can try,” he answered with a twinkling grin.
Dorothea swallowed a small sigh of disappointment. The major seemed to be a very pleasant, affable man, but it was Atwood’s attention she craved, not his friend’s. How marvelous it would be to dance, and flirt, with the marquess. But he had not asked her.
“I shall be delighted to dance with you, sir.” Pasting a bright smile on her face, Dorothea allowed the major to lead her onto the dance floor.
They assumed their places. Major Roddington initially set himself on the wrong side. The gentleman on his left gave him a sharp poke, pointing out the error. Hastily changing positions, the major favored her with a sheepish grin.
Dorothea’s answering smile held true warmth. Perhaps it was better to be paired with the major. He seemed a kind man. He was handsome in an unpolished, rugged way, with a trim, fit physique. She liked how he smiled at his ineptitude, for it was a rare treat indeed to encounter a man who did not take himself so seriously.
The music began and each couple bowed elegantly. Hands held, they came together in the pattern of the dance. They crossed next to each other, took a few steps forward, then back.
Dorothea pivoted gracefully on the ball of her foot, turned to the man on her right, and came face-to-face with the Marquess of Atwood. She sucked in a sharp breath. He appeared not to notice as he took her hand.
And squeezed it playfully. Good heavens! She gazed intently at the marquess, certain she must be mistaken at what had happened. Or wistful?
Regaining her composure, Dorothea repeated the dance pattern. She waited breathlessly as her hand once again was clasped within the palm of the marquess’s large one. And then…another squeeze, followed by a gentle caress.
Dorothea’s feet stumbled as she missed a step. The major sent her a sympathetic glance. Had he seen what happened? No, that was unlikely. He was concentrating too hard on where to place his feet and when to turn. She swallowed. Why did Lord Atwood keep touching her in such a manner? Was he flirting? Teasing? But if he was interested in her, then why hadn’t he asked her to dance?
Deciding the only way to complete the dance successfully, Dorothea concluded she must ignore Atwood and focus her attention exclusively on the major. When the steps next brought them close, she smiled charmingly at Major Roddington, tilting her head deliberately to one side. Her best side. The side that she always thought showcased her features to their fullest advantage.
“How are your toes faring, Miss Ellingham?” the major whispered.
“They are quite safe at the moment,” she whispered back. “I think you are far too modest in your assessment of your dancing skills.”
He laughed, and she caught a quick glimpse of a most appealing dimple in his cheek. “You are very well-mannered, young lady.”
“Nonsense. I applaud your effort.”
“You must forgive my lack of entertaining conversation.” The major smiled as he turned to face her again. “I confess, I am counting the steps. Which I know is terribly gauche.”
They twirled, then met again. “At least you are counting silently in your head,” Dorothea quipped. “I know of at least two gentlemen who mutter the numbers under their breath as they dance. ’Tis most distracting.”
“Are you insulting the major?” Lord Atwood interjected.
The unexpected question seemed to startle Roddington as much as Dorothea. He missed his footing and did indeed step on her toe. Dorothea skillfully hid her wince.
She was forced to wait until the figures drew them together before she could answer the marquess. “Stop being such a pest, my lord, and pay attention to your own partner.”
The marquess abruptly ceased dancing, causing the other two couples in their set to bump into each other. One of the gentlemen coughed deferentially to gain the marquess’s attention. Atwood immediately inclined his head in apology and took up where he had left off, though Dorothea noted gleefully that he was no longer in time to the music.
She raised her brow challengingly at Lord Atwood as they came together for a final time. He gazed into her eyes with an intense stare, but did nothing improper. She inhaled, feeling jittery and oddly disappointed.
The major escorted her from the dance floor. Lord Atwood retreated in the opposite direction. Dorothea smiled routinely, expressing her thanks, trying to settle her nerves. It had been fun dancing with the major, yet it was the moments when she met and sparred with the marquess that stuck in her mind.
There was a brief pause as the musicians set themselves for the next dance.
“I believe you have promised the waltz to me, Miss Ellingham,” a deep voice proclaimed.
“Did I?” she remarked airily. Dorothea consulted the dance card that hung from her wrist on a white satin ribbon, not especially caring for the possessive tone in Lord Rosen’s voice.
Previously he had treated her with a formal reserve she initially found intimidating and later decided was more amusing than anything else. He had been among the first to notice her when she came to Town, monopolizing her shamefully at her first society outing. A meeting with the Marquess of Dardington quickly changed that circumstance, but a few weeks ago Lord Rosen had made a second appearance as a potential suitor.
Dorothea had dismissed him from her thoughts because she had been pursuing Arthur Pengrove. And, she also admitted, because Lord Rosen was a bit daunting. He was older, nearly forty, a gentleman with sophisticated tastes and libertarian ways. He was, by many accounts, an accomplished rake. What then could he possibly see in her? She vacillated wildly between feeling flattered and puzzled by his attention.
“There, see my name.” Lord Rosen pointed to her dance card. “’Tis written in such a fine, feminine hand. It appears that everything you do is close to perfection.”
Heavens above, was he teasing? She glanced up at him. He sent her a provocative glance and she wondered what he really thought. Did he in truth hold her in any esteem? Or was this part of an elaborate game, a carefully orchestrated seduction?
Resolving not to let herself be provoked, Dorothea repressed a waspish retort and composed her features into blandness. Surely nothing would scare the handsome, dashing Lord Rosen away faster than a limp, placid female.
He appraised her with a measuring gaze and Dorothea realized her ploy had not worked. In fact, it seemed to have the opposite result. Instead of becoming bored and disinterested in her, Lord Rosen seemed keener than ever to spend time in her company.
“The waltz is the most intimate of dances, is it not?” he whispered.
“It can be,” she replied, her voice thin and fragile. Oh, dear this would not do. Not at all. Dorothea cleared her throat. “With the right partner,” she added in a far stronger tone.
“Yes, the choice of a partner can make the difference in so many of life’s experiences,” he said smoothly.
Dorothea felt the color rush to her cheeks. There were those who said a reformed rake made the best husband. Her own brother-in-law, Jason Barrington, was living proof of the truth in that statement. Still, Dorothea was not convinced of the universal application of that theory and wondered again if it was wise to test it personally.
On the other hand, Arthur Pengrove was no longer a possible matrimonial candidate. Perhaps she had been too hasty in her assessment of Lord Rosen’s character. A more mature, worldly gentleman like Lord Rosen might make the ideal husband for her.
Besides, her own requirement that she kiss any gentleman whom she considered to be a potential husband before agreeing to marriage would be an easy feat to accomplish. Given his reputation and experience, it was safe to say that Lord Rosen would not object nor censure what others might label as forward behavior when she encouraged a kiss.
Dorothea offered him a warm smile. “The music is about to begin, my lord. Shall we?”
She