She let him lead her through the turns without treading upon his feet—a real concern with some of the ladies present. Instead she matched his stride with an unexpected elegance, as if she had been fashioned to fit him.
“You must forgive me,” he said, favoring her with his most winning smile. “I knew I had to dance with you the moment I saw you.”
He had expected a flush of pleasure, perhaps a shy smile or a triumphant gleam in her eyes—he was certainly a prize for any marriage-minded young lady. The insinuation that she had won him without effort ought to have pleased her. Instead she frowned, her brows knitting in confusion.
“I wonder that you spared no thought for my wishes, Your Grace,” she chided.
James felt his smile slipping, surprised by her terse reply. He mustered all his charm and tried again. “A woman of your rare beauty ought to be flying across the dance floor, not stuck on the sidelines.”
“I have never known beauty to be a prerequisite for dancing,” she said, a touch of reproach coloring her voice. “I was happy enough to chat with Nora, I assure you.”
Blast! Why couldn’t the damned woman simply be flattered? She ought to have fallen into his hands like a ripe peach. At her age, unmarried—and she had the temerity to chide him for deigning to show interest in her!
With a monumental effort, he forced his face into a pleasant expression. “Perhaps I was swept away by love at first sight,” he said. “Could you blame me, then, Lady Jillian, for wishing to acquire you for a dance?”
She laughed. She laughed, the vixen—not a delighted sound of pleasure, but a sweet mocking trill of amusement, as if he had told a great joke.
Needled, he inquired frostily, “What? Do you not believe in the power of love at first sight?”
“No, Your Grace,” she replied. Her fingers tightened almost imperceptibly in his and something dark flickered in her eyes, as if he had poked too close to a wound that had not healed. “That sort of thing is for fools and empty-headed young girls, and I am neither.”
“I beg your pardon,” he said, affronted. “Are you insinuating that I am a fool?”
She considered that for a moment, canting her head to the side and casting that emerald green gaze skyward in thought. The movement dislodged a curl, sent it sliding down her neck to settle near her throat, the vivid strands shining in the light, drawing his attention to the smooth expanse of glowing skin bared above the neckline of her gown. He would have lain with her if she had been a toad, but he found himself oddly relieved that she was not.
“I believe I might be,” she said at last.
He found himself unwillingly amused. It would be much easier to feign interest in her if she were actually interesting, he supposed. He couldn’t imagine that her chaperone would be impressed with her behavior, however.
“And do you imply such things of all of your suitors?” he asked.