Ask For It(11)

The telltale swish of heavy silk skirts announced a new participant in their conversation. “I agree,” murmured the elderly Duchess of Ravensend as she completed their circle. “She’s just a child and could never hope to do that man justice.”

“Your Grace.” Elizabeth dipped a quick curtsy before her godmother.

The duchess had a mischievous gleam in her soft brown eyes. “Unfortunate that you are now widowed, my dear, but it does present you and the earl with renewed opportunities.”

Elizabeth closed her eyes and prayed for patience. From the very beginning her godmother had championed Marcus’s suit. “Westfield is a scoundrel. I consider myself fortunate to have discovered that fact before saying my vows.”

“He is quite possibly the handsomest man I have ever seen,” observed Margaret. “Next to William, of course.”

“And attractively formed,” added the duchess as she peered at Marcus through her lorgnette. “Prime husband material.”

Sighing, Elizabeth fluffed her skirts and fought the urge to roll her eyes. “I wish you both would set aside the notion that I marry again. I will not.”

“Hawthorne was barely more than a boy,” noted the duchess. “Westfield is a man. You will find the experience to be quite different should you choose him to share your bed. No one said marriage was required.”

“I have no desire to be added to that libertine’s list of conquests. He is a voluptuary. You cannot deny that, Your Grace.”

“There is something to be said for a man with experience,” Margaret offered. “Married to your brother, I would know.” She waggled her brows suggestively.

Elizabeth shuddered. “Margaret, please.”

“Lady Hawthorne.”

Turning quickly, she faced George Stanton with a grateful smile. He bowed, his handsome face awash in a friendly grin.

“I would be pleased to dance with you,” she said before he could ask. Eager to get away, she placed her fingertips upon his sleeve and allowed him to lead her away.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“You appeared to be in need of rescue.”

She grinned as they took their places in line. “You are remarkably astute, my dear friend.”

With a sidelong glance, she watched as Marcus bowed over the young Clara’s hand and escorted her to the dance floor. As he moved toward her, Elizabeth couldn’t help but admire his seductive gait. A man who moved as he did would be an expert lover, there was no doubt. Other women watched him as well, coveted him as she did, lusted for him …

When he lifted his head to catch her gaze, Elizabeth looked away quickly from his knowing smile. The man knew just how to rile her and was ungentlemanly enough to use that knowledge to his advantage.

As the steps of the contredanse brought the dancers together and then moved them apart she followed his progress out of the corner of her eye. The next step would bring them together. Heated anticipation coursed through her veins.

She withdrew from George and turned gracefully to face Marcus. Knowing the encounter would be fleeting she permitted herself to enjoy the sight and smell of him. She drew a deep breath and set her palms against his. Desire flared instantly. She saw it in his eyes, felt it in her blood. She retreated with a sigh of relief.

As the music for the dance concluded, Elizabeth rose from her low curtsy. She couldn’t resist smiling. It had been so long since she’d danced, she had almost forgotten how much she enjoyed it.

George returned her smile and deftly moved them into position for the next dance in the set.

Someone stepped in front of them, blocking their way. Before she looked up, she knew who it was. Her heart rate quickened.

Obviously, she’d miscalculated the lengths Marcus would go to to achieve his ends.

He nodded curtly in greeting. “Mr. Stanton.”

“Lord Westfield.” George looked to Elizabeth with a frown.

“Lady Clara, may I present to you Mr. George Stanton?” Marcus asked. “Stanton, the lovely Lady Clara.”

George collected Clara’s hand and bowed. “A pleasure.”

Before Elizabeth could guess his intent, Marcus had reached for her. “An excellent pairing,” Marcus said. “Lady Hawthorne and I, being de trop, shall leave you two to finish the set.”