How to Woo a Wallflower (Romancing the Rules #3)(38)

Clary bit her lip and forced her gaze anywhere but at Gabriel. She gestured toward the dance floor. “He brought Miss Morgan with him this evening.”

“I see.” Helen assessed the young lady. “She dances well. Blushes freely. Smiles at him a great deal. And yet he’s looking at you.”

He was. In between revolutions around the dance floor, and every time his body was positioned toward Clary, he looked toward where she stood at the side of the ballroom. Each time their gazes met, a tremor of awareness rippled through her, as if he’d reached out and touched her.

When the quadrille ended, the guests applauded before drifting to the edges of the ballroom to await the next set.

“You should ask him to dance,” Helen whispered.

“That’s not proper etiquette, Miss Fisk. You know as well as I do that gentlemen ask ladies, not the other way around.” Clary pointed to where Nathaniel Landau was wending through the guests with Sally at his side, coming to claim his waltz. “As Dr. Landau so admirably demonstrated earlier.”

“I’ve always loathed that part,” Helen admitted. “If ladies could invite gentlemen to dance, there would be no more wallflowers.”

“I thought we’d decided there were advantages to being a wallflower.”

“True,” Helen mused, “though I’m too tired for plotting this evening, and I’m afraid I couldn’t concentrate on Euclid if I tried.” Her eyes fixed on Dr. Landau as he drew up beside her.

It was abundantly clear what Helen was focused on, and Clary couldn’t blame her. A moment later, the handsome doctor swept her away to prepare for the waltz. Sally swayed, unable to keep herself still, at Clary’s side.

“I wish I could dance every day.” Sally grinned at her. “Won’t you partner with anyone this evening, Miss Ruthven?”

“No one has asked me yet.”

The girl cast her gaze around the room and stopped at the only other man she’d met before. “Why not that gentleman who came to the school and stopped Mr. Keene? He did us both a good deed that day.” Sally shivered, as she often did when referring to the man who refused to let her be, despite her repeated rebuff of his advances.

“I happen to know that Mr. Adamson is not skilled at dancing. He may not know how to waltz.”

“But it’s the easiest dance ever. It’s just a lot of twirling and stepping.” She demonstrated by dancing the waltz box pattern and spinning at Clary’s side. “You could teach him.”

Clary pressed the back of her hand to her overheated cheeks. “I needn’t dance tonight, Sally.”

“Miss Ruthven.” A soft voice came from behind.

Clary stood and turned toward the sound. Miss Morgan approached. Alone.

“I came to offer you a word of thanks, Miss Ruthven.”

“Oh? For what?” Clary’s pulse began fluttering in her throat, and her nervousness did nothing to cool the heat in her cheeks. She scanned the room, but Gabriel Adamson was nowhere to be seen.

“For teaching Mr. Adamson to dance the quadrille.”

“He told you that?”

“Indeed. He spoke of little else as we danced.” Miss Morgan looked toward the corner of the room.

Gabriel had returned to the ballroom. Clary tried not to stare.

“Mr. Adamson and I are longtime friends, Miss Ruthven. He knew my father, who considered him the son he never had. When Papa died, it was only natural that Gabriel and I continue as acquaintances. I’m very fond of his sister too.”

If the lady had come to tell her details about Gabriel’s history, Clary was all too eager to listen. But if Miss Morgan had come to brag of their connection, Clary wasn’t sure how much more she wished to hear.

“What I mean to say is that I sense how much he wishes to dance with you, and I hope you will accept his invitation.” She peered down at the program folded in her hand. “Another waltz comes soon. That is a rather facile dance.”

Also the one requiring partners to stand the closest. Clary shifted on her slippers. “Thank you for coming to speak to me, Miss Morgan. However, Mr. Adamson hasn’t asked me to dance. Until he does, I shall await another partner.” Not that she expected one to appear. Though she suspected Helen would urge Dr. Landau to take the same pity on her as he’d shown Sally.

“For his sake,” Jane Morgan leaned in and whispered near Clary’s ear, “I shall offer him a bit of encouragement.”

Gabe escaped the heat of the ballroom and strode into the Stanhope’s high-ceilinged main hall. The air smelled of roses, and he spun around, expecting to find Clary nearby. Disappointment welled up when he saw only footmen preparing to dispense refreshments and a cluster of maids watching at the threshold as the guests danced.

Striding forward, he swiped a champagne flute from a footman’s tray and downed the fizzy sweetness in one swallow. Sweet and fizzy. Champagne and Clary Ruthven had a good deal in common. He reached for another glass, tipping it back so quickly, a bit dribbled onto his rented suit.

“Are you trying to drown yourself in it or just get soused?” The feminine voice emanated from near a potted palm in the long hall.

He knew that voice, and he knew he shouldn’t seek her in a spot where others couldn’t see them. Not that he wanted anyone to see what he wished to do with her, but he had no desire to risk her reputation or his job.