The Season(16)

It was the same man she had noticed through the potted fern. He still had his back to her, but she was getting to know that side of him quite well. His shoulders were broader still than they had seemed when she was spying on him. They were certainly a defining characteristic, and she noted with appreciation the way his tailor had fitted his black jacket to them like a second skin. Taking in the cut of the garment drew her attention back to his hair, which she realized was a more golden shade of blond than she had first thought.

She mentally shook herself, growing irritated with her own idiocy. She’d spent most of her life around men and, from the looks of him, this one was no different from her brothers in age or station. Why was she being so silly? Who was he, anyway? How did he know Vivi and Ella?

As Alex and Waring drew closer, Vivi saw them and turned a brilliant smile in their direction. Taking his cue from Vivi’s distraction, the man turned and Alex skipped a step in surprise. She lost her grip on Waring’s sleeve and, in an attempt to save herself from a devastatingly embarrassing moment of clumsiness, instead caught herself on the arm of the golden-haired, broad-shouldered object of her interest. Looking up through her lashes, she met his gaze—eyes she knew as well as her own—which just happened to be laughing down at her.

“Blackmoor.” The name came out on a shocked whoosh of breath. Blackmoor? Truly? Blackmoor was the man she’d been noticing? Surely that couldn’t be right. Could it? Looking up into his grey eyes, Alex could feel heat flooding her face. She pressed a cool, gloved hand to her face, willing the blush away. She never blushed. What had gotten into her? She pasted a smile on her face and looked at the others in the group. Vivi was attempting to manage a serene smile despite her clear desire to laugh, and Ella was looking at Alex with an odd expression, as though she were some creature to be studied in a laboratory.

Attempting to regain her composure, she looked up at Blackmoor and spoke, her voice sounding foreign even to her. “Lord Blackmoor. Good evening.”

“Lady Alexandra, as always, the evening is made more entertaining by your arrival.” He made certain that she was upright and stable before removing his arm. “Waring.” He nodded in greeting to his old acquaintance.

“Good evening, Blackmoor, Lady Vivian, Lady Eleanor. You’ll have to excuse me. If Lady Alexandra is well enough for me to leave, I have promised to fetch her some lemonade. May I bring some for you as well?”

Vivi responded, “In fact, Lord Waring, Lady Eleanor and I were about to take a turn about the room. We shall join you as far as the refreshment rooms, that is, if you can suffer our company.”

Ever impressed with her friend’s grace and tact, Alex watched, a trifle dumbfounded, as Vivi wove her tale for Lord Waring—ensuring that he could not refuse to walk with her and Ella without appearing the most boorish type of man. Of course, presented with Vivi in all her gentle graciousness, Alex would wager that Waring would forget her within moments of departing with his new charges. Vivi’s skill at reshaping men’s desires was uncanny, but Alex was too grateful for her friend’s intervention with Waring to question it more than in passing. Instead, she simply offered a silent prayer of thanks for Lady Vivian Markwell and her unwavering talent.

So caught up in her friend’s deftness, Alex forgot that she had been unceremoniously left with Blackmoor. Almost forgot, that is. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him take a breath; he was about to speak. She steeled herself for what she was certain would be a teasing remark about her clumsiness and attempted a look of polite disinterest in preparation for his comment.

“Would you care to dance, Alex?”

Polite interest switched to confusion. That was not what she had been expecting. Before she could find words to respond, Blackmoor had led her onto the dance floor and wrapped her up in his arms for her first waltz of the evening. Her first waltz ever with a man who was not her brother. They were twirling across the room when she finally found her tongue.

“I would, indeed, care to dance, Lord Blackmoor,” she said wryly. “How kind of you to ask. Would you like to see my dance card?”

Ignoring her sarcasm, he deftly avoided another couple and spun her out of their way. “You can’t have expected me to let your first ball go by without dancing with you, Alex. Considering your obvious attempt to escape Waring, it seemed there was no time like the present. Don’t you think?”

“I fail to see that I had much of a choice, frankly,” she said with a smile. “But I suppose it could have been much worse.”

“Oh? How?”

“You could have stepped on my gown—Waring did it twice.”

He gazed down at her attire, letting a few moments go by before he spoke, his voice quieter, more thoughtful than usual. “Criminal. ‘Tis a stunning gown.”

Even Alex couldn’t ignore the way his appreciative comment made her feel. Tempering the urge to preen, she smiled up at him. “Why, thank you, my lord. I’m rather fond of it myself.”

He cleared his throat almost inaudibly and said, “You look beautiful, Alex. All grown up.” Blackmoor’s grey eyes darkened, narrowing on the garment in question, then rising to meet her gaze. The look in his eyes was one she’d never seen before, and it sent a tremor of excitement through her as she felt heat rising in her cheeks again.

He looked away, then back again, and the emotion she had seen there was gone, so quickly that she couldn’t be certain it was ever there to begin with. She forced a smile, attempting to bring the conversation back to the realm of the comfortable. “Thank you, my lord.”