received our highest military honor, and who would find a fault with that?”
The corner of his mouth kicked up. “Are you awfully impressed?”
“Of course,” she said. “What woman is not impressed by a brave man in uniform?”
“Ah yes, the uniform. Alas, that bright red does not suit my coloring in the slightest.”
He winked at her.
Almost against her will, she was intrigued by his outrageous vanity.
“The war—was it the Zulu invasion?” she asked.
His shoulder tensed beneath her palm. “No,” he said. “Afghanistan.”
Oh. “I hear it was devastating,” she said earnestly.
“It’s always devastating in Afghanistan,” he said, “but it is rare to find a woman interested in politics.” His expression had turned polite, so polite it was almost blank. Admittedly, he was right to block that avenue of conversation. War was a most unsuitable subject for small talk.
“Perhaps you should have been warned of my reputation, my lord,” she said.
That rekindled the spark in his eyes. “Now you tell me. What danger am I in, miss?”
“I’m a bluestocking,” she said. “I study at Oxford and I read all the pages of a newspaper. Especially the pages on politics.”
His gaze darkened and in the next turn, he pulled her closer, and she could smell sandalwood and tobacco on him. “Careful,” he murmured, his voice impossibly low, “some men consider intelligence in a woman a rather potent aphrodisiac.”
He’d probably consider it an aphrodisiac if a woman was looking his way and breathing. She strained slightly against his hold, and mercifully, he gave an inch.
“If you are at Oxford, you know Lady Lucie,” he said.
Surprise almost made her misstep. “She’s a friend, my lord.”
An odd expression crossed his handsome face. “How wonderful,” he said. “Does she still have her cat?”
“Her . . . cat?”
“Yes, Boudicca. A fierce, clever little thing, much like its owner.”
She hadn’t known Lucie had a cat, so how did he know?
She realized then that the music had ceased and that he was still holding her hand.
She gave a light tug.
Ballentine placed her hand onto his arm. “Where may I escort you, miss? I’d suggest the terrace.”
“I’d rather sit down again.” She scanned the ballroom from the corner of her eyes. Where was safe, manageable Peter?
“Come now,” Ballentine said, perusing her face with his half-lidded gaze, “we both know you are utterly wasted as a wallflower.”
He began to walk unerringly toward the terrace doors, and she had to follow.
“My lord,” she said tightly, but he only grinned.
Ballentine never takes no for an answer.
Panic raced down her spine, and her heart began to drum. She would have to cause a scene. She would have to dig in her heels and it would cause a scene, but she couldn’t end up alone with this randy giant . . .
There was a movement in the crowd, and her head turned inexorably, like a compass needle turning north.
Montgomery was scything across the dance floor toward them, his cold bright eyes trained on Lord Ballentine like a marksman aiming a rifle. Ballentine’s arm turned rigid beneath her hand, his body immediately responding to the threat.
When the duke reached them, the air around him was snapping with barely checked tension.
“Miss Archer,” he said, his eyes remaining on Lord Ballentine.
“Your Grace?”
“Ballentine.”
Ballentine bobbed his head. “Duke.”
Montgomery offered his arm to her, still staring at the young viscount. “Allow me.”
Ballentine didn’t miss a beat; he did not quite fling her hand away, but he released her speedily and bowed. “Miss, it was an honor.” He turned to Montgomery and nodded. “Duke.”
“Ballentine.”
Annabelle stared at Lord Ballentine’s retreating back, then at her hand, now curled over Montgomery’s forearm. He had rescued her in the middle of the ballroom.
She did not dare to look at him. She felt the tightly coiled tension in his muscles through layers of silk and wool, felt the eyes of a hundred people on her. Her skin was burning hot. Would that the floor opened and swallowed her now.
The merry tunes of another quadrille picked up, and Montgomery led her away from the dance floor as the stomp stomp stomp of the dancers’ feet echoed the frenetic pulse of her blood.
Chapter 15
The reception room was a blur, and then the cacophony of voices and music faded and cool air touched her heated face. Montgomery was still staring ahead as he walked, displeasure swirling around him like steam.
“I advise you to stay away from Ballentine,” he said.
“I had no intention of keeping him close, Your Grace.”