Falling for the Marquess - Julianne MacLean Page 0,3

Gunther’s concerned gaze swept the room, and her voice took on that haughty tone again. “This is highly improper. Where is Sophia? I would like her to explain what we are expected to—”

At that moment, a young gentleman with gold spectacles and fair hair approached and bowed. “May I have the honor of a dance?”

Clara glanced at Mrs. Gunther who hesitated at the man’s informality, then nodded, albeit reluctantly. Clara was surprised her chaperone allowed it without a proper introduction, but she supposed the woman felt as anxious and out of place as she did and didn’t want these eminent lords and ladies to know it.

So, not wishing to defy her chaperone, Clara allowed the gentleman to take her champagne glass and set it on a table. She then accepted his gloved hand and walked onto the floor with him. They danced a waltz—she had yet to see any other dance performed—and when it ended, he escorted her back to Mrs. Gunther, thanked her, and went on his way.

“That was lovely,” Clara said, “but this is not at all how Sophia described it. She said the necessity for social graces was as bad, if not worse than New York, and she’d had a very difficult time. That man did not even know who I was, nor I he.” She leaned closer to Mrs. Gunther, and whispered, “A few of the gentlemen aren’t wearing gloves. Look at that man there.”

Another couple twirled by.

Mrs. Gunther raised her chin in the air. “I don’t know what the world is coming to. We may be approaching the end of a century, but I hardly think society should act in such an uncivilized manner—noble or otherwise. Why, at one of my balls....”

Just then, a tall, imposing gentleman entered the ballroom. Clara’s attention flitted away from her chaperone’s social commentary and landed lightly upon the man now standing just inside the doors. He wore a black suit with tails and a white necktie and waistcoat, and his hair—golden and wavy like ripe wheat in the wind—was an unfashionable length, reaching his shoulders. He stepped into the room with his hands clasped behind his back and tossed his head in a most arrogant manner, throwing an errant lock of that golden hair away from his face.

He wore a black mask that matched his attire, and consequently Clara could only see his chin and mouth. It was a beautiful mouth, she decided as she watched him move closer and smile and nod at a passing gentleman. A mouth with full lips and perfect white teeth. There was a deep dimple centered on his chin, and his angular jaw was firm. Clara took another slow sip of the champagne.

He must have sensed her staring, for his gaze came to rest intently upon her. Briefly, they watched each other, to the point where it almost seemed improper, yet Clara could not tear her eyes away. Not that she was feeling brave or daring. To the contrary, she was dumbfounded and completely stuck, like a butterfly with its delicate feet caught in honey.

Gracious, but he is handsome. She knew it in the unexplored depths of her being, even though he wore a mask.

He wasted not a single second. He set out on a path toward Clara, his eyes never veering from hers. She sucked in a short, shaky breath, oblivious to whatever Mrs. Gunther was going on about. All Clara could do was watch that beautiful man saunter like a lion across the floor, his shoulders broad beneath his jacket, his gait slow and sure and languid.

He stopped before her, said nothing, and held out his hand.

Mrs. Gunther stopped talking. She saw the gloved hand beside her and turned to look at the man who belonged to it. He simply nodded at her, then lifted his hand another fraction to pull Clara out of her stupor and boldly indicate that he wanted to dance.

In complete silence, Mrs. Gunther stared at the gentleman. Clara could only presume that her chaperone was caught in the honey, too, for though her lips were parted, no words were coming out of her mouth.

Laying her gloved hand in his, and without an introduction, Clara allowed him to lead her onto the floor.

She picked up her train and looked into his eyes, and they glided harmoniously into the waltz. They went around the room a few times before he spoke.

“You’re a fresh face at one of these things.”

“I’ve only just arrived from America,” Clara replied. She would