Never Dance with a Marquess (The Never Series Book 2), Maggi Andersen [best short novels of all time TXT] 📗

What would Nicholas think of her tonight? He would be the first man to see her dressed in her finery. She really wanted to see approval in his eyes.

One look from him reassured her. For a moment he stood, his gaze roaming over her from her hair to her slippers, then he came forward to take her hands, an appreciative gleam turning his gray eyes bluer. “You look lovely, Carrie.”

The look in his eyes warmed her, but she should not put much store by it.

He turned to Gwen, who surveyed him with a small smile. “And you, Gwen. That color on you is a tour de force.”

“My goodness,” Gwen said. “This old thing?”

His lips curled in amusement, and he offered them both an arm. “Well, shall we take Cinderella to the ball?”

Carrie felt shy, struck by how handsome he looked in his midnight blue evening clothes. She took his proffered arm and smiled up at him. “Where is my prince?”

Nicholas didn’t answer, but Gwen did. “I’m sure he is not far away.”

***

The majordomo announced them, and the Fitzgibbons greeted them at the top of the stairs. Below, guests chatted beneath the chandeliers in the gold-swagged ballroom.

They descended into the noise, smoke, and heated air, while people turned to survey them. Carrie swallowed, her throat suddenly dry, and forced herself to smile while Nicholas escorted her through the crowd. Their progress halted continually when guests greeted him and begged for an introduction. Complimentary comments, loud enough for Carrie to hear, followed in their wake and made her cheeks burn. Questions as to the new beauty’s identity and where she hailed from. It was all new to her and nothing like the Yorkshire dances. She clutched her fan, longing to employ it to cool her face.

Nicholas placed his hand over hers on his arm and gently squeezed. He leaned down and spoke in an undertone. “Smile, sweetheart, your Season is already a success. Come, my good friends, Charles and Nellie, the Duke and Duchess of Shewsbury, are eager to meet you.”

The reassurance in his eyes and his words calmed her. She gazed up at him with a tremulous smile. She wanted him to be proud of her. But did she want this, any of it?

Ahead, the duke and duchess, a handsome and formidable couple who drew the gazes of everyone around them, waited to meet her, and Nicholas steered her toward them.

Carrie curtsied.

His Grace drew her to her feet and kissed her hand while Her Grace’s smiling violet eyes and natural manner immediately put Carrie at her ease. The duchess wore a gold silk gown with magnificent diamonds. She and Gwen shepherded Carrie away. “We can have a nice coze without the nonsense men go on with,” Her Grace said. “And before the rush to claim your hand for the first dance. A busy night awaits you, Miss Leeming. Or shall I call you Caroline?”

“Carrie, please.”

“Then please call me Nellie. Gwen has told me so much about you. I feel I know you already.”

Carrie smiled shyly while her head swam. She’d been so sad and struggled with hard decisions for so long, this all seemed like a dream. But the decisions must still be made. She could not afford to lose her head.

Chapter Fifteen

Nicholas joined Charles in a group who stood discussing current affairs. He half-listened while he watched Carrie partner the haughty Lord Sheen for a country dance.

As the dance ended, he entered the card room to view a hand of faro in progress, but it pained him to see young Bleckley lose his inheritance, so he wandered out to rejoin Charles.

Utley had claimed the quadrille. The knight’s son appeared quite taken with Carrie. They chatted when the steps brought them together. Nicholas’s mood soured. Neither of these men would suit. He surveyed the crowd seeking those who might want a wife but couldn’t find a single one among them he considered a good husband. No one could say Bennington, who lost his wife last year, wasn’t an honorable fellow. But so frightfully dull that life with him would crush Carrie’s spirits. Margrove was a rake and a gamester. He’d go through Carrie’s dowry before the year was out. Broughton was associated with a well-known courtesan, whom he confessed to be extremely fond of. It was unlikely he’d give her up. Carrie deserved better than that.

“A problem?” Charles inquired.

“Neither Sheen nor Utley are right for Carrie.”

“You’ve disregarded everyone I’ve suggested.” Charles arched his eyebrows. “Have you anyone in mind?”

Nicholas shrugged. “No one here tonight.”

“Early days,” Charles said soothingly.

Nicholas glanced sharply at him, but the nimble fellow had turned to ask a question of George Campbell, Duke of Argyll, who had just strolled up to them.

When they called the waltz, Nicholas approached Carrie. She looked up from her chair, where she fanned herself, her cheeks flushed.

What a vision she was in that gown. As he had suspected, no debutante here tonight could rival her beauty, although there were several pretty ones. He noticed a delightful blonde’s attempts to attract Dominic’s attention. Nicholas wondered how he resisted. Perhaps her mama seated beside her and watching him keenly might have deterred him?

He gazed down at Carrie. “These affairs are always overheated. Are you enjoying your first ball?”

“I am, thank you.”

Nicholas held out his hand. “I believe this dance is mine?”

She rose and took his arm with a smile. “We Leemings are such a bother.”

He laughed. “To have the prettiest young debutante at the ball on my arm? I consider myself most fortunate.”

“And I am fortunate to dance with you when the other debutantes can only sit and watch.”

She teased him, but an expression in her eyes disturbed him. He’d expected her to be excited, aglow with her success. Wasn’t she happy? “Have you enjoyed the dances?”