She tried to smile. But she was not good at flirtation. Put her in a room of people she knew well, and she could carry her end of a conversation with flair and wit. Her deadpan sarcasm was legend in her family. But put her before a handsome gentleman, and her tongue twisted in knots. The only reason she had performed so well that afternoon was that she had not been sure that he was pursuing her.

It was easy to be oneself when the stakes were low.

“Dare I hope you have set aside a dance for me?” Sir Richard asked.

“I have many unclaimed dances, sir.” As she usually did.

“That cannot be.”

Iris swallowed. He was gazing down at her with an unnerving intensity. His eyes were dark, almost black, and for the first time in her life she understood what people meant when they said they could drown in someone’s eyes.

She could drown in his eyes. And she’d enjoy the descent.

“I find it difficult to believe that the gentlemen of London are so foolish as to leave you at the side of the room.”

“I do not mind,” she said, then added, “Truly,” when she saw that he did not believe her. “I very much like to watch people.”

“Do you?” he murmured. “What do you see?”

Iris looked out over the ballroom. The dance floor was a swirl of color as the ladies spun about. “There,” she said, motioning toward a young lady about twenty feet away. “She is being scolded by her mother.”

Sir Richard leaned slightly to the side for a better view. “I see nothing out of the ordinary.”

“One could argue that being scolded by one’s mother is not out of the ordinary, but look more carefully.” Iris pointed as discreetly as she could. “She’s going to be in much more trouble later. She’s not listening.”

“You can tell this from twenty feet away?”

“I have some experience with being scolded myself.”

He laughed aloud at that. “I suppose I must be too much of a gentleman to inquire what you did to warrant such a scolding.”

“Certainly, you must,” she said with an arch smile. Maybe she was finally learning how to flirt. It was rather nice, actually.

“Very well,” he said with a gracious nod, “you are most observant. I shall count that among your many positive attributes. But I will not believe that you do not like to dance.”

“I did not say I do not like to dance. I merely said I do not like to dance every dance.”

“And have you danced every dance yet this evening?”

She smiled up at him, feeling bold and powerful and quite unlike herself. “I am not dancing this dance.”

His dark brows rose at her impertinence, and he immediately gave a gracious bow. “Miss Smythe-Smith, will you do me the very great honor of dancing with me?”