Page 7 of Daring the Forbidden Earl
The one with the chestnut hair leaned in slightly. “Tell me, My Lord, is it true that you—”
Mark did not hear the rest of what she said, for his attention was abruptly snatched away by the reappearance of the very woman who would not leave his mind in peace. Johanna strode back into the ballroom, her arm linked with Nora’s; the two of them looking like majestic queens among paltry subordinates.
It seemed he was not the only one drawn to their supreme presence. Most of the gentlemen could not help but stare, and even the orchestra appeared to quieten, as though reverence needed to be given to the two women.
Leading Johanna further into the ballroom, until they were in the very center, Nora removed one of the jade slides from her hair and swiped a champagne glass from a passing tray. She clinked the slide against the crystal, letting the sound ring out across the revelers, bringing everyone to a curious silence.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I thank you for your attendance at this ball, to celebrate the end of the summer season!” Nora announced. “However, I don’t yet feel that this night befits the title that I used to go by.”
An anticipatory “ooh” rippled through the congregation, for Nora’s soirees were known for having a twist to them. It was what made them more popular than any other ball in London, though her parties at Keswick Manor were the stuff of legend.
Nora turned and flashed a smile at the orchestra, making Mark feel somewhat nervous. “I have prepared waltzing music for you all, even though I know you’ll all insist that you’ve never waltzed in your life—how could you possibly participate in such a shocking dance?” She laughed brightly, and the ballroom laughed with her. “I say poppycock to that! I know you’ve all been secretly practicing, and now is your moment to show that we English can whirl and twirl just as well as the Viennese!”
Mark scoured the room, startled to find everyone nodding and smiling with expressions of excited delight. The waltz had been spurned by stiff, English society, as the dance required couples to be closer than was deemed proper. A gentleman’s hand could only graze a lady’s, it could not possibly rest against the curve of her waist, while her hand touched his shoulder, and their free hands entwined together in a suggestive grip.
“And as my dearest friend here has just returned from her mourning period,” Nora continued, making Mark’s stomach sink, “she is in dire need of a gracious gentleman to cheer her weary heart, and lead her in our first waltz of the evening. Might I request a willing participant, who will dance with this rarest of jewels?”
Mark put his foot forward instinctively, only to force himself to freeze where he stood. He could not dance with Johanna. Even if he wanted to, which he was trying to convince himself he did not, she would never agree.
Let her make a fool of herself. There is no one here who would—
His confident thoughts died as a sudden rush of gentlemen made their way toward Nora and Johanna. Indeed, they seemed to be in something of a frenzy, vying for Johanna’s attention.
Mark’s eyes narrowed upon seeing Johanna’s delighted face. Her eyes sparkled in the hazy, romantic light of the ballroom, and her cheeks flushed with the kind of blooming roses that he saw only in a bedchamber. Her lips even seemed to redden, making her all the more enticing… and all the more forbidden.
“We have a champion!” Nora called out. “Lord Beasley—handsome devil that he is—will lift my darling friend’s spirits. As for the rest of you, I suggest you find a partner swiftly, for the real revels are about to begin.”
Lord Beasley? He is a wretched weasel who would not know how to please a woman, even if he had detailed instructions and pictures to accompany them.
Mark spotted the Lord. He was a Viscount, or a Marquess, or something of that ilk. Mark could not remember which, though he knew the overly eager gentleman had little means of his own. He did not even appear to be that handsome. In Mark’s opinion, Lord Beasley was nothing short of plain and ordinary.
“My Lord, will you dance the waltz?” The raven-haired minx, who had seemed the most brazen of her friends, nudged him gently in the arm.
Mark lifted his glass of champagne to his lips and swallowed the contents in one. “Yes, I do believe I shall. I have been to Vienna, after all, so it would be a shame not to show the expertise that I acquired while I was there.” He looked to the young woman. “Would you care to dance with me?”
“Of course, My Lord,” she replied fervently, clapping her hands together.
“You will have to remind me of your name,” he said, offering his hand to take hers, so they could move toward the dancing floor. There, Mark intended to show Johanna that there was no one in this ballroom who could dance like him.
The raven-haired beauty laughed, as though he were joking. When she quickly realized that he was not, she took his proffered hand and curtseyed elegantly. “My name is Lady Catherine, My Lord, but you may call me Cathy.”
“I would not dishonor you in such a way, Lady Catherine.” He did not mean to deflate the girl’s ardor, but he did not use given names unless he knew someone extremely well. Indeed, the only two women whom he addressed so casually were Johanna and her apparent accomplice, Nora.
How could you betray me like that, Nora? I thought you weremyfriend.
He shook his head, wishing he had never gone away to France.
* * *
Ten minutes, and two waltzes later, Mark’s blood was boiling with jealousy. Why, he had half a mind to leave this townhouse and go to Bow Street, to inform the Runners that there were frankly scandalous behaviors being undertaken at this ball.
How can she be so… so… so shameful?!
He had ignored his own partner, merely going through the well-known motions of the waltz, while his eyes had been fixed upon Johanna and thetwogentlemen she had danced with thus far. It rather benefited him to be able to look over his partner’s shoulder, though he had twist now and then to keep sight of Johanna.
She radiated sensuality upon the ballroom floor as her delicious figure pressed close to the upright, awkward body of her volunteers. And the way she swayed and turned to the flow of the orchestra made Mark’s head spin, her feet so light upon the ground, her limbs so elegant, and her swan-like neck arched backward in a manner that made Mark’s thought drift to a more intoxicating place.
Hewanted to place his hand upon her waist, and feel her fingertips on his shoulder, where they might accidentally brush against his neck.Hewanted to wrap his hand around hers, and guide her around the floor in sweeping circles, while maintaining the smooth rise and fall of the outrageous dance.
