Free The Secret Mistress by Mary Balogh Page B

thought, looking with interest from her brother’s face to Lord Heyward’s. And yet … And yet there was
something
there, some ever so minor clash of wills. And, just as he had at the Rose and Crown, the earl won the day with quiet courtesy. Tresham stared back at him for a fraction of a second longer than was strictly necessary, raised his eyebrows, and turned to nod at the leader of the orchestra.
    The whole incident had lasted for a maximum of two minutes, probably less. The earl offered his arm this time rather than just the back of his hand, Angeline linked hers through it and leaned upon him with just enough of her weight to look convincing, and he led her to the love seat he had indicated, which was wedged in next to the orchestra dais and was therefore somewhat isolated from the other seats in the ballroom.
    The orchestra struck up its lively tune again and the dancersdanced. Angeline glanced at them a little wistfully while Lord Heyward rescued a brocaded stool from half under the dais and set it before her to support her injured foot. She rested it on the stool and sighed.
    “Ah,” she said, “that is better. Thank you, my lord.”
    He inclined his head to her and seated himself beside her.
Close
beside her since the seat was narrow. Even so, he kept a very correct sliver of air between their two bodies.
    “I adore dancing,” she said as she opened her fan and plied it slowly before her face. “I daresay you do too. I do apologize for depriving you of the pleasure of participating any further until the next set.”
    “Not at all,” he said. “Besides, I do
not
enjoy dancing.”
    She could feel the heat from his body and smell that very enticing cologne again. She would not mind at all, she thought quite scandalously, if he accidentally touched her arm or kissed her hand. Or her lips, for that matter. She had never been kissed. She had
wanted
to be for some time now. And who better …
    The ballroom was surely exceedingly warm.
    “I suppose,” she said because she did not want him to suspect that she had guessed the truth, poor man, “you have been dancing for so many years that you have become quite jaded.”
    “Not at all,” he said again. “I have always been clumsy at it. I have been able to avoid dancing until this year. I was insignificantly positioned as the younger brother of an earl who was married and beginning to set up his nursery. When he died last year, my life changed.”
    Ah, an honest man. One who was willing to admit that he was a clumsy dancer. There were not many honest people in this world, Angeline suspected, especially on the subject of their own defects.
    “And now you are expected to dance all the time,” she said, smiling at him. “You were forced to dance with me.”
    “I was not
forced
, Lady Angeline.” His eyebrows rose, and she noticed that they arched very nicely indeed above his eyes without unduly creasing his brow. “It was my pleasure.”
    Ah, not always honest. Her smile deepened.
    “You were in mourning all last year, then, were you?” she asked him. “I have been in mourning too, though not last year. It was the year before. For my mother. I ought to have made my come-out last year. Is that not strange? If I
had
, I would not have encountered you at that inn outside Reading or in Hyde Park this morning. And I would have had a different partner with whom to dance the opening set of my come-out ball. You would have been away somewhere mourning for your brother. How random a thing fate is.”
    Perhaps he did not see their meetings as fate. Or not as a happy one, anyway. If he did, he had nothing to say on the subject. And when she glanced at him, she could see that his lips were rather tightly set.
    It really was a fast and vigorous dance, she thought as her eyes strayed beyond his shoulder. Tresham was dancing with the widowed Countess of Heyward and Ferdinand with the small, blond-haired, very pretty Lady Martha Hamelin, with whom Angeline had chatted