An hour later, Sebastian had not only danced with several of the ladies on his list, he’d also mentally crossed off most of their names. Oh, they were certainly all lovely, all graceful, yet annoyingly each one lacked…something. Something indefinable that he couldn’t quite put his finger on but knew from its absence.
Worse, because he’d danced more tonight than he had at any ball since he’d inherited—in fact, quite possibly at any ball ever—rumors were flowing through the crush as fast as the Thames through London that the Duke of Trent was hunting a wife, which put all the marriage-minded mamas and their daughters into a heated frenzy. Which made him feel as if he were being hunted.
And speaking of prey…Miranda.
Even as he’d danced, he couldn’t help but notice all the attention being paid to her tonight by the gentlemen who flocked around her like sheep, vying for her attention. Or a dance. Or one of those delightful laughs that floated from her. Or a flirtatious flitter of her fan that irritated him each time he saw her give one to whatever gentleman had spoken to her.
It was damnably annoying. How was he supposed to concentrate on finding a wife when she was behaving so carelessly? So flirtatiously. So…happily. Didn’t she realize the attention she was drawing?
Except from Robert.
Sebastian’s eyes narrowed on his brother across the room. He had barely left Miss Morgan’s side all night, and even now they were engaged in a private conversation near the open French doors that led out to the dark terrace. Robert had barely noticed Miranda all evening. His attention had been only on the general’s stunning daughter. And presumably on an attempt to convince her to join him in the gardens for a few moments alone.
Knowing there was no point in interrupting Robert now to remind him of his duties to Miranda this evening, not unless he wanted the two of them to come to blows, Sebastian snatched a glass of punch from the tray of a passing footman and headed across the ballroom.
Miranda’s back was to him as he stalked toward her, and the semicircle of men gathered around her scattered as he approached. Smart men. He was in no mood tonight to deal with a bunch of self-avowed Corinthians preying on an innocent country girl like Miranda. He knew exactly what they wanted from her, and it wasn’t conversation about fishing.
Her back stiffened, as if she sensed his approach before she saw him. “Trent.”
“Miss Hodgkins.” Unable to prevent the slightly piqued tone to his voice, he drawled, “You’ve made several new friends tonight, I see.”
Somehow, she managed to face him, roll her eyes, and haughtily flit her fan all at the same time in a gesture of orchestrated impudence that half the ladies of the ton had yet to master. At the sight of her, standing there in her fine gown, her green eyes shining in the light of the chandeliers and her freckle-dotted nose jutting just slightly into the air, he couldn’t help but smile. Which only made her expression grow even more irked.
Just to spite him, she lowered into a deep curtsy.
“Jealousy doesn’t become you, Your Grace,” she chastised with a dismissive sniff as she rose.
Jealousy? The woman was daft. “I’m not jealous.” He offered her the glass of punch and added pointedly, “I’m being careful.”
From the way she arched a brow at the punch without taking it, he half expected her to ask if he’d poisoned it. Instead, she accepted. “Thank you.”
“Are you enjoying yourself?” He honestly wanted to know.
A slow smile spread across her face, the same beaming smile he’d seen her give at least a dozen times in the past hour to the men seeking her attentions. But when she aimed that smile at him, he felt it pull all the way through him, right down to his curling toes in his Hessians. And he knew then exactly why so many of the men flocked around her tonight. For nothing more than the favor of one of her smiles.
“Very much,” she said softly. Then she leaned in closer, as if sharing an intimate secret. “Oh, Sebastian, it’s the most wonderful night of my life!”
His chest warmed at that, and the sparkle in her eyes captured his imagination. She was so full of life and energy, filled with happiness and joy…and all because of a ball like any of the dozen or so grand balls that would be held this season. For half the young ladies present, tonight’s ball was just another boring evening in a long string of season soirees. But for Miranda, it was a fairy tale come true.
“I’m glad,” he returned in the same secretive voice. “You deserve a special night.” Then he paused, asking carefully, “And your first waltz? Has it been claimed?”
She nodded with a widening smile. “Robert offered for it.”
“Good.” He should have felt relieved that his brother had stepped up to do his duty. Instead, he worried that the excitement she felt would only make her nervous again, and he didn’t think his brother could tolerate another conversation about John Milton or Belgian lace. Then he instructed, despite the strange tightening in his chest, “Don’t be afraid to enjoy yourself with him.”
“Enjoy myself?” she repeated with an exaggerated pretense of being offended. “I thought I had to be painfully proper tonight and avoid all potentially scandalous behavior with gentlemen. Not draw unwanted attention to myself, not go onto the terrace or into the gardens, not be alone with any gentleman.” She teasingly threw his earlier warnings back at him with a mockingly innocent wave of her fan at each one. “Not do…anything.”
His jaw tightened. Impertinent chit. “Robert doesn’t count. He’s a Carlisle.” And unfortunately for Miranda, the next best thing to a nanny tonight, given how little his brother had seemed to notice her once Miss Morgan arrived. “We’re your guardians this summer. We are allowed to spend time alone with you.” When he saw her brow start to jut up in challenge at that unwritten rule of society propriety, he interjected, “Just be yourself with him.”
A shadow fell across her lovely face. “That’s the problem, though, isn’t it? I’m always myself when I’m around him, which is never—”
Her eyes widened as an idea struck her.
Sebastian’s heart skipped in warning. Whenever Miranda got that look on her face, trouble always followed.
“Perhaps I shouldn’t be myself.” Her body tightened visibly as she contemplated the thought, as if a coil of excitement curled inside her, getting ready to spring. “Perhaps I should be Lady Rose with him and—”
“No.”
She stared at him, her eyes blinking hard at his outburst.
Good Lord. The unexpected force of the single word surprised even him.
“Enjoyment,” he corrected, immediately composing himself and pushing down whatever madness had just seized him at her mention of Lady Rose. With Robert. “Not ruination.”
Mercifully, the orchestra gave a flourish to signal the start of the first waltz, which gave him an excuse to leave before he said anything else that made him look like a jealous nodcock. Which he certainly wasn’t. Not at all.
“Your first society waltz is starting, Miss Hodgkins.” He glanced past her shoulder. He didn’t catch a glimpse of Robert in the nearby crowd, but somewhere in the crush of bodies, his brother would be making his way to her for the dance. Just as he needed to make his way to Lady Jane. “Enjoy yourself.” But not too much.
With the unspoken warning hanging on the air between them, he weaved through the crowd to find Jane, who stood surrounded by her group of admirers at the side of the ballroom. Her eyes searched for him over her open fan as she whispered something to her sister.
But as the orchestra transitioned into the opening notes of the dance, he glanced over his shoulder to find Miranda still standing right where he’d left her, with Robert nowhere in the room and leaving her completely without a partner.
Sebastian cursed beneath his breath.
“Quinton.” He grabbed his brother’s arm and pulled him away from the small group of landowners who were discussing wheat prices. “I need you to take this waltz with Lady Jane and give her my apologies.”
“Why?” Quinn glanced at Jane, who smiled demurely at Sebastian as she waited patiently in expectation of her waltz.
“Because Robert will be dead by midnight,” he muttered, “and I’ll be in Newgate for murder.”
Quinton grinned. With a nod, clearly not caring about the real reason he had to dance with Lady Jane as long as Robert took the brunt of Sebastian’s ire, he sauntered over to her. Sebastian watched just long enough to see Quinn make a bow to Jane before he spun on his heels and marched back to Miranda.
She wore a fixed smile on her face, the brave brightness of which belied the hurt he knew lingered beneath at being stood up for her waltz. Not just any waltz, too, but her first one in society. As she saw him approach, her smile faltered. Anyone else would have missed the flash of distress in her eyes, but he saw it, and it pained him more than he wanted to admit.
He took her hand and placed it on his arm, refusing to let her pull away. “Your waltz is beginning.”
She blinked in confusion. “But Robert’s supposed to—”
“Robert isn’t coming,” he told her firmly, his jaw clenched tight in anger at his brother.
She hesitated, then nodded wordlessly as understanding fell through her.
As he led her toward the dance floor, her smile faded into a sober expression that suddenly made her appear years older, suddenly far too world-weary. Unhappy. And he didn’t like it. At that moment, he would have done anything to put a beaming smile back on her face.
“You don’t have to do this, Sebastian,” she said in a low voice only he could hear over the music and noise of the ball around them. “I’m not your charity.”
“No, you’re not.” He bowed as she curtsied stiffly, then pulled her into position. “But we have an agreement. We promised to help each other this season.” He looked down into her bright green eyes, finding a startling mix of misery and gratitude in their stormy depths that stole his breath away. A prickle of admiration coursed through him that she was able to handle his brother’s thoughtlessness with such grace and aplomb. “And I always keep my promises.”
Before she could retort, he stepped her into the waltz. They whirled together across the floor, the skirts of her dress flowing about his legs with each smooth glide and turn, and he was careful to hold her at the proper distance as they worked through the turns. She was more graceful than he’d anticipated, each of her steps matching his to perfection.
“Robert’s in the garden, isn’t he?” She lowered her face as they danced toward the opposite end of the floor. “With Miss Morgan.”
He stiffened, knowing exactly what she meant. The two had probably sneaked away, to be alone and out of sight of the party, not giving the waltz with Miranda a second thought. Robert liked Miranda, of that he was certain, and would never intentionally hurt her. But Sebastian was also quickly coming to believe that his brother would never see Miranda as anything more than the girl in braids he’d grown up with. “Most likely,” he answered gently.
“It doesn’t matter,” she insisted, her gaze fixed to his cravat pin. But her voice lacked conviction, as if she hadn’t yet convinced herself and needed to say it aloud to believe it. “Someone else would have come along to ask me to waltz, I think.”
As he saw the interested looks sent her way from the men in the crowd as they glided past, he knew so. She’d caused quite a stir this evening, and for the next fortnight, the drawing room gossip among the ladies and the St James’s Street gossip among the men would be nothing but talk of her. All of them wondering about her. The woman who was introduced by a duke, a woman of no fortune whom none of them had ever heard of before. And one with a figure and face that most men would find tantalizing enough to risk taking a closer look.
“Be careful with whom you dance tonight,” he warned, turning his gaze back to her just in time to see her roll her eyes in aggravation at yet another one of his warnings. “I’m serious, Miranda. And don’t flirt with any of them.”
She laughed at that, the soft sound tingling through him like a fresh summer breeze. “You have nothing to worry about in that regard, since I don’t know how.”
“Oh yes, you do.” His fingers squeezed hers as he held them lightly in his hand. “When you were Lady Rose, you flirted with me.”
“But you don’t—”
“Signify,” he finished for her with a grimace, eliciting another soft laugh from her that almost took away the sting of the unintentional insult. “Yes, I know.” He pulled her into a tight circle. “You thought I was Robert, and you flirted just fine with me—with him—then.”
“Because I wasn’t being me. I was being Lady Rose and all…seductive.”
Oh yes, she had certainly been that, and his body heated at the memory of just how much. “You’re the same person.”
Her full mouth pulled down into a slight frown even as she continued to move light as a feather in his arms, her feet gracefully sweeping across the floor in synchronicity with his. “Lady Rose wore a mask, and you had no idea who I was. It’s easy to flirt when a man doesn’t know who you are.”
He gazed down into her green eyes, noticing the flecks of gold that caught the light from the chandelier. How had he never noticed before how beautiful her eyes were, how large and expressive? “But that defeats the purpose of flirting,” he murmured, “if the man doesn’t know the woman’s identity.”
Her brow wrinkled in a puzzled frown. “What’s the purpose, then?”
“Seduction,” he answered, his voice a throaty hum he hadn’t intended.
But then, it seemed he was always doing or saying things around Miranda that he never intended. Seduction? Good Lord…but he couldn’t help himself. Especially when her lips parted in delicate surprise at the boldness of his answer. He stared at her sensuous mouth, remembering how sweet she tasted the night of the masquerade. How smooth her skin. How the scent of roses wafted up from her body and perfumed his bed with the floral scent of her for the rest of his sleepless night. And not just her physical allure but the pure energy of her. The sense of excitement that radiated from her. The wit and laughter that lightened his chest the way nothing else in his life had been able to do recently. That it was Miranda Hodgkins of all women—astonishing.
“Practice with me now,” he cajoled, knowingly drifting toward dangerous waters but unable to resist the unexpected siren song of her.
She hesitated with a lingering look over her shoulder at the terrace doors. That glance clawed at his gut because he knew she was still searching for Robert. But Robert would not be coming for her. And Sebastian was selfishly glad that he wasn’t.
“Come on, Rose,” he teased. “Pretend I’m not some stuffy, old duke.” He grinned at her despite the self-deprecating jab. “Pretend I matter.”
“You do,” she assured him, “just not like that.”
His lips tightened, feeling a sting at her words. “That is not the way to start a flirtation.”
She laughed easily, and her hesitancy melted into a bright smile. Which was the exact right way to start.
“That’s better,” he murmured appreciatively. “You have a pretty smile. You should use it to your advantage.”
She scoffed. “You make flirtation sound like war tactics!”
“It is.” He crooked up an experienced brow. “And just as deadly for the man caught unawares in a female’s trap.”
Another laugh, and another comfortable warmth blossomed in his chest at the sound. This time when he stepped her through the circle in the corner and started back across the floor, she moved deeper into his arms, and he let her. Not enough that anyone watching would have noticed. But he did.
“So,” he continued shamelessly in his instruction, “you’ve also got the flirtatious laughter down.” When she swatted him playfully on the shoulder with her fan in mock ire, she drew a grin from him. “And the fan work.”
Another low laugh purred from her, falling through him in a simmering heat that inexplicably had him longing to follow Robert and Miss Morgan out into the dark garden with her. Good heavens, she was lovely tonight. Simply enchanting.
Except when she thought of Robert. So best to keep her attention away from his soon-to-be-dead ex-brother.
“We’ll practice flattery next,” he instructed.
“But you’ve already told me that I have a pretty smile,” she reminded him, giving him another one.
He was quickly learning to appreciate her smiles. “Not of you. Me.”
She blinked, surprised. “You?”
“If you want a man to know you’re interested in him without showing up in his bedroom at midnight—”
“That was a mistake,” she interjected with an irritated huff.
“Then you need to let him know in more subtle ways.” He repeated for emphasis, “Subtle ways, Rose.”
“All right,” she agreed suspiciously. “Such as?”
“A small compliment that makes a man feel masculine and handsome. Confident.” He led her through a gliding turn. “Most men like hearing that sort of thing, even if they know it’s rubbish.”
Her eyes narrowed as she took in that bit of dubious advice and contemplated what he asked of her, with a curious look of deep study and concentration. For a moment, her expression was damnably disconcerting as she tried to think up a compliment to give him, as if she had never truly noticed him before as a man. Which inexplicably irked him to no end. How could she have not noticed him before as someone other than the Duke of Trent, other than just a friend?
“What you’re asking of me is impossible.” She shook her head with a soft sigh of defeat. “Every man in this room knows the rank you hold, the power and influence you’re gaining in Parliament. As for the ladies, you should have seen the way they all watched you when you crossed the room to ask me to dance.” She shrugged. “What could I possibly add to what everyone has already told you about how wonderful you are?”
He stared at her, momentarily stunned speechless. What she’d just said was exactly the kind of compliment a man wanted to hear from a beautiful woman…
And he didn’t believe a word of it. When he saw her lips twitch with amusement, his eyes narrowed. “You are incorrigible.”
She laughed happily. “Perhaps.” Her eyes shined, and for a brief moment, she shifted closer, somehow rising up on tiptoes as she danced to bring her mouth close to his ear. “But it is all true, you know.”
Then she pulled back into her original position and looked at him shyly through lowered lashes even as the tip of her tongue darted out to wet her lips. The paradoxical effect of innocent seduction was mesmerizing, and for a moment, he forgot they were dancing in the middle of a crowded ballroom. For a moment, there was only Miranda. And the pull of her was undeniable.
“You are a wonderful duke, Sebastian, and you make your family so proud,” she admitted, suddenly serious. Her soft voice was barely audible over the music swirling around them, yet every word reverberated inside him with an aching throb. “As for the ladies, I think they’re all jealous of me for stealing you away for two dances tonight.” She smiled at him with a small squeeze of her fingers around his, completely unaware of how that small touch pulsed straight through him to his core. “Thank you for waltzing with me. You came to my rescue when I needed you.”
His mouth went dry, unprepared for the completely guileless, unpracticed allure of her as it spun through him and made him feel like a hero. Oh yes, she certainly knew how to flirt, even if she didn’t realize it. “You’re welcome,” he rasped out, his voice surprisingly husky.
She shifted her gaze to their hands, where he held hers securely in his. “I’m sorry that you had to give up your waltz with Lady Jane.”
“No harm done,” he answered, bewildered at himself that he hadn’t thought about Jane since their dance began. And a great deal confused that Miranda could so easily tie him in knots with only a smile but couldn’t capture Robert’s attention no matter what she did.
“The ladies in the retiring room will certainly be in a state for the rest of the evening,” she commented. “Do you want me to put in a good word for you, or leave you to your own schemes?”
He blinked. The only scheme he cared at all about right then was figuring out how to bring her even closer in his arms. “Pardon?”
“Our agreement,” she reminded with a soft smile. “You tried to make Robert notice me tonight, and it wasn’t your fault that he didn’t. But I can still be of assistance to you, if you’d like.”
As he stared down at her, his mind blanked. He had no idea what to say to her about that. At that moment, the only woman in his thoughts was her.
The waltz ended, and he twirled her through the final circle with a lively flourish, one that had her laughing and sparkling as brilliantly as the crystal chandelier shining overhead. He bowed as she dropped into a curtsy, then led her from the floor to return her to his mother. The heat of her hand lingered on his fingers long after he released her and walked away.
Circling once around the ballroom, he hunted through the crowd with a single-minded focus, his anger increasing with each step. Not finding Robert inside, and knowing Miranda was right in her suspicions of what his brother had been up to instead of waltzing with her, he stalked through the open French doors and out onto the dimly lit terrace.
Robert stood alone on the far end in the shadows, leaning back casually against the side of the house. Obviously, he had been outside with Miss Morgan and was now giving her time to find her way back inside without creating the gossip of being caught returning together.
“Hey, Seb.” Robert grinned as Sebastian approached. “How goes the wife-hunt—”
“You left Miranda without a partner for her first waltz.” Clenching his hands at his sides, he demanded, “Why?”
Guilt darkened his brother’s face, and his eyes widened as he realized what he’d done. “Oh Lord,” he admitted in a low voice, “I completely forgot. I’d talked Diana into spending a few minutes out here on the terrace and…” He blew out a harsh breath and rubbed his hand at the nape of his neck. “Is the sprite furious at me?”
“She’s not a sprite, Robert,” Sebastian bit out, unleashing the anger that Miranda was too kind to show toward his brother. “She’s a grown woman. And you didn’t make her furious. You hurt her, both her pride and her heart.”
At least Robert had the decency to look ashamed. “I lost track of time. I didn’t—”
“What the hell were you thinking, to sneak off with another woman when you were supposed to be attending to Miranda this evening?”
Robert stared at him, stunned into silence. Sebastian’s anger was out of character for him, but his younger brother also knew not to argue back, having lost too many fights to him while they were growing up. And tonight, Sebastian knew, Robert wouldn’t stand a chance. Something about this damnable evening had him on edge, wound tight as a coiled spring, and just one wrong word from Robert, just one more unkindness to Miranda—
“If you ever embarrass her like that again,” he threatened, “you’ll answer to me. Understand?”
Robert nodded slowly, bewilderment on his face at Sebastian’s behavior. “My apologies,” he said soberly. “Won’t happen again.”
He unclenched his fists. “Make certain you claim her second waltz.”
Robert’s brows drew together, puzzled. “But it’s already taken.”
“Then take it away from the man!” he growled, spinning on his heel to storm back inside. Good Lord, he needed a drink, and none of that watery Madeira, either. He’d take an ax and chop into St James’s private liquor cabinet himself if he had to—
“It’s you, Seb,” Robert called out after him. “She told me when I asked her for a dance. You’re the man who offered for her second waltz.”
He halted in mid-stride. For a single heartbeat, he hesitated, torn between the irrational desire for a second waltz with Miranda and the prudence of knowing better. Damnation, how much he wanted another dance with her. Another chance to hold her in his arms and laugh with her, another few minutes of precious reprieve from the stiff propriety of being a duke when he could simply be himself.
But Miranda wanted Robert. And he’d promised to help her.
“Take it,” he snapped out and stormed away.
* * *
Miranda moved across the dance floor with Robert for her second—and last—waltz of the evening.
Knowing Sebastian had already claimed the dance from her, she’d expected him to come for her again, and truly, she’d been looking forward to another dance with him. She’d enjoyed the first waltz, far more than she’d thought possible. And the flirting lesson. That it was Sebastian of all men who had encouraged her to flirt with him—oh, she nearly laughed in astonishment at that! Since the season began, Sebastian had proven to be one surprise after another.
Instead, it was Robert who came for her while Sebastian claimed the waltz with Lady Jane that he had been denied earlier. For a heartbeat, she felt an unfathomable pang of disappointment that Robert wasn’t Sebastian.
“I’m sorry, Miranda,” Robert apologized with a squeeze of her fingers in his as he twirled her around the floor. “Your first waltz should have been with me, and I regret missing it with you.”
Her belly tightened. Robert was apologizing, truly apologizing, and she should have been ecstatic that he’d cared enough about her feelings to regret the slight. Instead, though, all she felt was vaguely peeved at herself that she’d made such a small impression on him tonight that he’d so easily forget about her. Was Sebastian right—was it time that she considered giving up her hopes for Robert?
“There’s nothing to apologize for,” she whispered, because he expected it, and turned her face away to gaze out across the room.
Dancing with Robert was nothing like she’d imagined. Oh, it was a lovely waltz, and Robert was skilled in his steps, guiding her competently around the floor. But he simply wasn’t as naturally graceful as Sebastian had been, as if they had moved together as one rather than the two separate dancers she and Robert were. There was also none of the casual teasing she’d experienced with Sebastian, nothing to put her at ease.
And certainly none of the flirting.
She didn’t even attempt it with Robert. Because for all the tutoring that Sebastian gave her about how to catch a man’s attention, he’d left unspoken what she knew to be the most important part—that a woman could only successfully flirt with a man who welcomed her flirtations. And during the past few weeks Robert had proven himself most unwelcoming to seeing her as a woman with whom he might flirt.
Miranda’s heart sank. Even as she followed his lead, she blinked back the sting of the unshed tears and kept her smile firmly in place—the same one Sebastian had assured her was so pretty. Her heart was breaking, but she wouldn’t let anyone see, including Robert. And especially not Sebastian.
Even now as Robert danced with her, his eyes strayed across the room to Diana Morgan, who kept looking back at him without trying to seem as if she were. Which was laughable, because on the other side of the dance floor Lady Jane kept looking at Sebastian, who kept watching Miranda and Robert instead of Lady Jane.
And Miranda simply didn’t know where to look.