Free Enticing the Earl by Nicole Byrd Page B

firm, “I should be happy to dance with you, Mr. Elton.”
    â€œHappy to hear it,” Carter said, offering his arm. The two walked off toward the dance floor.
    Marcus watched them go, and didn’t care if his frown deepened. For one heart-wrenching moment he thought the musicians were striking up a waltz. He would kill Carter if he had told them to play another waltz so soon! If his brother touched her waist and pulled her close, he was a dead man!
    No, no, the melody was not right; it was only a country dance.
    The earl let out his pent-up breath. The contessa was watching him. “Are you not going to ask me to dance, Marcuz? Ve make a good partnership, too, you must remember!”
    â€œNot just now, forgive me. I have something I must do,” he told her, his tone vague. And despite the fact that now she was the one frowning, he walked rapidly away. He would warn the musicians that on no account, until he expressly ordered them differently, were they to play another waltz!
    Lauryn found Carter also a good dancer, though she suspected he might not be quite as strong at leading as his older half brother. But he was also light on his feet, and in the line dances she knew what she was doing, only once finding an unfamiliar pattern, and she was able to follow the lead of the lady in front of her and avoid making a mistake.
    After two dances, he took her—most correctly—back to her first partner, the earl. Sutton was still standing where they had left him, and had not danced with anyone else, to Lauryn’s surprise but private relief.
    They did not dance again, however, but stood at the side of the big room and chatted with others in the chamber. Lauryn met neighbors of the earl and deflected their veiled curiosity as much as she could.
    â€œYou are not from the Fens, I take it,” one matron pointed out. “Your accent is not that of southern England.”
    â€œNo,” Lauryn agreed, taking a sip of wine that a servant had procured for her.
    Her expression expectant, the matron waited, but Lauren smiled sweetly without supplying more information.
    â€œBut you do not sound as if you are a native Londoner, either,” a second lady pointed out, her tone shrewd, “and, unlike some of the earl’s—ah—previous guests, you do sound like a lady born.”
    This made Lauryn narrow her eyes, but she took another sip of wine and hoped that she had bent her head in time to hide her reaction. Denial would likely only provoke more argument, however. “Of course,” she said in a moment. “Why should I not?”
    This left her circle of interrogators at a quandary; they were standing too close to the earl to be deliberately rude to his current “guest.”
    Who but the earl would so ignore social protocol as to host events and invite his courtesans and his neighbors? No, the party was Carter’s idea this time, she told herself.
    â€œI do find the Fens intriguing,” Lauryn added. “I had not visited this part of the countryside before. Have the canals ended the threat of flooding? If so, it must be a great boon for you.”
    She already knew the answer from the earl’s earlier comments, but it seemed a good way to turn the topic of the conversation away from herself. She felt like a lone kernel of corn surrounded by a flock of hungry, sharp-beaked chickens.
    â€œOh, gracious no,” the first neighbor said. “If you had been here last spring—I thought several times I should have to climb onto my own roof.” She narrated a harrowing tale of the dangers she and her family had survived, and then it seemed that all of the women had stories to relate, as well.
    â€œOh, that was nothing. If you had been at our house…” an older woman spoke up, waving her fan for emphasis.
    Lauryn listened closely and made appropriate comments at the right times, glad to have, for the moment at least, diverted their attention.
    The