled to catch up, Agnes chuckled and glided back to the line of ladies with the orchestra slowing their instruments to conclude the dance. Indeed, it was like they were all conspiring to remove her from his presence, and he would be forced to watch her dancing with other gentlemen, fearing that one of them might succeed in charming her.

“A fine distraction, Your Grace.” Agnes dipped into one of her dramatic curtsies, eliciting another rumble of delight from the crowd.

George bowed, still reeling from the echo of his name. “If you have broken my foot, you shall be receiving a demand from my physician.”

“But I would argue that you brought it upon yourself, Your Grace,” she replied, and with the final shiver of horsehair bows against strings and the breathy last note of the woodwind and brass, she was gone, vanishing into the cresting wave of couples who were desperate to make their own mark upon the dance floor.

You are not the only one who can fill their evening with other partners, Agnes, he seethed, but as surrounding young ladies made coy eyes at him, he hobbled away on his bruised foot. His golden hart had slipped from his grasp for now, but if she stepped upon that dance floor again with another gentleman in receipt of her attention, he would show all of high society who had claimed her first. He no longer cared what it cost either of them.