Read Online Susan Spencer Paul - [Enchanter 01] by Touch of Night - Free Book Online

to feel that way, Miss Linley, after we’ve danced.”
    Her eyes widened. “Mister Seymour—”
    He pulled her to her feet, ignoring the gasps of a few of the matrons and spinsters surrounding her. Lady Eunice, on the other hand, uttered a soft, delighted laugh. Niclas set an arm about Miss Linley’s waist to gently, but firmly, move her toward the dance floor.
    “Mister Seymour, I fear you don’t understand—”
    “Certainly I do,” he said. “You don’t wish to dance. But we shall, nonetheless.”
    The floor was filled with couples already whirling in time to the music. The waltz had not been a popular dance three years ago, and Niclas had performed it perhaps adozen times. He had no idea how long it might have been for Miss Linley, but he supposed the skill would come back to them quickly enough.
    She struggled briefly as he took her in his arms, but said nothing. She didn’t need to. Her expression told him almost as much as her emotions would, had he been able to feel them.
    They moved stiffly at first, nearly bumping into several other couples. Julia Linley didn’t make matters any easier, as she apparently had turned into a slender but unyielding tree. He all but carried her about the floor in time to the music. Fortunately, she was a petite, small-boned female, and exceedingly light.
    She was as close to him now as she was ever likely to be, and yet he could still feel nothing emanating from her. Perhaps, he thought, he hadn’t yet made her angry enough.
    “I hate that turban.” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them.
    She reacted just as any lady would, with full insult.
    “I’m terribly sorry, sir,” she replied in a short, tight tone. “If I’d had any idea that you felt so strongly, I would have made certain to wear something more appealing to your tastes.”
    What a foolish way to go about making a good impression. Niclas didn’t know how to redeem himself. “What I meant to say,” he began, making an attempt, “is that you shouldn’t wear one at all. You haven’t a speck of gray in your hair to hide.”
    That only served to make her angrier.
    “Mister Seymour”—her tone was icy now—“I understand that you’ve not been in polite society for some time, but even that is no excuse for such boorish conversation.”
    He couldn’t feel her. That was all there was to it. She was in his arms, she was clearly very angry, but the only emotions he could feel were those coming from the crowd of people surrounding them.
    It was impossible, yet it was so. He glanced about until he saw Malachi standing on the edge of the dance floor, watching them. His cousin lifted an eyebrow in question. Niclas gave a minute shake of his head and saw Malachi’s forehead furrow with uncharacteristic concern.
    “You’re quite right,” he said, turning his thoughts back to Miss Linley. “I’m not much used to society any longer, and my manners are atrocious. I apologize.”
    She was silent for a long moment, as she gazed fixedly over his shoulder, but at last she said, “You are forgiven,” then added, in a more reasoned tone, “I’m sure it is rather strange for you to be in company again. It was terribly wrong of my aunt to insist that you attend this evening. I’m sorry for the way she behaved this morning. It’s her habit, I fear, to command everyone to her will.”
    She had rather remarkable features, he discovered as he inspected her face at this close distance. The fineness of her bones, the elegance of her cheeks and nose and high, arching brows bespoke her gentle . . . birth and gave him pause. There were those among his kind who possessed such delicate features. Like Malachi, they were generally said to have inherited elvish blood.
    “There’s no need to apologize, Miss Linley. I’m used to my cousin’s dictatorial behavior. I believe it comes with being the head of families such as ours.”
    “I must confess,” she replied, “that there are momentswhen Lord