Page 76 of The Lyon Whisperer
The musicians struck up a polonaise.
Without hesitation, he swept her into the dance.
The sparkling chandeliers above them reflected off the man’s gold buttons and fine brocade waistcoat. The addition of discreet shoulder pads in his suit jacket added to his appearance. Whoever he was, the man dressed in the first stare of fashion and moved with the easy grace of one well-accustomed to maneuvering a crowded ballroom.
“You say you and my husband are old friends?”
“Lord Gavin Tully, at your service.”
Her smile never wavered. “Lord Tully. Would I be correct in assuming I met your wife earlier, the countess, Lady Tully?”
A flicker of emotion crossed his face. She couldn’t say precisely which, only that it wasn’t the look of a besotted husband. “You would.” He did not expound on the subject. Instead, his gaze traveled down the length of her in a shockingly intimate manner.
Admittedly, she had not partaken of the previous year’s season in the hopes of avoiding another unwelcome marriage proposal. Perhaps some of the unspoken social rules as pertained to theton—Lord knew they made their own—had relaxed.
Another possibility was that married persons were held to different standards and no one had bothered to share that fact with her. She would have to ask Nancy.
Regardless, she did not care for the appreciative gleam in her husband’s so-called friend’s eyes.
Lord Tully pursed his lips. “May I say, Lady Culver, you are an excellent dancer. We are decidedly well-matched. A shame our paths never crossed before.”
“Thank you.” Her smile remained in place through sheer will. “As I was saying, I met yourwifewhen Lord Culver and I arrived at the fête.” She hoped stressing the wordwifewould send a clear message.
He guided her deeper into the crowd, yet still in the direction of her friends. “I’m sure she sought you out to offer her felicitations on your recent marriage.”
“Indeed,” she said.
He inclined his head, and his mouth twisted in a semblance of a smile. “I, on the other hand, have a different message to deliver altogether.”
“Oh?” Soon they would come parallel with her friends’ location. If she wanted to rejoin them on this pass, she should speak up now. She made a split-second decision.
“Lord Tully, I wonder if you wouldn’t mind if we did not finish the entire polonaise? I fear I am very much in need of a rest.”
“It is as if you read my mind. I could use a rest myself.” He executed a sharp, if graceful, turn, and marched her in the exact opposite direction from where her friends awaited her return.
Chapter Seventeen
Lord Tully’s completedisregard of her request to end their dance, as evidenced by his decision to lead her in the opposite direction from her friends, caught Amelia so completely off-guard she did not utter the first protest—for a full two seconds.
Then her brows snapped together. “Lord Tully, I’m afraid you did not understand me. I wish to be returned to my friends.”
The unrepentant, rakish grin he sent her flummoxed her even more. “Come now, my dear, you never asked that. I would have remembered. You asked for a rest. I rather fancied one myself.” He lowered his voice, and his expression turned somber. “A modicum of privacy to continue our conversation.”
She strove for calm. “I see no reason for privacy between us, my lord. We are mere strangers. Now kindly return me to Lady Culver and my friends this instant.”
He chuckled as if her words amused him greatly.
A frisson of anxiety threatened to overwhelm her calm veneer. But she would not give him the pleasure of seeing her cowed.
He steered them away from the crowd, face set in concentration, as if he had a particular destination in mind.
Soon they neared the shadowed edge of the dance floor, where the strains of the music barely reached and very few guests mingled. The night air from a pair of open French doors whispered over her heated skin. Her unease heightened.
“Here we are,” he said, pressing her toward the doors.
He meant to lead her onto the private terrace. It was too much.
“Lord Tully, stop,” she ordered in her most stern voice.
