The Wicked Heir (Spare Heirs #3)(33)

By the beginning of the next dance, Isabelle was once again filled with hope. Lord Hempshere was said to be quite the upstanding gentleman in town. With him at her side, she would host only the most respectable of events, and they would base their relationship on honesty with each other. Honesty and trust would be a strong foundation for their marriage.

They had just come back together for a time after circling the other couples on the floor when Lord Hempshere asked, “Do you enjoy the quadrille?”

“It’s my favorite,” Isabelle said honestly. “I always make a misstep and dissolve in laughter by the end of it.”

“That doesn’t cause you embarrassment? How curious,” he mused, just before they separated once more.

Isabelle spent the entire time she circled the lady opposite her justifying his comment. It was simply a forthright question, and she wasn’t accustomed to such talk when it didn’t come from her sister. By the time she returned, she knew he was only attempting to speak with her in earnest. She should explain herself, allow him to know her and understand her to a greater degree. “I learned these dances when I was older than most, when my father inherited his title. I suppose the steps didn’t sink in as well as they ought.”

“Don’t concern yourself with how off-balanced you look doing the steps. I don’t think anyone has noticed,” he said with a smile. With a blasted smile! Was he unaware that he’d insulted her?

She’d always enjoyed the lively nature of this dance until now. She glanced around, suddenly very conscious of the proper direction she was to take after this curtsy. “Thank you for that reassurance.”

“I meant no offense. Only offering a bit of honesty.”

“Honesty is an admirable quality,” she hedged, now wondering how high a priority a noble character was on her list. Apparently it was possible to be too honest to suit her.

Lord Hempshere deposited her back at her mother’s side a moment later and nodded as he left.

Isabelle was fairly certain that as lovely as this ball was, even with everything bathed in candlelight and scented by the flower arrangements, there was no romance to be found here tonight. It was quite the sad thought, and it had her turning to search for a footman with a tray of champagne glasses. Her mother had a glass—surely more existed around here somewhere.

As she turned back to the ballroom floor, a man was standing in front of her. She almost jumped back at the sight of his bright-green waistcoat but caught herself after only a quick blink. He was looking at her as well, his focus moving from her face, over her gown, and back up her neck before meeting her gaze once more.

“Good evening. I didn’t see you approach. Do I owe you a dance?” Isabelle’s eyes darted to Lady Smeltings, unsure of what the woman had arranged for her. But her ladyship was turned away chatting with Isabelle’s mother, leaving Isabelle to wonder at who this gentleman in the brightly colored evening wear was. There was something familiar about the build of this man or perhaps the intensity in his gaze, but she couldn’t quite add up the pieces enough to place him in her memory.

“I saw you from across the room and knew I must come speak with you.” He flashed a wide smile as he looked at her. “If you have room on your dance card…”

“My dance card is a mystery at the moment. A friend of my mother’s was determined to see it filled and has taken over all control of it. I fear my feet may fall off by the end of the evening.”

He laughed openly and tossed his white-blond hair back as he did so. It was an unusual hair color. It was as if he’d dipped his head in snow and didn’t look quite natural, but it somehow suited his sharp features. “Perhaps you could use a break from the dance floor, then.” He signaled someone behind her and a second later produced two glasses of champagne and handed her one.

How did he know she was thirsty? She studied him as she took a sip. Perhaps it wasn’t the grandest of gestures, but offering her a drink and the option to sit out a dance seemed rather heroic, noble, and good at the moment.

He took a drink before indicating the bustling ballroom floor at his back. “I must confess, though I would enjoy a dance with a lady such as yourself, I prefer other entertainments. Books and art are more to my liking, but these events are never held in a library or a gallery. What’s there to see in a ballroom—other than you, of course?”

She blushed at his compliment even as her mind clung to his previous statement. “You enjoy books and art?” He was rather ideal, down to his emerald-green evening wear. “What a wonderfully small world we live in. I volunteer at the British Museum.”

“We were destined to meet one another, then,” he said with another wide grin.

“Perhaps so.” Her heart was still a bit bruised from the recent betrothal news, but if this was destiny, she should at least be receptive to it. It was almost unnerving how well he embodied her list of qualifications—the old list and the new—like she’d somehow wished him into existence. She looked up in wonder at this man. Was he her secret admirer? Could it be?

“I apologize for keeping my distance before tonight,” he confided after a moment’s hesitation. “I’ve wanted to talk to you for longer than I’d care to admit.”

“Have you?” Her hand flew to the locket, her fingers sliding over the metal surface as she watched the man who stood before her. “Why did you delay?”