The Louise Allen Collection: The Viscount's Betrothal / The Society Catch. Louise Allen
gentleman, he would fight any man who impugned his honour. And his honour required that he marry Olivia Channing.
He watched Decima shake her head as a gentleman bowed, obviously requesting a dance. It happened again. She was going to refuse to dance and sit out the ball as one of the chaperons, that was clear.
All his desires focused down, quite simply, on the need to have her in his arms one last time. To talk to her, to know she had forgiven him. He wasn’t given to prayer, considering that the life he led was not particularly deserving of any higher powers listening to erratic, and doubtless selfish, pleas from time to time. No. If he was going to achieve this, then he was going to have to manage it by himself.
Adam looked around the room for inspiration and his gaze lighted on one copper shock of hair, head and shoulders above the group of scarlet-coated army officers around it. Yes, there was George Mays, an unsuspecting good fairy. He bent over the ladies. ‘Would you excuse me for a moment? I have just seen a very old friend.’
Thank goodness. The steady trickle of gentlemen requesting her hand for a dance had finally dried up. Decima sat back and began to fan herself with short, nervous jerks. She had not been prepared for it, expecting all the attention to be lavished on Caro. And certainly her card would soon be full.
‘How well she looks on the dance floor,’ she remarked to Caro’s fond mama, who was observing Caroline’s progress through the measures of a cotillion with justifiable pride. Henry had slid away ten minutes ago, ostensibly in search of refreshments.
‘She does, does she not? I am not without hope that she will take very well indeed.’ Lady Freshford shot her a sharp glance. ‘And why have you not accepted any gentlemen, Decima? You have received some very flattering attention.’
‘They have no idea that I would step on their toes at every turn, and, in any case, I am sitting down. They would swoon when I stood up and they saw how tall I am,’ she said lightly. It did not hurt to admit it, she realised. Somehow that ridiculous waltz in the kitchen with Adam had given her the confidence to shrug aside the years of hurt and humiliation. In any case, it was probably this dratted dress with its indecent neckline attracting them. Until they got close enough to spot the freckles…
‘Ma’am? I realise it is quite outrageous of me to approach you without an introduction, but might I have the honour of a dance?’ It was a tall—a very tall—redheaded man with a pleasantly ugly face who was positively towering over her. ‘George Mays. Lady Freshford.’ He bowed. ‘I think my mama is possibly a connection on your father’s side?’
‘Of course. You must be Georgiana Stapleford’s son.’ Lady Freshford beamed. ‘How is she?’
‘Yes, ma’am, you are correct, and she is very well, I thank you. She and my father are in Scotland at the moment.’ He produced a charming smile, transforming his face. ‘Might I hope you will introduce me to this lady?’
Lady Freshford smiled indulgently. ‘Mr Mays, Miss Ross. Dear Decima is a friend of ours from Norfolk and is kindly supporting me through Caroline’s first Season.’
‘Miss Ross.’ They exchanged bows. ‘Is there any chance that you might fit me into your dance card?’
‘Thank you, but I am not dancing this evening, Mr Mays.’
‘Oh.’ He seemed cast down. ‘Might I…’ He gestured to the chair beside her.
‘Yes, of course.’
‘Miss Ross, may I confide in you?’ When Decima murmured something inarticulate, he bent his head over his clasped hands and blurted out, ‘I never usually dance either. But when I saw you, I thought perhaps you would understand.’
‘Understand? I am sorry, Mr Mays…’
‘It was foolish of me, for I could see how many invitations you were turning down—obviously you would not understand. But you see, I am so very tall, most ladies do not wish to dance with me—they feel awkward about it. I saw you were…forgive me, I am making a mull of this.’
He looked wretched. Impetuously Decima said, ‘You thought I might not feel the same way?’ He nodded. ‘Because I am tall, too?’ Another nod. How on earth could she refuse him? ‘Of course I will dance with you, Mr Mays. I would be delighted.’
‘The next dance?’ he asked eagerly.
Decima knew she should make some show of consulting her card, or at least make sure it was something she could recall the steps to. ‘The next dance,’ she agreed with a smile she did not have to force.
The dance proved to be a waltz and Mr Mays to be a most accomplished dancer. Decima took his hand, managed to fight the urge to gaze at her feet, and allowed herself to be swept into the dance with a partner who was a highly energetic waltzer.
After the first sweep around the floor she managed to unfix her gaze from his lapels and glance upwards. He looked down, his eyes lighting with a sudden appreciative warmth and she recalled her low-cut gown—goodness, he must be able to see right down it! Hastily she pushed back her shoulders and smiled brightly. At least the freckles appeared not to repulse him. This was actually very good fun.
‘We are well matched, Miss Ross,’ he confided. ‘I cannot tell you how refreshing it is to be able to talk to the young lady I am dancing with instead of looking at the top of her head.’
‘And for me too—oh!’ He assayed a daring swoop around a corner and her skirts flew out, brushing against Olivia’s modest white muslin as she circled in Adam’s embrace. Their eyes met for a second and she found herself smiling at him, a wide beam of pure enjoyment. At least there was no kitchen table or butter churn to avoid here and, with slippers on her feet and skirts of taffeta, she felt as light as a bird.
Mr Mays whirled her to a halt at the opposite end of the room from where they had started. ‘How inept of me,’ he apologised as they walked off the floor. ‘Allow me to take you back to Lady Freshford.’ Their way was blocked by a number of military men and one moved as Mr Mays tapped him on the shoulder to make his way through. ‘Hello again, Fredericks, Peterson.’
They turned, their scarlet coats taut across well-muscled backs, and Decima caught her breath at finding herself surrounded by quite so much tall masculinity. Her partner grinned at them. ‘Allow me to introduce Miss Ross. Miss Ross, Colonel Lord Peterson, Major Fredericks.’
Decima bobbed a curtsy, expecting them to smile politely and resume their conversation. Instead they both, to her astonishment, asked her to dance. ‘Anyone who can make Mays look elegant on the dance floor is the partner for me,’ the Colonel declared, managing to get in before his more junior colleague.
Half an hour later Decima was delivered back to Lady Freshford and Henry, breathless and more than a little inclined to giggle. It felt as though she had been drinking champagne, which was ridiculous as not a drop had passed her lips.
And then the desire to laugh quite left her. Adam was approaching, Olivia clinging to his arm. ‘Miss Channing! Lord Weston, how do you do?’ Decima hastily performed the introductions.
‘We were just going in to supper,’ Olivia murmured shyly. ‘Would you join us?’
Decima was expecting a resumption of the morning’s tension between the two men. Instead, Adam was looking as though a pleasant idea had just struck him, and Henry was staring at Olivia as though he had seen a ghost. He saw Decima watching him and the look vanished, to be replaced by one of polite interest.
‘Yes, do run along, dears.’ Lady Freshford was gathering up her fan and reticule. ‘I can see Augusta Wimpole over there. We can have supper together and a good gossip. Caro is there already with some young friends.’
Adam led the way to a table in the refreshment room and settled Olivia beside Decima, before departing with Henry to raid the buffet on their behalf.