Christiana went no more willingly than her sisters had accompanied Daniel. However, where her sisters had seemed reluctant to cause a public spectacle, “his wife” apparently didn’t care. He’d barely dragged her half a dozen feet before she planted her feet firmly and yanked her arm from his hold in a way that anyone watching would have noticed. She also planted her hands firmly on her hips and glared at him in a way that almost dared him to try to force her from the room.

Richard glanced briefly around, frowning when he saw that they weren’t going without notice. Mouth tightening, he turned back to his “wife” and said firmly, “We need to go somewhere more private to talk.”

“No.”

His eyebrows rose in surprise at the blunt refusal. “No? But—”

“I have had quite enough of your ‘talk’ during this last year of marriage, my lord,” she said grimly. “And I have no intention of being the docile little wife I have been to now and follow you to some empty room so that you can berate and insult me. I also have no intention of leaving this, the very first ball I have ever attended.”

Richard tried his most charming smile, “I don’t intend to insult or berate you, and this can hardly be your first ball.”

“You know it is,” she said at once.

He shook his head, not believing her. “I’m sure you attended many during your season. You—”

“You know I had no season,” she interrupted, confusion flashing briefly across her face. It was quickly replaced with anger. “I do not know what game you now play, Dicky, but I have no intention of leaving this room with you.”

Richard hesitated briefly, wondering why she hadn’t had a season, and if that were the case how she had come to meet and marry his brother, but then decided that wasn’t important at the moment. He needed to know if his brother yet lived or not, and since she wouldn’t leave the room with him, he had to find another way to gain them some privacy. His gaze slid over the people milling about the ball room and then he became aware that the strains of a waltz were starting. Nodding to himself, he glanced back to his “wife.” “Then perhaps you would do me the honor of dancing with me?”

Her eyes narrowed. “You don’t dance. That has always been one of your excuses for not attending the ball s during the season. You would not even dance at our wedding.”

Richard managed to keep from grimacing. He’d forgotten that George had always seemed to have two left feet. Their dance instructor had done his best when they were children, but George simply hadn’t been able to manage any sort of grace on the dance floor and had finally refused lessons.

Managing to hold on to his smile he said, “Yes, well, I am willing to give it my best effort now. Will you not dance with me?”