Free Barbara Metzger by Valentines

there was still something missing in her efforts to appear a mature, alluring woman: a bosom. Quickly Dree rolled up a pair of stockings and tucked them in the narrow bodice. Now she was ready.
    *
    The Earl of Blanford was torn. She was too young, too innocent. He was too old, too battle-scarred by life. But what future did she have without him? Not many men could afford to marry without a dowry; not many would look past the unfashionable clothes to see the charming young woman. The talk was of some menial position, or marriage to some local lout. Marriage to an old, tired rake had to be better.
    And what future did he have without her? A cold one. Oh, he’d find a willing bride, a proper female who didn’t like the wind in her hair and who didn’t laugh out loud, or tease. She’d give him sons, but she wouldn’t give him sunshine.
    By Satan’s smallclothes, he wasn’t that blasted old!
    And Miss Audrina Rowe wasn’t anyone’s little charity-case cousin, not tonight She was dazzling! Max had to remind himself to shut his mouth. Why, in London she’d be called a Pocket Venus. She’d be a Toast, with her lively sparkle and intelligent conversation. He watched as she left Lady Halbersham’s receiving line and entered the pink-draped ballroom through an archway of trailing vines and silk roses designed to look like a heart. For a moment she stood there, the perfect living valentine. She was searching the room—Max could only hope she looked for him—before flocks of men swooped down on her, and not just the neighborhood youngsters. Of course, every libertine in the place would notice her, now that her light wasn’t hidden under a bushel of rags from the dustbin. And now that the local beauty was spoken for, albeit the engagement was not yet announced, Miss Rowe was even more in demand.
    The earl considered keeping his distance, letting the young men discover her charms, letting one of them fall top over trees in love with his fairy sprite. Then Max wouldn’t have to worry about her future or if he should have a place in it.
    Such noble restraint lasted halfway into the party. Viola had arranged a lottery for the first dance, with various-colored hearts, cupids, and arrows cut in halves with the parts put into a top hat or a straw bonnet. The ladies and gentlemen each chose one, then had to find their partners by matching halves. Max could have rigged it. He thought about it, about having another dance with her, but he decided not, for then Vi would insist he take the floor with every wallflower in the room. So he stayed on the sidelines, watching Audrina twirl and laugh and charm the pants off every partner she had. In their dreams, at least.
    Max was tempted to call out one young buck who never raised his eyes off that bouquet of flowers nestled between her breasts. My flowers, Max growled to himself. One dastard kept plying her with champagne. Most likely the chit had never had any before; she should have had her first taste with him. Her next partner held her hand too long, drooling over her glove. That was it! The earl had had enough.
    “My dance, I believe, Miss Rowe.”
    Dree stared up at the earl, taking in his elegant black and white formal attire, the ruby that glowed in his neckcloth, the commanding look on his chiseled countenance. She could have stared all night, if one of her beaus hadn’t coughed. She fumbled for the dance card at her wrist. “Oh, but I thought we were to have the supper dance.”
    “That, too.”
    Dree was confused, but maybe that was the champagne. “But you don’t dance,” she insisted.
    He held his gloved hand out. “It’s Valentine’s Day. Everyone dances.”
    “Oh.” She took his hand, took two steps forward, then stopped. “They’re playing a waltz.”
    “Vi thought it was too daring for a country ball, but I bribed the orchestra.”
    A waltz! Dree might have thought she’d died and gone to heaven, except… “I don’t know how, my lord.”
    He just smiled.