Page 12 of A Highly Unlikely Duchess
“You are describing virtues, Your Grace.”
“I am describing a woman who has never once in her life done anything that was not correct,” he said. “Everything with her is black and white. Every response precisely what the situation calls for and nothing more.” He gestured vaguely. “There is no room in her for anything that is not already approved and categorized.”
Julia studied him for a moment. “This bothers you?”
“It bores me.”
“Does it?” Julia said. “Because from where I was standing earlier, you did not look remotely bored. She is the only woman I have not seen you flirt with.”
Theodore scoffed. “That is not from a lack of trying.”
“Theodore Merrick!” Julia chastised him in a hushed tone.
“Fine, I will dance with her,” he said, sighing. “Not because you’re insisting, but because I have questions.”
“Fine, I will take that. Thank you, Your Grace,” Julia said. “Now, go on.”
She was still with the Fentworths when he reached her. Lady Fentworth was mid-sentence about something, and Emily was listening as though whatever was being said was the most interesting thing she had heard all evening.
She saw him coming. He could tell by the almost imperceptible straightening of her spine, the slight recalibration of her expression.
He almost smiled.
“Lady Emily.” He inclined his head to the Fentworths first, pleasantries exchanged in the efficient, practiced way. Then he turned to her and offered his hand. “Would you do me the honor?”
He expected a pause. A fractional hesitation while she weighed the social calculus of refusing versus accepting, the implications of each, the appearance of the thing. He had seen her do it before, that barely perceptible moment of internal consultation before every decision.
She looked at his outstretched hand for precisely no time at all.
“Of course, Your Grace,” she said, and placed her hand in his.
He had not expected that, but he did not let it show.
The musicians had settled into a waltz, something elegant, and the floor had filled with couples moving in the warm, goldenlight of the room. Theodore placed his hand at her waist and felt her straighten further, if such a thing were possible, every inch of her correct, composed, and perfectly positioned.
They moved together in silence for a moment. She was a good dancer.
“You are very quiet,” he said.
“I am dancing,” she said.
“People can do both.”
“I prefer to do one thing properly than two things adequately.”
“Of course you do,” he said.
Another silence. The music moved through them. Around them, other couples laughed and talked and leaned toward each other, and Theodore watched Emily look somewhere carefully past his shoulder.
“You are doing it again,” he said.
She glanced at him. “Doing what?”
“That.” He nodded at her general bearing. “All of it. The posture, the expression, the careful distance.” He tilted his head. “We are at a small dinner party, Lady Emily. Not a state occasion.”
“I am perfectly relaxed.”
“You look like you are bracing yourself for inspection.”
