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

“Yes. But one older gentleman who partnered me tonight hopped about in a spritely fashion, and another younger man trod on both of my feet.”

“What’s Gwen about, accepting an old fellow to dance with you?” he said as the orchestra struck up.

She smiled impishly as he took her in his arms. “It’s said some older men are steadier and more reliable.”

“As long as they’re not in their dotage,” Nicholas said. “That won’t do for you, Carrie.”

“What will do for me?” she asked, suddenly serious.

He smiled. “This is your first ball, Carrie. Shall we wait awhile?”

Nicholas was silenced as he settled Carrie in his arms. He breathed in the sweet flowery fragrance of her hair, his hand on her slender back. Her small-gloved hand rested in his. He abandoned any flippant response he might have made and surrendered to the waltz.

His hand spanned her narrow waist as he guided her through the steps to the strains of a sublime Mozart sonata. It might be the only time he danced with her. Aware they were on view, he raised his chin to avoid staring at the beguiling view of her bosom peeping from a froth of lace.

“I suspect some men find dancing a bore. Do you, Nicholas?” Carrie’s question drew his gaze down to meet hers.

“When my partner is as light as a feather? Certainly not.”

A small frown marred the skin between her eyebrows. “I have had a surfeit of compliments tonight.”

“Poor fellows. Most likely, they are not of a poetical persuasion,” he said, amused.

“It’s as though they feel obliged to praise me.”

“You are too harsh, Carrie.”

“I find some people’s behavior quite shocking.”

He resisted a smile. “Oh?”

“A lady encouraged the attentions of a man who is not her husband. She handed him a note which was hidden behind her fan. And her husband was standing nearby.”

“It goes on, Carrie. But much of it is harmless.” He nodded to a lady who swept past them on Lord Cresborne’s arm. “Mrs. Browning is a contented wife but see how she laughs and indulges her partner in a light flirtation. It is a sport in which the ton indulge.”

“Not if it’s dishonest and can cause mistrust…and hurt.”

“It won’t if you understand the rules.”

“Which rules?”

She was youthfully idealistic but right in some respects. The behavior of the ton was too often hurtful and cruel. “One must be discreet.”

“So, after I’m married, as long as I’m discreet, it’s acceptable for me to have affairs?”

He tightened his jaw, finding the idea repulsive. “Some do. Most do not.”

“Well, I shall not. And I will flirt only with the man I am to marry.”

“I believe I heard a collective sigh from the men dancing around us.”

She pressed her lips together.

Nicholas looked away from Carrie’s very kissable mouth. He would hate to see her become cynical. His hand firmed at her waist as he suffered a fierce desire to protect her, to whisk her away. Madness. “Have you not warmed to anyone you’ve met tonight?”

Carrie shook her head. She closed her eyes. “I don’t want to talk about them. Not now.”

She was so unaffected and natural for a beauty. He hoped it wouldn’t change. The poets would write sonnets extolling her beauty, and she was sure to break hearts. He marveled at long dark lashes fluttering against her cheek and enjoyed far too much how well their bodies moved together. As they danced down the length of the ballroom, the music swelled to a magnificent crescendo, while golden lights from the chandeliers were reflected in the mirrors and embellished the fiery luster of her hair.

“Oh Nicholas, this is lovely,” she murmured. “I want to dance on forever.”

Carrie yearned to live, to love. And she deserved the best. He could protect her and pleasure her with infinite care. Make a thorough job of it, where other fellows might not. The picture of her stretched out naked in his bed ran in his mind like temptation.

Nicholas pulled himself up sharply. He was not suited to marriage. He had been on his own too long. Carrie sought a poetic soul, free-spirited. Once he returned to the country, his busy routine would banish any dangerous thoughts. He wished his denial hadn’t begun to sound like a refrain.

All too soon, the music slowed, and the dance ended. Around them, others prepared to leave the floor. Carrie rested her fingertips on his arm. Her eyes, soft as velvet, held him captive. No wonder there’d been so much resistance to the waltz when it was first introduced in England. It was the closest to making love one could do in a crowded room. He escorted her back to her seat.

As Gwen had not yet returned to her chair, Nicholas remained while Carrie seated herself and arranged her things about her.

“Have you a partner for the supper dance?” he asked.

“No. Have you?”

He hadn’t. But now he must. He turned to survey the crowd. “If you’ll excuse me, Carrie, I must seek the lady before some fellow claims her hand.”

“Thank you for the dance, Nicholas.” She lowered her head and fussed with her fan.

Nicholas crossed the floor to find a waiter with a tray of champagne. He would have preferred a stiff brandy, but none was on offer. As he nursed his drink, several young men crowded around Carrie, seeking an introduction from Nellie, who had joined her. He should go over and sort those young bucks out but didn’t have the heart for it.

“Nicholas?”

Gwen stood at his elbow.

“The evening is a success. You have done admirably, Gwen.”

“That’s not what I want to talk to you about.” She took his arm and drew him into a quiet corner.

He stared at her concerned face. “Is this necessary? Why the secrecy?”

“It’s Miss Carswell.”

“From the village?” He