Part 6 (2/2)
Her fan quivered, but she managed a credible smile. ”Bronwyn, the prince has been most polite in his offer. You will dance with him. I'm sure someone will claim Sorcha's hand.” Lady Malvinea looked directly at Alexsey. ”Sorcha is in much demand. She may not be here when you return and you will have to wait for your dance.”
”Strath!” Alexsey said over his shoulder.
The viscount, who'd been watching them as if he were at the theater enjoying a show, started with surprise. ”Yes?”
”Dance with Miss Sorcha.”
”But-”
”I will claim her hand at the next music.”
”But-” Strath caught Alexsey's firm gaze and sighed. ”Of course I'll dance with the lovely Miss Sorcha. It will be my pleasure.” He bowed and held out his arm. ”Miss Sorcha, shall we do as we've been royally commanded?”
Miss Sorcha looked as if she'd swallowed a bee, but after an awkward second, she gave a jerky nod and a fluttery, pained smile. ”Of course.” She placed her hand upon Strath's arm. Without looking at one another, the two joined the dancers upon the floor.
”There,” Alexsey said with satisfaction. Refusing to look at anyone else, he placed Roza's hand upon his arm, and led her onto the dance floor.
Finally, he had her where she belonged: within the circle of his arms.
There was something tantalizing about the way Lucinda's lashes trembled upon her cheeks, as if she were the smallest, most innocent dove. As Roland watched her, his heart swelled, and the urge to protect her filled his soul.
-The Black Duke by Miss Mary Edgeworth No woman had ever danced with less grace. Still, though Alexsey feared his toes would be permanently bruised, he couldn't stop his wide grin. He was dancing with his Roza.
He looked down at her and wondered what she was thinking. She seemed lost in her thoughts, her brow knit, her gaze on her feet. Of the many ways women reacted to dancing with him, he'd never met with such silence.
Alexsey bit back an ”oof” when her small, slippered foot came down on his boot again. Perhaps because her stepsisters and stepmother were so much taller than she, Roza seemed shorter than he remembered, more delicate in some ways. But her skin was just as sun-kissed, her brown hair gleaming with russet lights that glowed in the candelabra light.
But gone was her openly curious expression, and in its place a polite-society facade, the sort worn by someone uncomfortable in public. Are you shy, little one? I did not see it before, but now I think it's possible.
He noted how stiffly she held her chin in the air, her lashes low, almost resting on her cheeks. He wondered if she found the silence unnerving, and if that was why she refused to look at him. Then he realized the truth: she was struggling to keep up with the dance steps, her lips silently moving as she counted out the time.
Her attention on her steps didn't seem to help, for her dancing was worse than atrocious. She missed steps, had twice moved in the wrong direction, refused to allow him to lead, and had stepped on his left foot six times already.
Fortunately, while her eyes were turned downward, he had the opportunity to admire her at his leisure. How had he missed noticing how thick her lashes were? And how her small nose gave her a piquant look? He wanted to kiss that nose, along with other parts of her. He adroitly guided them out of the path of another couple.
Her hand tightened over his, and to his amus.e.m.e.nt, he realized she was once again trying to lead, a habit he attempted to squelch by refusing to follow.
Thwarted, Bronwyn flashed her gaze up to his. ”I told you I don't like to dance.”
”So you did. What you did not tell me is that you couldn't dance.”
She flushed. ”You should have danced with Sorcha. She's very good at it.”
He glanced at Strath, Bronwyn's gaze following. The viscount and Sorcha were exceptional dancers, moving smoothly and without error, seeming to float as they swept about the floor. With her gown of white crepe sewn with tiny pearls, long white ribands floating about her, Sorcha looked as if she belonged in a fairy tale.
But though the couple danced divinely, their conversation seemed to be of a less perfect turn. It was obvious they'd exchanged harsh words. Strath looked as if for a penny he'd willingly strangle Sorcha, while she appeared ready to return the favor for free.
Alexsey looked down at Bronwyn. ”I prefer to dance with you, wretched though you are at it.”
”Why that's- How rude!”
”It is the truth. I would not patronize you with less.”
She lifted a brow. ”You truly are a prince charming.”
”Was that . . . what is the word? Ah yes-you are sarcasm.”
”The word is 'sarcastic.' And yes, I am.” She frowned up at him. ”Pardon me, Alexs-Your Hi-good G.o.d, I don't even know what to call you. This whole thing is confusing and awkward. I can't seem to accept that you are a prince. A real prince.”
”If it bothers you, then tonight, I will be a huntsman once again.” His expression warmed. ”I love hunting, especially for you.”
She narrowed her gaze. ”I have the feeling you mean something else when you say 'hunting.' ”
He laughed. ”I might. Come, Roza. Do not become so disturbed over things neither of us can change. Besides, we are just dancing.”
”If you think b.a.l.l.s are held merely for dancing, then you're very nave.”
”Oh, I know that b.a.l.l.s are for matchmaking. But I do not pay attention to such nonsense, and neither should you.”
She eyed him with curiosity. ”You're not looking for a wife?”
”I cannot think of anything I want less. I came to Scotland to escort my grandmother, who is older and far more frail than she will admit. Other than that, I had no purpose, and I certainly have no desire to marry. Not yet, anyway.”
”Neither do I.” She nodded thoughtfully and relaxed a little, her steps not quite so stiff as they turned to the music. After a moment, she peeped up at him through her lashes and said in a confidential tone, ”Had I realized you were a prince when we met in the woods, I wouldn't have spoken to you at all, much less-” She glanced around, and then lowered her voice. ”You know.”
”Kiss-OW!” He stopped and another couple almost collided with them. ”You stepped on my foot on purpose!”
”Did I? I'm sorry.”
He could tell she d.a.m.ned well wasn't sorry at all. He firmly danced her to the side of the floor, keeping a cautious eye on her feet.
Once they were out of the main press, he slowed to a more comfortable tempo. They were now completely out of step with the music, but more in pace with her abilities. ”There. Now you can stop pretending you can dance.”
”I warned you.”
”My ears did not work; I was too happy to have finally found you. Now, though, I regret not listening.” He shook his head in mock despair. ”The tops of my shoes will never be the same.”
Her lips quirked into an irrepressible grin.
”So you have no shame for ruining my shoes, nyet? If it weren't so difficult to replace shoes here in the middle of nowhere, I would let you stomp on the tops of all of them, but such is not the case. If they are ruined, I must go without.”
”A barefoot prince? That sounds like a bad Italian opera.”
He chuckled. ”So it does. And it will sound even more like one if you mar my shoes until I cannot wear them, for then I will have to punish you.”
Bronwyn wasn't sure what it was, the golden glow from the hundreds of candles that lit the ballroom, the musical swirl of the orchestra, or the fact that she was dancing with a real, straight-out-of-a-fairy-tale prince, one so handsome that everyone was staring at her with obvious jealousy, but she felt light-headed, as if she'd had too much champagne. It caused her to look up at the prince through her lashes and say in a completely un-Bronwyn-like way, ”Oh? And how will you 'punish' me?”
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