The word came down with the deadly swiftness of a guillotine and it was edged all around in ice and razors and “keep away” signs. She was as jarred as if she’d walked into an actual wall. She nearly took a step back, but she was made of sterner stuff than that.
She was reminded swiftly and simultaneously of two things. He could be a rather scary man. Not a man to cross. At all times, including now, he was likely simply indulging her and that could end.
He was also not the sort of man likely to indulge anyone lightly, without a reason. And he’d been indulging her for some time.
These two things seemed somewhat contradictory.
She didn’t know what she’d been expecting, or how on earth she’d gotten bold enough to ask the question yet she didn’t think she was sorry. But it was just as much of a window into him as that soft vanishing warmth she’d seen during their little chat on the verandah.
That answer meant he was protecting someone. Was it himself?
Was he in love with someone now?
Her heart contracted oddly at the notion, as if curling in on itself in defense against that thought.
She remembered the word “by-blow” the man had lobbed at him the other night. Such a vicious term for a child who had not asked to come into this world.
Was it true? Did he have a child?
Her cheeks went abruptly hot, as they generally did around him. And yet she had the oddest impulse to touch his arm. By way of comfort or apology, she wasn’t certain.
By way of saying: “Don’t leave me just yet.”
All she knew was she felt frantic when his eyes went remote, as if he was retreating from her.
But he had just drawn a line. And somehow nothing had ever seemed more seductive than crossing it.
And suddenly the music for the waltz drifted up to them.
“Keating.” He seemed to be considering what to say next. “I should be honored if you would dance with me.”
The breath left her.
She stared at him, stunned.
His expression revealed nothing but calm expectation of an answer.
“But... you don’t dance. Everyone knows you don’t dance.”
Everyone.Listen to her sounding as though she were actually a part of the ton.
He raised his eyebrows at the “everyone.” “I dance well enough. Iseldomdance. There is a difference.”
She studied him a moment longer, then her eyesflared. “Oh God. Don’t do it because you pity me!” she breathed.
“Keating,” he said so gruffly she blinked. “Do you really think I would stoop to anything so frivolous as pity? It’s a strategy. A favor to a friend. Your season could hardly be going worse. This might be an opportunity to make it better. I feel it only fair to warn you, before you answer yea or nay, that it will have consequences. There is no chance at all that it will go unremarked. You will be noticed. This might be all to the good. It could be the opposite. It could be some piquant blend of the two.”
“Surely you’re not so scanda—”
“I never lie,” he said patiently.
It also sounded very much like a warning.
No matter how intently she examined his face, he gave nothing away. And this was because he was hiding something, this much she was certain. It maddened her, this ability to disguise his thoughts.
Perhaps the fact that he wanted to dance with her as much as she wanted to dance with him. But why?
At the thought, her heart began to slam so hard she could hear it ringing in her ears.