Page 37 of The Unlovable Lady
“So no one could say I arrived beside you by accident.”
The figure took her away before she could answer.
Dover watched her go down the line, bronze-gold candlelight catching in the dark green of her gown. When she came back, the color had not left her face.
“You are aware,” she said, very low, “that the room is already talking.”
“Westcott has made certain I am aware.”
“And you do not mind?”
A month ago the question would have been enough to send him toward the nearest door. Tonight he looked past her shoulder at the company and found several people very carefully not looking at them.
“No,” he said. “I do not.”
Her breath caught.
The music turned them, parted them, returned them.
He did not explain further. That was another thing he had learned in her company: a thing honestly said did not improve because a man stood over it talking.
When the set ended, he gave her his hand and kept it only as long as the room allowed.
“Rosalind.”
The use of her name was low enough for her alone.
She looked up.
“I mean to court you.”
For once she had no ready deflection. Her lips parted, then closed again.
“If you wish it,” he added. “I have no intention of deciding the matter for both of us.”
Around them chairs shifted and another set began to form. Charlotte was watching from beside the fire with no attempt at concealment. Lady Holt was watching too, but her face gave away less.
Rosalind’s fingers tightened once in his before she remembered that he still held her hand.
“That is a very serious thing to say in the middle of a ballroom.”
“I know.”
“And if I say yes, you cannot pretend tomorrow that you meant only the dancing.”
“I know that too.”
The corner of her mouth moved.
“Then yes, James,” she said softly. “You may court me.”
Something in his chest went suddenly light.
He bowed over her hand, correctly enough for every eye in the room.
“Thank you, Lady Rosalind.”
“Do not look so solemn. You have only been given permission to try.”
