Page 14 of The Christmas Ball
“Go ask her, now,” she’d whispered.
“But—”
“It’s the only thing I want from you for Christmas. Please, Gray?”
It was impossible for him to ignore his sister’s request, so he’d glanced at Lady Viola, who looked singularly beautiful in a red satin gown trimmed with lace, and stepped forward. She’d stumbled back against him, and at that point he’d truly had no choice.
“Ah.” She swallowed, her gaze fixed on his. “And why would your sister demand such a thing?”
“She claims that…” He cleared his throat and continued. “That we would make a fine couple, and, to that end, seems set on pushing us together.”
Lady Viola laughed, a short puff of unamused air. “I thought that was more my line. You realize that I intend for my brother to make a match at this ball, do you not?”
“I’d gathered as much.” He took her gloved hand in his. “But surely that doesn’t preclude you from dancing?”
“I suppose not.” She tipped her face up slightly, and he glimpsed uncertainty in her expression; a wounded vulnerability that kindled something fierce within him.
Had someone trampled upon Lady Viola’s heart, in the past?Who hurt you?he wanted to ask, taking her by the shoulders and coaxing the truth from her.
And then he’d kiss those slightly parted lips, watch those dark, star-bedazzled eyes close as he pulled her body against his…
He yanked his thoughts back to the present, even as the musicians began to play a waltz. A dangerous dance, given the current state of his emotions. And yet, perhaps Charlotte was right.
Perhaps there could be something between him and Lady Viola, if he could broach her prickly defenses.
If he could admit to himself that she was, indeed, a woman he could imagine at his side through life’s joys and travails.
It wasn’t just her comely form and figure, though there was no denying his physical attraction to her. But she was also immensely capable, if stubborn, possessed of the skills to manage a large household and immerse herself in a variety of projects. Clearly unafraid of embracing new ideas, like the Christmas tree, outspoken, loyal—
“Are we going to dance, or do you intend to simply stand there, gaping at me?” she asked tartly.
Grayson looked up, belatedly realizing they were the last couple to take to the floor.
“Forgive me,” he said, guiding her into the flow of the dance. “My only excuse is that I find you captivating.”
A blush washed over her cheeks. “You think simple flattery will forgive all your past transgressions, my lord?”
“Not simple flattery, no.” He swooped them into a turn, her scarlet skirts belling out. “I find it curious that you are so set on pushing your brother into matrimony when you are not yet wed, yourself. Is there a particular reason for it?”
She frowned at him. “That’s an impertinent question. My personal life is none of your concern.”
“Mm. Are you absolutely sure of that?”
“Just because you witnessed me—” She broke off and glanced about, then leaned closer to him and lowered her voice. “In a state of dishabille does not mean we owe anything to one another.”
He clasped her closely against him, welcoming the need to keep their conversation private. “Your brothers, were they made aware of the details, would beg to differ.”
She faltered, and he smoothly guided her into another turn. The tree flashed by, a sparkling beacon of promise. Of possibility.
“Do you mean to blackmail me in some fashion, sir?” Her voice was cold. “I warn you, I shall not stand for it, and neither will the duchess.”
Blast, this was coming out all wrong.
“Let me begin again,” he said. “Lady Viola, will you allow me to court you?”
At that, she came to a dead standstill in the middle of the floor. “Why would you do such a thing?”
The music faltered into silence. The dancers about them eddied to a halt, and Lord Beckford thrust his way forward, a grim expression upon his usually cheerful face.
