looking into each other's eyes. Cassandra looked away, embarrassed. Is that how she had looked at Lord Blytheland? She groaned mentally. She was only thankful the couple barely noticed her.
Before they entered the ballroom, the marquess stopped and turned to her gravely. "I have little excuse to have . . . done what I did. I only hope you will forgive me any unpleasantness I might have inflicted on you."
" It wasn't," Cassandra blurted.
" Excuse me?"
" Unpleasant. It wasn't—Oh heavens! What am I saying?" She pressed her hand to her cheek, trying to suppress another blush.
" The ever-truthful Miss Hathaway." Blytheland chuckled. They stepped into the ballroom, and Cassandra saw that a set was just forming. "Perhaps we should dance this time—if you are agreeable?"
Nodding, she laid her shawl across a vacant chair and prepared herself for the dance. She was relieved the music started quickly, for then any high color in her cheeks could easily be attributed to the exertions of the dance. The marquess was no more than polite and as kind as he had been earlier before their . . . kiss. She was glad of that—glad that his behavior was no more or less than normal now—for it allowed her to gain her composure again. When he brought her back to her parents, he bowed over her hand and with a last smile merged into the ballroom crowd.
But Cassandra was not to sit quietly by her mother and father at all, as she was used to after a dance. Immediately upon the heels of Blytheland 's departure, three young men came up to her parents, claiming some acquaintance through friends or relations. Lady Hathaway, beaming, introduced them all to her daughter.
" May I have the honor of this dance, Miss Hathaway?" a stocky, dark-haired gentleman asked. Sir Ellery Heysmith, Cassandra remembered.
" Oh, no, Miss Hathaway," Mr. Rowland cut in, grinning at Sir Ellery. "You must know that my friend Heysmith here is the merest caper merchant. He'll stomp your feet to splinters. You'd be much better off with me as your dance partner."
His friend gave him a wry grin. "And you, Roily, are a rattle, and would deafen her by the end of the dance with all your tittle-tattle."
" Here's your answer, then, ma'am," said Lord Eldon, smiling at her. "It is I with whom you must dance. Between a caper merchant, a rattle, and myself—is there any question?" He gave an elegant bow, and his friends rolled their eyes in disgust at him.
Cassandra broke out laughing. "Oh, heavens! What am I to do if I am to be fair? Let us see . . . ah! I have it. I shall choose alphabetically: Lord Eldon first, Sir Ellery second, and Mr. Rowland third."
Mr. Rowland put on a dejected look, and put his hand over his heart. "Alas, put off by an accident of birth!"
Cassandra laughed again, and Lord Eldon grinned. "Sorry, old friend. Better luck next time!"
She enjoyed a vigorous dance with him. Suddenly, it seemed she found an astonishing number of other gentlemen who had at least a passing acquaintance with some relative or friend of her parents; between them all there was not one dance in which she did not participate.
Later at home, when Cassandra finally reached her bed in the wee hours of the morning, her feet ached, and she was exhausted. Never had she had so many dance partners in her life! Her thoughts settled briefly on why she was so suddenly popular, but floated away from sheer fatigue.
" At least," she murmured to herself before slipping into sleep, "I did not think of Lord Blytheland's kisses all the while. Not while I was dancing . . ."
* * * *
Lord Blytheland, however, did think of kisses. He could not avoid it. They were there before him—her pink and delectable lips—every time he closed his eyes to sleep. He could even feel them, soft and sweet, then opening and moving upon his with all the passion he'd imagined when she had played the piano but a few weeks ago. He groaned aloud and rolled over, pressing his face into his pillow.
After a moment, he drove
Before they entered the ballroom, the marquess stopped and turned to her gravely. "I have little excuse to have . . . done what I did. I only hope you will forgive me any unpleasantness I might have inflicted on you."
" It wasn't," Cassandra blurted.
" Excuse me?"
" Unpleasant. It wasn't—Oh heavens! What am I saying?" She pressed her hand to her cheek, trying to suppress another blush.
" The ever-truthful Miss Hathaway." Blytheland chuckled. They stepped into the ballroom, and Cassandra saw that a set was just forming. "Perhaps we should dance this time—if you are agreeable?"
Nodding, she laid her shawl across a vacant chair and prepared herself for the dance. She was relieved the music started quickly, for then any high color in her cheeks could easily be attributed to the exertions of the dance. The marquess was no more than polite and as kind as he had been earlier before their . . . kiss. She was glad of that—glad that his behavior was no more or less than normal now—for it allowed her to gain her composure again. When he brought her back to her parents, he bowed over her hand and with a last smile merged into the ballroom crowd.
But Cassandra was not to sit quietly by her mother and father at all, as she was used to after a dance. Immediately upon the heels of Blytheland 's departure, three young men came up to her parents, claiming some acquaintance through friends or relations. Lady Hathaway, beaming, introduced them all to her daughter.
" May I have the honor of this dance, Miss Hathaway?" a stocky, dark-haired gentleman asked. Sir Ellery Heysmith, Cassandra remembered.
" Oh, no, Miss Hathaway," Mr. Rowland cut in, grinning at Sir Ellery. "You must know that my friend Heysmith here is the merest caper merchant. He'll stomp your feet to splinters. You'd be much better off with me as your dance partner."
His friend gave him a wry grin. "And you, Roily, are a rattle, and would deafen her by the end of the dance with all your tittle-tattle."
" Here's your answer, then, ma'am," said Lord Eldon, smiling at her. "It is I with whom you must dance. Between a caper merchant, a rattle, and myself—is there any question?" He gave an elegant bow, and his friends rolled their eyes in disgust at him.
Cassandra broke out laughing. "Oh, heavens! What am I to do if I am to be fair? Let us see . . . ah! I have it. I shall choose alphabetically: Lord Eldon first, Sir Ellery second, and Mr. Rowland third."
Mr. Rowland put on a dejected look, and put his hand over his heart. "Alas, put off by an accident of birth!"
Cassandra laughed again, and Lord Eldon grinned. "Sorry, old friend. Better luck next time!"
She enjoyed a vigorous dance with him. Suddenly, it seemed she found an astonishing number of other gentlemen who had at least a passing acquaintance with some relative or friend of her parents; between them all there was not one dance in which she did not participate.
Later at home, when Cassandra finally reached her bed in the wee hours of the morning, her feet ached, and she was exhausted. Never had she had so many dance partners in her life! Her thoughts settled briefly on why she was so suddenly popular, but floated away from sheer fatigue.
" At least," she murmured to herself before slipping into sleep, "I did not think of Lord Blytheland's kisses all the while. Not while I was dancing . . ."
* * * *
Lord Blytheland, however, did think of kisses. He could not avoid it. They were there before him—her pink and delectable lips—every time he closed his eyes to sleep. He could even feel them, soft and sweet, then opening and moving upon his with all the passion he'd imagined when she had played the piano but a few weeks ago. He groaned aloud and rolled over, pressing his face into his pillow.
After a moment, he drove
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