“Look at me, not your feet,” he quietly commanded, wanting to bask in the glory of that smile again. She tipped her head back and flashed him an impish grin that he felt deep in his chest.

“You’ll be sorry, my lord. Or rather, your toes will.”

“How old are you?” Weston asked before he could stop himself.

“Five and twenty. How old are you?”

“A decade older than you,” Weston answered, amused by her brashness. She was forward, that was certainly true, but he didn’t see any signs that she was putting on an act of innocence for his benefit. One look in her guileless eyes convinced him that she was indeed an Original—open, honest, and completely untouched by the debauched society that made up the ton. The glow from her innocence and gentle femininity washed over him in a wave of sudden welcome warmth. He entertained a pleasant picture of her sitting by the fire in his library, her head bent over a bit of feminine frippery, their evenings spent in quiet, tranquil companionship.

Charlotte watched as the pair danced, a smile playing about her lips. Gillian and the Black Earl were well suited, in her opinion, Gillian’s height matching the earl’s well. She grimaced when Gillian stepped on the earl’s toes yet again, stifled a giggle when Gillian laughed at the earl’s response, and watched with surprise when the earl suddenly stumbled and came to a halt for a moment before picking up the tempo of the waltz again. What had Gillian said that disconcerted him so?

Gillian couldn’t believe her mouth had blurted out the words she had been thinking. The earl’s eyes glittered silver as she held her breath for his response, and hoped he’d realize that she hadn’t meant to be impertinent, it was just natural curiosity. If he hadn’t distracted her by staring at her lips, she’d have been paying attention to their conversation. God’s toes, he drove her wits straight from her mind when he looked at her lips like that. It was surely his own fault if she babbled at him as a result.

“I must decline the opportunity to answer your question, my dear.”

Put in my place, and rightly so, Gillian thought with relief, and gave herself up to the heady pleasure of being in the arms of the handsomest man at the ball. She wasn’t concerned with what people were saying about him—she prided herself on being an excellent judge of people and was quite confident that he was innocent of the crime society had pinned on him. No man could hide a soul capable of such a heinous act behind those forthcoming, open, beautiful eyes.

“Is there a particular reason you wish to know?” Weston asked curiously.

“There usually is a reason for everything I ask,” Gillian replied dreamily, dismissing his frown as she gave herself up to the music and the magic of the dance. The earl was right—there wasn’t much to the waltz once you remembered to count. She felt pleased she had picked it up so quickly, stepping on his toes only eight or nine times in total, and wondered if Charlotte was watching her triumph.