As the Devil Dares (Capturing the Carlisles #3)(62)
Unable to resist, she asked as nonchalantly as possible, “And where is Robert?”
“Most likely in the smoking room, hiding away from marriage-minded mamas and their daughters who are shamelessly on the prowl for husbands.”
Mariah sent a suspicious glance at her, knowing how much Elizabeth wanted Robert to settle down with a wife and give her more grandchildren. “Aren’t you a marriage-minded mama?”
“Tonight I’m one by proxy for you, my dear.” Elizabeth gave a motherly squeeze to her arm. “Which isn’t the same thing at all.”
“I see.” She fought back a smile at how the irony of the situation went right over the duchess’s head.
No matter. Tonight, she planned to enjoy herself and ignore Robert, while simultaneously watching his every move.
And somehow keep an eye on Evelyn, even in the midst of the crush.
In her pale pink dress, her sister wasn’t easy to spot among a sea of pastel-colored misses crowding the room. Which was probably why Evelyn had chosen that specific dress in the first place—so that Mariah would be less able to keep watch over her if she wanted to sneak away with Burton Williams. Because of that, Mariah had tasked Whitby with guarding Evie tonight, to make certain her sister didn’t get into trouble at her first ball.
Fortunately, Evie was easier to track than anticipated, because unfortunately she never strayed far from Williams. But at least she was heeding Mariah’s warning to be careful. She’d danced only one turn with him so far, knowing what it meant if she gave him too many dances, and she’d not attempted to wander off alone with him. Yet.
Turning her attention away from her sister, Mariah smiled graciously as Elizabeth introduced her to a new group of ladies, whose names she would never be able to remember when added to the hundred other people she’d already met tonight. It was always the same…a flash of surprised recognition as they suddenly realized who she was and remembered the reputation she’d garnered for herself, followed immediately by acceptance because the Duchess of Trent was at her side. Mariah suspected that she could have danced through St Paul’s in her night rail and all would be excused as long as Elizabeth vouched for her.
As she rose from her curtsy, the crowd parted in front of her. The gap lasted only a heartbeat, but it was long enough for her to glimpse Robert across the room. In his formal attire, he stole her breath away. Snow-white breeches that hugged his muscular thighs beneath a white satin waistcoat and intricately knotted cravat, a dark blue cashmere jacket and sapphire cravat pin that matched the blue of his eyes, rakishly mussed hair that shined golden in the light of the chandeliers and had her longing to run her fingers through it…Heavens.
As if feeling her gaze on him, he looked up, meeting her stare across the room. A flash of heated longing fell through her so intensely that she shivered.
“There you are, Mariah! I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”
A hand at her elbow snatched her attention away. When she glanced back, the crowd had pushed in, and Robert had disappeared.
Squashing a surprising pang of loss, she turned and smiled. “Whitby, you know—” She bit off her words as her chest tightened with dread. “You’ve left your post. What did Evie do?”
“Nothing.” He jerked a thumb toward the corner of the room. “She’s chatting with the Marchioness of Chesney.”
He gave her a silly grin that caused his dimples to deepen and made him appear even more boyish than usual. His clothes didn’t help. He wore the same style of evening attire as every other gentleman in the room—although in decidedly brighter colors and a plethora of patterns that made Mariah wonder if his tailor had gone mad—but on Whitby, his clothes made him look as if someone had stretched Beau Brummell on the rack.
“I’m here for our dance.” He gave an elaborate bow from the waist, which nearly toppled him over, then held out his hand with decorum. “Miss Winslow, our waltz.”
Her heart tugged for him. “I would be honored, Mr. Whitby.”
With a beaming smile, he placed her hand on his arm and led her toward the dance floor as the master of ceremonies announced the first waltz. Other couples took their places around them until the floor was as crowded as the rest of the room. But when the music began and the men whirled their partners into their steps, the others wisely made room for an exuberant Whitby as he charged across the floor with her at more than double the tempo of the waltz.
Laughing at his enthusiasm, and wondering if the metronome was broken when he learned to dance, Mariah gave herself over to the sheer fun of the moment and simply tried to keep up. They’d cleared a path down the floor and back when she spied Robert. She craned her neck for a better look just as Whitby twirled her into a circle, just as she caught a glimpse of the beautiful woman in Robert’s arms—
With a gasp, Mariah stumbled, and Whitby flayed his arms in an uncoordinated grab to catch her. That brought them both to a sudden halt, which in turn sent several couples who had been bravely attempting to pace them careening in all directions.
Concern tightened Whitby’s face. “Are you all right?”
She looked up sheepishly at him. Thank goodness the shock heating her cheeks of seeing Robert dancing with another woman was hidden by the embarrassment of her stumble. “I’m fine. Just tripped over my own feet.” She moved back into position. “Shall we?”