Page 15 of Snowy and the Seven Doves
He’d have been disheartened at her understated description if her breathlessness and the slight shake in her voice had not belied her words. The dance had been as unsettling for her as it had for him. What would it be like if they kissed?
“The dance was incredible,” he corrected her. “I have never enjoyed a dance more. May I escort you to your next partner?”
Lady Charmain looked around her and blushed. “We are still standing in the middle of the floor.”
Had she only just noticed? The thought was deeply satisfying. He winged his elbow at her, and she took it. Just her fingers gently resting on his arm, and the sensation swept through his core to the basest part of him.
He had desired her from the first, but convinced himself that she would never look at a man from the slums. In fact, though, he wasn’t, was he? He was a viscount, a man whose breeding she need not despise. Beyond that, he now knew she was in no way the stuck-up countess of his imagination.
A kiss seemed more and more likely, more and more inevitable, by the minute. She still hadn’t taken her eyes from him, and he smiled down into them.
Then their moment was over. A gentleman of about his own height, but slender with the weediness of youth, placed himself in front of them. He spoke to Lady Charmain, but his eyes were on Snowy. “Lady Charmain, we have the next dance.”
The streak of white among the dark curls recalled Snowy to his purpose and identified the boy. Edmund Snowden. His half-brother. And his enemy? That remained to be seen.
“Mr. White,” Lady Charmain asked, “have you met Mr. Snowden?”
Snowy gave the slight bow with which gentlemen acknowledged an introduction. “Snowden.”
“White?” the young man’s response was a question.
Snowy ignored it. “If you will excuse me, my lady, I must find my partner for the next dance.”
“Of course, Mr. White. Have a pleasant evening.”
He lifted her hand to his lips, in part to tweak young Snowden but mostly because he could not resist touching her. “Until the supper dance, my lady.” He would have preferred to kiss her fingers, but he was not here to make a scandal, just an impression. He contented himself with miming a kiss in the air while he imagined stripping off her glove and kissing each bare finger and then her palm.
Perhaps not the best visual image in the current circumstances. His tight silk breeches would soon reveal the direction of his thoughts.
“Until the supper dance,” she agreed.
He let go of her hand with reluctance, nodded again to young Snowden, and left to find his way through the crowd to the young lady who had favored him with the next dance.
Chapter Six
“Who is he,”Mr. Snowden demanded as soon as they were out on the floor. “Who are his people? Dear Lord, did you see his streak? Is he a Snowden by-blow, Lady Charmain?”
“Mr. Snowden!” Margaret managed to imbue the name with righteous indignation.
They were separated by the patterns of the dance, and when he was back at her side again, he had clearly had time to get over the shock and recall his manners as a gentleman. “I beg your pardon, Lady Charmain, for my unfortunate language.”
Margaret was prepared to be generous. “You had a surprise, Mr. Snowden. He certainly looks as if he might be a member of your family, but I’m afraid I know no more about his origins than you do.”
“I have not seen him before,” Snowden commented. “I am sure my father has not, either. He would have said something. Is Mr. White new to London?”
Another question Margaret was not prepared to answer. “He is a friend of Lord Andrew Winderfield,” she offered.
“And of yours,” Snowden accused, before he had to dance off to meet the other lady in their square.
“Did Lord Andrew introduce you?” he asked when he returned.
“He did not,” she replied. “Mr. White is involved in some of the charitable causes that I also support.” Which was true, in its own way. Providing medical herbs to the women in the brothel was a charitable cause, and Mr. White was bookkeeper there.
The dance continued in the same way, with young Snowden attempting to question her about Mr. White whenever the dance brought them together, and Margaret doing her best to answer honestly and sound as if she was answering completely and yet fulfil her role in this mission, as promised.
It was exhausting to be so deceptive. Margaret was pleased when the music finally came to a close.
Mr. Snowden offered her his arm. “Surely you know more,” he said.
