Rules of Engagement: The Reasons for Marriage. Stephanie Laurens
enthusiasm by five musicians installed in an alcove. Lenore was constantly on the move, encouraging the more timid of the ladies to join in, ensuring none of the gentlemen hung back. Despite her real liking for the pastime, she rarely danced herself, knowing how awkward most gentlemen found the exercise. She was too tall for even her brothers, only as tall as herself, to partner adequately in any measure beyond the formal quadrilles or cotillions. She was chatting to Mrs. Whitticombe, slightly flushed after a hectic boulanger, when she felt hard fingers close about her elbow.
A frisson of awareness informed her of who stood beside her even before she turned to meet his grey eyes.
Bestowing a charming if fleeting smile on Mrs. Whitticombe, Jason turned his gaze upon his hostess. “You’re not dancing, Miss Lester. Can I tempt you to honour me with this waltz?”
The invitation was uttered so smoothly that Lenore had smiled her acquiescence before her mind had analysed his words. Reasoning that dancing with Eversleigh, so tall, was too tempting a proposition to have passed up anyway, she allowed him to lead her to the cleared area of the floor.
“Do you encounter much difficulty finding musicians hereabouts?”
Effortlessly he swept her into the midst of the couples swirling under the light of the chandelier. “N-no. Not usually.” With an effort, Lenore focused her wayward wits. Dragging in a calming breath, she added, “There are two market towns nearby. Both have musical societies, so we are rarely at a loss.”
After a few revolutions, Lenore became reconciled to the sensation of floating. It was, she realised, simply because Eversleigh was so tall and so strong. As she relaxed, the joy of the dance took hold.
Watching her face, Jason had no need of words. “You dance very well, Miss Lester,” he eventually said, struck by the fact. She felt as light as thistledown in his arms, an ethereal sprite. The candlelight set gold winking in her hair; even her odd gown seemed part of the magic.
“Thank you, Your Grace.” Lenore kept her lids lowered, her eyes fixed on a point beyond his right shoulder, content to let the dance blunt her senses. Even so, she was supremely conscious of the strength in the arm circling her waist, of the firm clasp of his fingers on hers. “Did you enjoy your tour of Harry’s little enterprise?”
“Your brother keeps an excellent stud.”
“He has told me your own horses are very fine.” Glancing up through her lashes, Lenore watched as a small contented smile softened the lines about her partner’s mouth. Then the arm around her waist tightened. The area near the door was congested with couples. As Eversleigh drew her more firmly to him before embarking on the tight turn, Lenore forced her mind to the music, letting it soothe her, blocking out the barrage of unnerving reactions assailing her senses. Only thus could she countenance such unlooked-for delight.
She was thoroughly disappointed when the dance came to an end.
Jason’s smile was a little crooked as he looked down at her, her hand still clasped in his. “I feel I should return you to your chaperon, my dear, but I’m not sure I dare.”
Recalling Harriet’s behaviour of the previous evening, Lenore had no hesitation in stating, “I doubt that would be wise, Your Grace. Luckily, I’m far beyond the age of having to bow to such altars.”
To her surprise, Eversleigh’s gaze became sharper, his expression more hard. “You are in error, Miss Lester. You may not be a débutante but you are a very long way from being on the shelf.”
Lenore would have frowned and taken issue, assuming the comment to relate to their morning’s discussion, but to her amazement Mr. Peters materialised before her.
“If you would do me the honour, Miss Lester, I believe they’re starting up a country dance.”
In consternation, Lenore stared at Mr. Peters’s bowing form. Eversleigh’s invitation had taken her by surprise; she had accepted without thought for the potential ramifications. As Mr. Peters straightened, a hopeful light in his eyes, the full weight of her role settled on Lenore’s shoulders. Pinning a smile to her lips, she looked over Mr. Peters’s head to where the sets were forming. With determination, she extended her hand. “It would be a pleasure, sir.”
A single glance to her left was sufficient to discern the amused glint in Eversleigh’s eyes. “If you’ll excuse me, Your Grace?”
As she straightened from her curtsy, Eversleigh’s gaze was on her face. He smiled; Lenore felt her heart quiver.
Hand over heart, Jason bowed elegantly. “I wish you nothing but pleasure, my dear Miss Lester.” His lips curving in appreciation, he watched as, head high, she glided away.
It was some hours later when he ran Frederick Marshall to earth. To Jason’s shrewd gaze, his friend had developed a predilection for Lady Wallace’s company.
“Do you plan to remain for the entire week, Your Grace?” Reassured by the presence of Mr. Marshall beside her, Amelia advanced her query, an expression of open innocence on her face.
Dispassionately, Jason studied the fair features turned up to him. Languidly, he raised one brow. “That is my intention.” Lifting his gaze to his friend’s face, he allowed his expression to relax. “What say you, Frederick? Do you expect to find sufficient here to fix your peripatetic interest?”
Frederick shot him a glare before Amelia turned her questioning face to him. “I see no reason why we should not be tolerably amused for the duration.”
“Excellent.” Having gained the declaration she sought, Amelia was all smiles. “I’ll look forward to your company, sirs. But I really must have a word to Lady Henslaw—if you’ll excuse me, Mr. Marshall? Your Grace?” With an artful nod, Amelia left them.
Jason followed her progress towards Lady Henslaw, then turned to see Frederick, similarly engaged. “Let us hope Lady Wallace does not favour purple.”
“What?” Frederick turned to him, then glared as his meaning became clear. “Dash it, Jason. It’s no such thing. Lady Wallace is merely a means to pass the time—a sensible woman with whom one may have a conversation without being expected to sweep her off her feet.”
“Ah.” Jason nodded sagely. “I see.”
Frederick ignored him. “Speaking of sweeping women off their feet—that waltz you so obviously enjoyed with Miss Lester? Permit me to tell you, not that you don’t already know, that it fell just short of indecent.”
A subtle smile curved Jason’s lips as he stood, looking out over the dancers. “My only defence is the obvious—she enjoyed it, too. She’s unquestionably the most graceful woman I’ve ever partnered.”
“Yes, and now the whole company knows it. Do you think she’ll thank you for the rest of her evening?”
“That, I had not anticipated.” Jason glanced at Frederick, a glint in his eye. “Fear not. I shall come about. Apropos of which, I wanted to ask if you have heard any whispers of my impending fate?”
“I have, as a matter of fact.” Frederick continued to study the dancers, his gaze following Lady Wallace’s bright curls. “From what I can gather, most who have come direct from town have heard something of your intentions.”
Beneath his breath, Jason swore.
Frederick turned, surprise in his eyes. “Does that concern you? It was inevitable, after all.”
Grimacing, Jason replied, “I would rather it was not common knowledge but I doubt it’ll seriously affect the outcome.” Narrowing his eyes, he mused, “However, I will, I suspect, have to expend rather more thought on the correct approach to my problem.”
Noting the direction of his friend’s gaze, Frederick asked, “I take it you have fixed on Miss Lester?”
“Does that surprise you?” Jason murmured, his attention still on her fair head.
Considering that waltz, and all that it had revealed,