Page 34 of Courting Scandal With The Duke
Chapter Six
Seeing the Countess standing like an island in an unfriendly sea infuriated Xavier.
London Society was ridiculous at the best of times, but at its worst it was downright destructive.
The Countess was putting a brave face on it, seemingly unconcerned by the cold shoulders pointed her way, but he did not believe for a moment that she did not feel like an outcast.
And for what?
Because she had worn a fashion that was all the rage in Paris?
As North had said, Society was eager to find something, anything, to put someone they considered a beautiful intruder in her place.
Especially one that outshone them all. He cut that thought off. She was lovely, to be sure, but there were many lovely ladies in London. Including the one he was thinking of making his bride. They were lovely in different ways.
The thing was, while he had little sympathy with stupidity, or recklessness, he could not abide injustice.
Purposeful strides brought him to the Countess’s side before his ire had a chance to subside.
Startled brown eyes gazed back at him. He had forgotten how her height meant she only had to raise her gaze a fraction to look him in the eye.
It was an unusual sensation for one as tall as he. Unusual and pleasing.
‘Your Grace,’ she said, sounding slightly breathless.
Beside her, her aunt’s mouth dropped open. ‘I…er… Oh.’ She dipped a curtsey. ‘I—’
‘Good evening, ladies,’ he interjected swiftly. The older woman was gasping like a landed fish. ‘Countess, would you honour me with this next dance?’
Her eyes widened.
‘Yes,’ her aunt said, apparently finding her voice. ‘She will.’
The Countess hesitated for a second then gave a small, smothered chuckle, a low attractive sound that had him wanting to grin. ‘Thank you, Your Grace.’
He took her hand and walked her onto the dance floor. He felt a surge of pride as she walked by his side, as if he had won the prize of a lifetime.
Why not? Any man would be proud to partner such a lovely woman. He wasn’t made of stone.
She gracefully followed his lead as they joined the dance. It was as if they were made for each other. Usually, when he danced, his partners were so much shorter than he, he could see little more thanthe tops of their heads, except when they strained their necks to look up at him. He also usually had to be careful with the length of his stride or risk lifting his partner off her feet and unbalancing them both. Not so with the Countess. Their steps matched perfectly.
It was delightful. He had never enjoyed dancing more.
‘Will your reputation survive partnering with me?’ she asked after a few seconds of twirling and gliding around the floor.
Talk about taking the bull by the horns. ‘Why would it not?’
‘Apparently, I have once more broken one of Society’s silly rules.’
‘You think rules are silly?’ he asked repressively. His stepmother had ignored the rules about not sailing out in a storm and taunted her husband, his father, to do likewise.
Neither had survived.
‘I think silly rules are silly,’ the Countess said in decided tones. ‘Rules intended to keep one safe, or to not hurt others, are worth obeying, but not those imposed for ridiculous reasons.’
Hard to argue with that. ‘And what rule is it that you think you have broken?’
She glanced downward, then frowned. ‘I’m not exactly sure what the rule is, but it has something to do with painting one’s toenails, which I might add was all the rage when I left Paris a few weeks ago.’
