Ten Ways to Be Adored When Landing a Lord
Page 66
Isabel could not help but laugh at the bizarre turn of events, drawing the notice of their dinner companions.
“James did say one thing about Lady Isabel during our conversation that has me very intrigued.”
He had the attention of the entire table now, and Isabel felt a thread of nervousness uncoil. Surely he would not repeat anything embarrassing, would he?
“What was that, Lord Nicholas?” Lara prompted.
“He claims that she is a champion at charades.”
“Oh, she is!” Lara agreed. “I’ve never seen her equal.”
“I should like to see proof of that.” He leveled Isabel with a contemplative look. “But first, I believe that we have an appointment for dancing.”
Within moments, they had agreed to adjourn to the ballroom, and Isabel’s anticipation had set her on edge.
Nick held her chair as she stood, and Isabel turned to thank him, only to find him watching her thoughtfully. Distracted from her observation by his intensity, she dipped her head and said, “Thank you.”
He offered her his arm. When she took it, the heat of him rising up from the thick fabric of his coat, he leaned down and said, “I think you should know, I would have used a different phrase altogether to describe you.”
Isabel felt her heart quicken, but attempted a light air. “You mean, other than ‘not ugly'?”
“He did not smile, and all of a sudden, there seemed to be less air in the room than there had been previously. Isabel caught her breath in anticipation.
“I would have described you as magnificent.”
The ballroom had been transformed.
Isabel stopped short as she entered the enormous room, shocked. She had discussed the plans for the evening with Jane immediately after leaving Nick that afternoon, letting her know that the drop cloths needed to be removed from a section of the ballroom and suggesting that they dust the pianoforte in preparation for the evening.
Instead, Jane had worked a miracle.
The far end of the ballroom glowed in the soft, golden light from several dozen candles, unmatched and clearly pilfered from around the house and installed on tall candelabras.
The lights had been strategically placed to create an intimate area of usable space, cordoned off with two low chaise longues on either end, and several comfortable chairs set off to one side.
There was a table of refreshments also, with a large crystal bowl of lemonade, a bottle of brandy from the cellars, along with several snifters and a platter of petits fours that James immediately pillaged. Isabel could not help but smile at the addition—she would wager that Gwen had spent much of the afternoon working on the tiny pastries.
Every surface gleamed with fresh polish, and Isabel wondered how many of the girls it had taken to turn the unused space into a little mini-ballroom, fit for an evening of dancing. “It is beautiful,” she whispered, forgetting her audience for a moment.
“You seem surprised,” Nick said, quietly.
“I am.” She laughed, a small, delighted sound. “It’s been a decade since this room has been used for its intended purpose. We clean it periodically and use it rarely, but never for balls …” She trailed off, one hand waving absently in the air as she searched for the rest of the sentence. “We don’t have much cause for balls at Townsend Park. We are severely lacking in dance partners.”
He smiled as she laughed again, and bowed low in an exaggerated way. “You have several willing ones this evening, my lady.”
She met his smile with her own. “So we do.”
An interior door to the ballroom opened then, and Georgiana entered, head down, moving quickly, as though she was not interested in the activities of the inhabitants of the room. Isabel opened her mouth to ask if there was something wrong, so surprised was she that the governess—who had been so terrified of being spotted by Nick—would choose to join them. She was stayed from speaking, however, when the young woman sat down at the dimly lit pianoforte, her back to them, and began to play a waltz.
James went to sit with her as Rock bowed to Lara, inviting her to dance. Within seconds, she was in his arms, and the two were floating across the room, Lara’s pale blue silk glittering in the candlelight. Isabel watched them with a mix of curiosity and nervousness, wanting to consider their obvious connection, but altogether too aware of Nick’s nearness.
After an interminably long wait, she was rewarded with his low, deep voice. “Isabel …”
“Hmm?” She tried desperately for a tone of distant interest.
She heard the smile in his words when he said, “Would you care to dance? ”
“Yes, please,” she replied, her voice barely a whisper.
And then she was in his arms, and they were twirling across the room.
“James’s governess has a gift for the piano.”
“Minerva House boasts many talents, my lord.” Isabel did not want to talk about the girls. She did not want to hide from him. Not now. Not while she was in his arms. “You are an excellent dancer.”
He dipped his head, spinning her around a tall candelabrum and heading off toward the far end of the dance floor. “How it is that you think you cannot waltz?”
“I … I never do …” He turned her again, and she closed her eyes to enjoy the movement, the sheer strength of him, the way that he managed her weight so gracefully, swaying in time to the music.
“You should. Your body was made to be held like this.” The words were soft and lush at her ear, and she knew that he was holding her much too closely. That she should tell him to stop.
“James did say one thing about Lady Isabel during our conversation that has me very intrigued.”
He had the attention of the entire table now, and Isabel felt a thread of nervousness uncoil. Surely he would not repeat anything embarrassing, would he?
“What was that, Lord Nicholas?” Lara prompted.
“He claims that she is a champion at charades.”
“Oh, she is!” Lara agreed. “I’ve never seen her equal.”
“I should like to see proof of that.” He leveled Isabel with a contemplative look. “But first, I believe that we have an appointment for dancing.”
Within moments, they had agreed to adjourn to the ballroom, and Isabel’s anticipation had set her on edge.
Nick held her chair as she stood, and Isabel turned to thank him, only to find him watching her thoughtfully. Distracted from her observation by his intensity, she dipped her head and said, “Thank you.”
He offered her his arm. When she took it, the heat of him rising up from the thick fabric of his coat, he leaned down and said, “I think you should know, I would have used a different phrase altogether to describe you.”
Isabel felt her heart quicken, but attempted a light air. “You mean, other than ‘not ugly'?”
“He did not smile, and all of a sudden, there seemed to be less air in the room than there had been previously. Isabel caught her breath in anticipation.
“I would have described you as magnificent.”
The ballroom had been transformed.
Isabel stopped short as she entered the enormous room, shocked. She had discussed the plans for the evening with Jane immediately after leaving Nick that afternoon, letting her know that the drop cloths needed to be removed from a section of the ballroom and suggesting that they dust the pianoforte in preparation for the evening.
Instead, Jane had worked a miracle.
The far end of the ballroom glowed in the soft, golden light from several dozen candles, unmatched and clearly pilfered from around the house and installed on tall candelabras.
The lights had been strategically placed to create an intimate area of usable space, cordoned off with two low chaise longues on either end, and several comfortable chairs set off to one side.
There was a table of refreshments also, with a large crystal bowl of lemonade, a bottle of brandy from the cellars, along with several snifters and a platter of petits fours that James immediately pillaged. Isabel could not help but smile at the addition—she would wager that Gwen had spent much of the afternoon working on the tiny pastries.
Every surface gleamed with fresh polish, and Isabel wondered how many of the girls it had taken to turn the unused space into a little mini-ballroom, fit for an evening of dancing. “It is beautiful,” she whispered, forgetting her audience for a moment.
“You seem surprised,” Nick said, quietly.
“I am.” She laughed, a small, delighted sound. “It’s been a decade since this room has been used for its intended purpose. We clean it periodically and use it rarely, but never for balls …” She trailed off, one hand waving absently in the air as she searched for the rest of the sentence. “We don’t have much cause for balls at Townsend Park. We are severely lacking in dance partners.”
He smiled as she laughed again, and bowed low in an exaggerated way. “You have several willing ones this evening, my lady.”
She met his smile with her own. “So we do.”
An interior door to the ballroom opened then, and Georgiana entered, head down, moving quickly, as though she was not interested in the activities of the inhabitants of the room. Isabel opened her mouth to ask if there was something wrong, so surprised was she that the governess—who had been so terrified of being spotted by Nick—would choose to join them. She was stayed from speaking, however, when the young woman sat down at the dimly lit pianoforte, her back to them, and began to play a waltz.
James went to sit with her as Rock bowed to Lara, inviting her to dance. Within seconds, she was in his arms, and the two were floating across the room, Lara’s pale blue silk glittering in the candlelight. Isabel watched them with a mix of curiosity and nervousness, wanting to consider their obvious connection, but altogether too aware of Nick’s nearness.
After an interminably long wait, she was rewarded with his low, deep voice. “Isabel …”
“Hmm?” She tried desperately for a tone of distant interest.
She heard the smile in his words when he said, “Would you care to dance? ”
“Yes, please,” she replied, her voice barely a whisper.
And then she was in his arms, and they were twirling across the room.
“James’s governess has a gift for the piano.”
“Minerva House boasts many talents, my lord.” Isabel did not want to talk about the girls. She did not want to hide from him. Not now. Not while she was in his arms. “You are an excellent dancer.”
He dipped his head, spinning her around a tall candelabrum and heading off toward the far end of the dance floor. “How it is that you think you cannot waltz?”
“I … I never do …” He turned her again, and she closed her eyes to enjoy the movement, the sheer strength of him, the way that he managed her weight so gracefully, swaying in time to the music.
“You should. Your body was made to be held like this.” The words were soft and lush at her ear, and she knew that he was holding her much too closely. That she should tell him to stop.
