Page 42 of Passions of a Wicked Earl
“Nary a name. Which is fine. I didn’t come here to dance. I just want to see Beth happy.”
The orchestra began to play another tune, one Westcliffe recognized. He’d known there was always a chance that someone would ask Claire for this dance before he did, but he had little doubt that one well-practiced look would have had the blighter scurrying away. His practiced look had even terrified his wife when she was a girl. Terrified everyone, in fact, except for his brothers. Perhaps because Stephen, damn him, had caught Westcliffe practicing in front of a mirror and shared his find with Ainsley. They’d both decided that pretended anger was no anger at all. Unfortunately, they’d yet to learn when he was truly angry and how to avoid bringing forth his wrath.
“Will you honor me with this dance?” he asked.
Her eyes widened considerably. Quickly reclaiming herself, she gave him a nod.
He took her flute, setting it and his aside. He escorted her onto the dance floor, and suddenly she was in the circle of his arms. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d danced, but he didn’t recall feeling as though the lady matched him perfectly. He wondered if it might have been best to have left her playing the part of wallflower.
“I love ‘Greensleeves,’ ” she said quietly, as though the silence between them began to unsettle her.
“I know.”
Her eyes widened again. He hoped she never took it upon herself to take up cards. She’d lose a fortune.
“How do you know?” she asked.
“Whenever you visited, it was the only song I recall your playing on the pianoforte.”
She laughed lightly, and something inside him twisted. Her laughter had always had the strangest effect on him, had always comforted and made him long for things at the same time.
“It’s the only song I’ve ever mastered,” she said. “I think I was born with all thumbs and no fingers.”
He tightened his hand around hers, acutely aware of the fingers splayed on his shoulder. “I assure you, you have lovely fingers even if they do not agree with the keys of the pianoforte.”
“A compliment and a gift. I daresay this is a magical night.”
He frowned. “I’ve complimented you before.”
“Have you?” She arched a brow as though she expected him to provide an example.
Damnation, his mind had gone blank. “I’m certain I have.”
She gave him an odd smile that was either sad or chastising or perhaps a combination of both. “You seldom spoke to me before we were married and certainly not often afterward.”
If he’d been sitting, he’d have shifted uncomfortably in his chair and reached for his whiskey. “What is there to discuss?”
“The things you favor. Your hopes, your dreams, your plans for the future. I don’t know. What do couples discuss? I’ve heard enough rumors to know that I was not your first lady. What did you discuss with the others?”
“We never talked. Our mouths were busy with other things.”
He took a perverse pleasure in her blush. Leaning near, he said in a low voice, “You shouldn’t ask questions to which you truly don’t want the answers.”
She angled her chin. “Perhaps I do want the answers. Perhaps this simply isn’t the place to ask them.”
“The library at midnight would serve better.”
“Is that an invitation?” she asked, breathlessly.
“More of a dare, I should think.”
She nodded, and he wondered exactly what her answer was. He also realized they’d stopped dancing. Fortunately, the music had ceased to play as well.
They’d nearly reached her little corner of the ballroom when Greenwood intercepted them.
“My lord,” the young man said. Westcliffe felt him slipping something into his hand. “Lady Beth is an intriguing woman.” He turned to Claire. “Countess, I hope you will give me leave to call upon your sister.”
“Yes, that would be lovely.”
