A Little Bit Sinful(30)

“No, of course not.” But the truth was Clarissa had no idea who his mother was. Other than knowing she was French, Clarissa had never given it a single thought.

Until now.

…

It was not difficult for Justin to locate Clarissa when it was time for their dance. His eyes had followed her all evening. He’d known where she’d been, to whom she’d spoken with, and which fellows brought her to dance. He’d seen her dance with George and then seen the man take Miss Cooper outside for a walk. Clarissa had not been pleased.

For most of the evening she stood next to her friend Ella. As he walked up to the two of them, Ella’s eyes widened.

“I believe this is our dance, Chrissy,” he said.

He brought Ella’s gloved hand to his lips and nodded. “Lady Ella, a pleasure as usual.”

She giggled. “Mr. Rodale. You two are going to miss your dance, go.”

Once Clarissa and Justin were on the dance floor, she blurted out, “I am quite sorry for my rudeness.”

“When?” he asked.

Her cheeks pinkened. “Yes, well I realize I have been ill mannered when it comes to you on more than one occasion.” She looked up at him. “It does seem that you have a tendency to bring that out in me, being around you makes me forget my manners and I’m far more likely to speak my mind. My apologies.”

He nodded. “It is a strange thing to apologize for, would you not agree? What if I prefer you speak your mind? Prefer that you’re honest? Prefer you to simply be yourself?”

She looked up at him a moment and he was struck by how perfectly beautiful she was, with her sparkling blue eyes and lips that he knew were far softer and more pliable than he had a right to know.

“Do you prefer that from everyone?” she asked.

“I’m not speaking of anyone but you, but I suppose yes, I think people should be honest.” His eyes met hers. “And I do know other things about you. You need not pretend about anything around me.”

She nodded. “You have done quite well tonight.”

“What does that mean?” he asked. She was much shorter than him; he couldn’t help noticing, so very feminine. He rather enjoyed having her in his arms in the midst of the people around them, having an acceptable excuse to put his hands at the curve of her waist, be close enough to catch the lovely lemon scent of her hair.

“Merely that you do very well blending in with everyone here.”

Blending because he didn’t belong—is what she meant? Clarissa didn’t mean it poorly. It was the way she’d been raised, the way they’d all been raised—these people surrounding him tonight. How could she apologize in one breath and in the next insult him again? Then he realized she didn’t mean it as an insult. More than likely she thought she paid him a compliment. Still her words stung.

He knew he didn’t belong here. He’d known that his entire life. And some people felt the need to remind him of that. But he also knew that regardless of what people thought of him, he’d been invited and he’d come and he would do his damnedest to blend in as much as possible because that made people uncomfortable.

That didn’t really explain why he was truly there. He did feel indebted to the Kincaid family since they’d always been so welcoming of him. But he knew his recent jaunt into Society had more to do with a certain Kincaid than out of gratitude to the entire brood.

“Chrissy, you look beautiful tonight,” he said, knowing fully that the compliment would make her uncomfortable.

“Why do you call me that?” she asked.

She looked up at him and the startling shade of blue in her eyes met his. “Because it irritates you. And when you’re irritated, you get feisty. I like it when you’re feisty, when I can see the fire burn behind your eyes. It makes you more interesting.”

She took a deep breath and swallowed, then schooled her features so that she was once again pretty Clarissa Kincaid, not his spirited Chrissy.

“I imagine you know all manner of secrets about many of the families in this room,” she said. She looked around at the couples dancing near them. “I suspect you also make many of them quite nervous simply by being here.”

Justin glanced around. “You are right on both accounts. You are obviously uneasy about dancing with me.”

“What makes you say that?”

“You insist on talking.”

“It is what we’re supposed to do whilst we dance,” she said. “Why, what do you think dancing is about?”