Free Brenda Hiatt by Scandalous Virtue Page B

particularly outrageous compliment, flitting her fan experimentally. The fan was something else she needed proper instruction on, she realized. Else she might send signals she did not intend. But so what if she did? she asked herself with sudden recklessness.
    “No more than the truth, I assure you, Lady Haughton,” said her young cavalier. “You outshine every other woman present.”
    “Indisputably,” agreed Mr. Pottinger, a handsome man of more mature years but with a decided lisp. “You have given new life to the Little Season, my lady.”
    It was nice, Nessa reflected, to know that not everyone disapproved of her as Prudence did. Resolutely, she squelched the twinge of conscience that threatened to assail her.
    “You are all very kind,” she assured the small cluster of gentlemen surrounding her. “As new to the social scene as I am, it is most pleasant to have made so many friends already.”
    A clamor arose as they all attempted to convey howvery honored they were to be counted among her friends, and Nessa positively basked in the attention. Surely, enjoying such harmless flattery could not be so evil as she’d always been led to believe.
    The orchestra struck up the opening strains of the next dance—a waltz. At least three of her gallants stepped forward to lead her out, but before she could formulate a suitable excuse, another voice spoke from behind her.
    “I beg your pardon, gentlemen, but I believe the lady has promised this particular dance to me.”
    Whirling, she found herself transfixed by the piercing blue eyes of Lord Foxhaven. Why her heart should leap so at his appearance she had no idea, unless it were sudden fear that now she was wearing colors, he might recognize her as the masked Monique. Bemused, she allowed him to take her hand in his. As he led her toward the assembling dancers, however, sanity abruptly returned.
    “I…I fear I cannot oblige you, my lord,” she stammered.
    He gazed down at her, his expression unreadable. “Engaged to someone else, are you?”
    “Yes. That is, no. That is…” Nessa gave it up, realizing that glib excuses would not work on this man—not that she was precisely managing glibness. “I’m afraid I do not waltz, my lord,” she finally said in a small voice.
    To her surprise, Lord Foxhaven broke into a wide smile. “Do you not indeed? Then, my lady, it is high time you began.” Ignoring her inarticulate protests, hewhirled her out onto the floor, then placed one hand lightly on her waist.
    Nessa quickly moved from under his hand. “My lord, you do not understand,” she whispered frantically. “I do not know how to waltz! I never learned.”
    For the barest moment the marquis looked surprised, but then he gave her a reassuring smile. “’Tis really a very simple dance: three steps repeated, in time to the music. Just follow my lead. I promise not to attempt any of the fancier movements—not until you’ve learned the basics.”
    A half-wink gave his words a deeper meaning, and Nessa felt herself flushing. The sensation was not unpleasant, however. “Very well, my lord. I shall hold you to your word.” She let added meaning color her own words as well, and saw his eyes light in response.
    He again placed his hand at her waist, its warmth seeming to spread in all directions. Though the dance was not quite so easy as he had implied, Nessa found that with some concentration she was able to overcome the distracting effect of his touch enough to follow his steps. Occasional, surreptitious glances at the other dancers assisted her as well.
    Still, she could not deny that this particular dance was a disturbingly intimate experience. No wonder her father had so strongly disapproved of the waltz! Though Lord Foxhaven took no liberties, she was acutely aware of the placement of each long finger against her body, pressing and releasing as they moved to the music. By the time the music ended, she believed she could cautiously claim to be able to waltz—a