head slightly, I resolved to steer the conversation back to our acquaintance. Anything I could learn about myself would be helpful. "So…" I paused, wondering how I was to address him. Mister? Sir? Lord?
He must have seen my panic because he immediately reminded me of his name…again. "Ansley, Morgan Ansley. Marquess of Ashby, Miss Westin." His eyes were concerned, but also hurt.
That had to be hard on the ego. "Oh, no, I didn't forget your name! It's more of, well…" He already must think I’m crazy — might as well make it official. "I didn't quite know how to address you. I know that I should not call you by your first name, but beyond that, I'm afraid I'm lost." Biting my lip, I waited for his reaction, hoping he would find humor in my question rather than politely excusing himself from my company and calling the mental institution.
His expression softened, and his eyebrows rose. He spoke with a tender tone, surprising me. "Ah, I can see how it would be confusing. You may call me Ashby, or Lord Ashby if you wish." There was not a hint of annoyance or impatience in his eyes, but there was amusement. I studied his face and the masculine line of his jaw.
My eyes were lingering too long on his strong features. I broke eye contact and took a steadying breath. "Lord Ashby, would you be so kind as to tell me where we first met? If you remember, that is."
He offered me a charming smile that melted my insides. "We've been acquainted for years, Miss Westin, but I believe the first time I asked you to dance was about a year ago at the Fortshire Ball."
"I'm envious of your good memory," I remarked, wondering if I should ask more or go against my nature and be patient. Choosing patience, I tried to flirt a bit instead. "Ah…do I dance well?"
"Of course, Miss Westin." He pressed his lips together as if he was trying to hold back a smirk.
"I don't believe you, Lord Ashby," I accused jokingly.
"Good," he teased back.
"I'm clumsy? Is that what you're saying?" I asked with a wide smile. Though I knew I shouldn't be happy with his opinion of my dancing skill, it was simply fun to joke a bit.
"No, Miss Westin." He leaned forward, and I found myself mesmerized, not for the first time, by the intense blue of his eyes. "I didn't call you clumsy. You did, after you stepped on my boot for the third time."
"I did not!" I shot back, though I had no idea if I had or hadn't.
"You indeed did," he replied, leaning back in his chair and watching me closely.
I crossed my arms and leaned back into the settee. "You win. I have no idea if I did or did not, but I do know this. I am a wonderful dancer." I tilted my chin and gave him what I hoped was a secretive grin.
He just shrugged his broad shoulders but spoke no response. His eyes taunted me while I struggled to find a witty remark to keep the conversation going. Lord Ashby had put me at ease with his quick wit and charming smile. Though I assumed he wouldn't stay for a lengthy visit, I couldn't help but wish he'd linger at least a while longer. There was so much more I wanted to learn about him, yet I knew that time would be my ally. Assuming I had time, that is.
"Miss Westin, forgive my teasing. It's a pleasure to know that even if you are struggling with remembering your past, you still are remaining true to your nature." His expression went somber, and I waited for him to explain, but he looked down and broke eye contact before rising. "I thank you for seeing me today. I'm relieved to know you're on the mend. I'll take my leave now."
After bowing slightly to me, he stood up then walked away. His posture was perfect and crisp, which accented the muscular lines of his shoulders and back. As I watched him walk away, I was struck by how different he was from the men in my time. There was no swagger, no feminine sway, no sagging pants or slouching. Every line of his back was straight, and the way he held himself displayed the broadness of his shoulders and v-shape of his upper body. His legs, clothed in form fitting pants, were hard with muscle, and I found myself tilting my head