Waltzing with the Wallflower(15)

“I believe this dance is mine,” he whispered behind her.

She turned and flashed a smile. “But, my lord, you haven’t written your name on my card.”

“I didn’t think I had to, considering it is our dance. Shall we?”

Blushing, she curtsied and took his proffered arm. He could hear the fluttering of tongues and fans as he escorted the lady to the middle of the dance floor. With a brooding expression he silently wondered if the chatter about them was good or bad.

As he took her hand in his and looked into her eyes, he realized for once in his life, and for once since the bet, he couldn’t care less what people were saying. All he wanted was to hold the girl who had managed to creep inside his heart, and he hoped the dance would never end.

Ambrose pulled her closer than usual, relishing the feel of her satin gown on his gloved hands, closing his eyes as if to memorize the scent of her skin and the way her body curved in his outstretched hand.

“Ambrose?” she whispered. “I believe we are causing a stir.”

“Whatever do you mean?” He opened his eyes and noticed his brother talking with several women, their eyes ablaze and horror-stricken. Was he really holding the girl that close? Devil take it! He loved the girl. It shouldn’t matter.

Ambrose froze. Did it count that he said he loved her in his head rather than out loud? He hoped not, because it was a mistake—a terrible mistake. Men didn’t fall all over themselves after only a few weeks. Did they?

Cordelia sighed, and he found himself holding his breath. Did she think about the kiss? All evidence pointed to her forgetting about it completely, which quite bothered him. Was it not her first kiss? The thought that it hadn’t been flashed through his mind, causing him to hold her arm tighter. If any other gentleman touched her, he would kill him.

Ambrose swallowed and pursed his lips, trying to think of something witty to say to get the girl to confess her thoughts aloud. Unfortunately, nothing came to mind save to ask the girl outright if she enjoyed the kiss. What was happening to him? Was it possible the girl had broken down so much of his defenses that he no longer knew how to flirt or manipulate a woman’s affections?

“Cordelia,” he blurted her name then inwardly cursed, for now he needed to finish his thought.

Her eyes met his. “Ambrose?”

His gaze fell to her full lips, which she delicately nibbled on in thought.

“I…” He couldn’t tear his eyes away.

“You…?” She prompted, squinting towards him.

“The kiss.” His voice was hoarse. “Do you think of it?”

Cordelia’s gaze darted away without answering the question. He felt like a fool until she leaned in and whispered so lightly he almost missed it, “Every day.”

The intense need to kiss her again washed over him as the dance ended, and he noticed her blushing again. Bet or no bet, it mattered not. The importance of showing her how he felt was at the forefront of his mind.

“Shall we take some fresh air?” he managed to choke out as he led her in the direction of the balcony. She flashed him a knowing smile and nodded her head.

“I believe this is my dance, Lady Cordelia.” A young man interrupted their escape plans with stars in his eyes for the lady. Ambrose knew it would cause more whispering if he didn’t allow the man to dance with her. He stepped aside and nodded, then whispered in Cordelia’s ear for her to join him on the balcony as soon as the dance was finished.

Ambrose made his way to Anthony. The last thing he desired was to watch Cordelia dance in another man’s arms. He winced from the pain of the image, then located Anthony and Wilde and joined them.

“Is it true then?” A man in the group asked.

“What am I missing?” Ambrose asked, looking at his twin brother. Something had transpired. He wasn’t sure what it was, but a sickening feeling told him it had to be something important, for the look on Wilde’s face was absolute horror.

“Are you her protector then?” the man continued.

“Who are you?” by the tone of his voice, Ambrose made it clear that he didn’t care to even know the individual.

“You didn’t answer my question. You see, I’m looking for a new mistress, and I was wondering if you planned on keeping yours.” His smug grin made Ambrose want to stab him where he stood.

“Mine? Obtuse idiot, I don’t have a mistress!”

Anthony choked. Wilde appeared ready to lose his dinner, and the rest of the men looked curious.

“Of course you do. Weren’t you just dancing with her?”

Ambrose looked to Anthony for help, but his twin brother was now staring at the ceiling as if a silly painting were on display.

“You are mistaken, sir.” Ambrose kept his voice curt, his answer polite, though he wanted nothing more than to pummel the man with his bare fists.

“I heard it from a reliable source, Hawthorne. It’s common knowledge. Lady Cordelia appears to be your mistress. It makes perfect sense. I mean no ill will towards the chit, but her reputation isn’t quite shining. I can imagine at least a hundred young women who would be a better fit for a titled lord. As an indentured servant, you can be sure she was no stranger to a man’s attention. So, I ask again. Is she under your protection, or is she in need of a protector?”

His pulse thudded against his ears as Ambrose grew dizzy with rage. He drew a slow, steady breath and blew it through pursed lips, forcing his balled fists to remain at his sides. Mustering all the self-control he possessed, he muttered, “You are mistaken. Lady Cordelia is in no need of a protector. Not now, not ever. Assume what you must, but stay away from the lady.”