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fortuitous situation. Just the very man I wish to speak with.”
Goodness! Bethany turned around to find Lord Ingraham standing right behind her. His brilliant blue eyed-gaze seemed affixed to her person. Flushing, she adjusted the grey scarf over her bodice even though the ballroom blazed uncomfortably warm.
“Your grace,” Lord Ingraham pronounced as he inclined his head. Then he turned his mesmerizing gaze on her. “Miss Branford.”
Somehow his words were imbued with more warmth than was seemly. She felt a trickle of perspiration pool in the space between her breasts.
The Prince…the Duke…Bethany placed her gloved hand to her mouth in confusion. What was the correct way to address King George’s son?
It doesn’t matter.
The Prince, a much shorter man than Lord Ingraham, lifted up onto his shoe-buckled toes. He spoke in a low tone into the Earl’s ear. “I wish to have a word with you about your young protégée.”
Bethany was close enough to hear, however. She reddened further.
Lord Ingraham lifted an imperious eyebrow. “Indeed, your Grace?”
One of the Prince’s aides, a young man with a decidedly serious countenance, interrupted this uncomfortable, for Bethany, at least, tête-à-tête.
“A thousand pardons, your Grace, but Her Royal Highness, Princess Charlotte — ” The man blinked, cleared his throat, then continued, “Or rather Princess Leopold of Saxe-Coburg, has an urgent need to see you.”
This announcement transfigured the Prince’s even-tempered demeanor. “My word! My word! My niece has an urgent need for me! Go,” he ordered his aide. “Go this very moment and fetch my carriage.”
Whatever Prince Augustus was going to ask Lord Ingraham was now completely forgotten. Taking his leave, the Prince plowed behind his aide through the crowded ballroom with all possible haste as befitting one as sturdily built as he.
The Earl watched as Bethany did, then turned his attention back to her. For a moment she admired his form. He was resplendent in black evening clothes with gleaming silver buttons. He reached over and took her hand. Even through the cotton material, she felt the warmth of his touch. “Would you be so kind as to grant me this next dance, Miss Branford?”
She lowered her lashes. “Yes, of course, sir.” She accompanied him out to the dance floor.
While she could admit to herself she was thrilled to be in such close contact with him, a strange sensation also flickered in her chest. Why did the image of a cat playing with a trapped mouse come to mind?
The vigorous music began to float throughout the ballroom. David placed his hand in Miss Branford’s hand. He felt her tremble, like a fearful fawn might, newly taken from her mother’s side. He smiled to reassure her. With a rush, they danced in time with the music. Warm air sailed past them, fueling their movements.
It was wonderful. Magical. As they advanced down the floor, the delicate flush on her cheeks deepened. She cast her gaze everywhere but up at him.
Leaning in as closely as the constraints of polite society would permit, he murmured into the shell of her ear. “I have been remiss in my attentions to you, my dear Miss Branford.”
She started to protest, but he stopped her.
“No, it is true, I have been negligent. As your guardian, tonight’s first dance should have been mine.” He inhaled her sweet fragrance of jasmine. “Is it any wonder I intend to challenge Penning to a duel?”
“No!” She pulled away. Surprise, shock, indignation — all these and more flitted across her lovely features.
David laughed. “Peace, my dear Miss Branford. I jest.”
A few seconds passed without her speaking. Finally, she scolded, “That was unkind of you, sir.”
“Perhaps. However you must admit the sight of Penning and me battling it out would surely prove to be a nine days wonder.”
“I admit nothing of the sort, my lord.” She turned her pert nose up at him. “Indeed, I believe you were
Goodness! Bethany turned around to find Lord Ingraham standing right behind her. His brilliant blue eyed-gaze seemed affixed to her person. Flushing, she adjusted the grey scarf over her bodice even though the ballroom blazed uncomfortably warm.
“Your grace,” Lord Ingraham pronounced as he inclined his head. Then he turned his mesmerizing gaze on her. “Miss Branford.”
Somehow his words were imbued with more warmth than was seemly. She felt a trickle of perspiration pool in the space between her breasts.
The Prince…the Duke…Bethany placed her gloved hand to her mouth in confusion. What was the correct way to address King George’s son?
It doesn’t matter.
The Prince, a much shorter man than Lord Ingraham, lifted up onto his shoe-buckled toes. He spoke in a low tone into the Earl’s ear. “I wish to have a word with you about your young protégée.”
Bethany was close enough to hear, however. She reddened further.
Lord Ingraham lifted an imperious eyebrow. “Indeed, your Grace?”
One of the Prince’s aides, a young man with a decidedly serious countenance, interrupted this uncomfortable, for Bethany, at least, tête-à-tête.
“A thousand pardons, your Grace, but Her Royal Highness, Princess Charlotte — ” The man blinked, cleared his throat, then continued, “Or rather Princess Leopold of Saxe-Coburg, has an urgent need to see you.”
This announcement transfigured the Prince’s even-tempered demeanor. “My word! My word! My niece has an urgent need for me! Go,” he ordered his aide. “Go this very moment and fetch my carriage.”
Whatever Prince Augustus was going to ask Lord Ingraham was now completely forgotten. Taking his leave, the Prince plowed behind his aide through the crowded ballroom with all possible haste as befitting one as sturdily built as he.
The Earl watched as Bethany did, then turned his attention back to her. For a moment she admired his form. He was resplendent in black evening clothes with gleaming silver buttons. He reached over and took her hand. Even through the cotton material, she felt the warmth of his touch. “Would you be so kind as to grant me this next dance, Miss Branford?”
She lowered her lashes. “Yes, of course, sir.” She accompanied him out to the dance floor.
While she could admit to herself she was thrilled to be in such close contact with him, a strange sensation also flickered in her chest. Why did the image of a cat playing with a trapped mouse come to mind?
The vigorous music began to float throughout the ballroom. David placed his hand in Miss Branford’s hand. He felt her tremble, like a fearful fawn might, newly taken from her mother’s side. He smiled to reassure her. With a rush, they danced in time with the music. Warm air sailed past them, fueling their movements.
It was wonderful. Magical. As they advanced down the floor, the delicate flush on her cheeks deepened. She cast her gaze everywhere but up at him.
Leaning in as closely as the constraints of polite society would permit, he murmured into the shell of her ear. “I have been remiss in my attentions to you, my dear Miss Branford.”
She started to protest, but he stopped her.
“No, it is true, I have been negligent. As your guardian, tonight’s first dance should have been mine.” He inhaled her sweet fragrance of jasmine. “Is it any wonder I intend to challenge Penning to a duel?”
“No!” She pulled away. Surprise, shock, indignation — all these and more flitted across her lovely features.
David laughed. “Peace, my dear Miss Branford. I jest.”
A few seconds passed without her speaking. Finally, she scolded, “That was unkind of you, sir.”
“Perhaps. However you must admit the sight of Penning and me battling it out would surely prove to be a nine days wonder.”
“I admit nothing of the sort, my lord.” She turned her pert nose up at him. “Indeed, I believe you were
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