"You are Lady Paget," he said. "I am pleased to make your acquaintance, ma'am."
"Are you?" Her eyelids had drooped half over her eyes, and she was regarding him from beneath them. Her eyes were still amused.
Over her shoulder he could see couples taking their places on the dance floor. The musicians were tuning their instruments.
"Lady Paget," he said, "would you care to waltz?"
"I would indeed care to," she said, "if I had a partner."
And she smiled fully and with such dazzling force that Stephen almost took another step back.
"Shall I try that again?" he said. "Lady Paget, would you care to waltz /with me/?"
"I would indeed, Lord Merton," she said. "Why do you think I collided with you?"
Good Lord.
Well, /good Lord/!
He held out his arm for her hand.
It was a long-fingered hand encased in a white glove. It might never have wielded an axe, Stephen thought. It might never have wielded any weapon with deadly force. But it was very dangerous nonetheless. /She/ was very dangerous.
The trouble was, he really did not know what his mind meant by telling him that.
He was going to waltz with the notorious Lady Paget – and lead her in to supper afterward.
He would swear his wrist was tingling where her hand rested on his sleeve.
He felt stupidly young and gauche and naive – none of which he was to any marked degree.
The Earl of Merton was taller than Cassandra had thought – half a head or more taller than she. He was broad shouldered, and his chest and arms were well muscled. There was no need of any padding with his figure. His waist and hips were slender, his legs long and shapely. His eyes were intensely blue and seemed to smile even when his face was in repose. His mouth was wide and good-humored. She had always thought that dark-haired men had a strong advantage when it came to male attractiveness. But this man was golden blond and physically perfect.
He smelled of maleness and something subtle and musky. He was surely younger than she. He was also – and not at all surprisingly – very popular with the ladies. She had seen how those who were not dancing had followed him wistfully with their eyes during the last two sets – and even a few of those who /were/ dancing. She had seen a few glance his way with growing agitation as the time to take partners for the waltz grew close. Several, she suspected, had waited until the last possible moment before accepting other, less desirable partners.
There was an air of openness about him, almost of innocence.
Cassandra set one hand on his shoulder and the other in his as his right arm came about her waist and the music began.
She was not responsible for guarding his innocence. She had been quite open with him. She had told him she remembered seeing him yesterday. She had told him she had deliberately discovered his identity and just as deliberately collided with him a short while ago so that he would dance with her. That was warning enough. If he was fool enough after the waltz was over to continue to consort with the notorious Lady Paget – axe murderer, husband killer – then on his own head be the consequences.
She closed her eyes briefly as he spun her into the first twirl of the dance. She gave in to a moment of wistfulness. How lovely it would be simply to relax for half an hour and enjoy herself. It seemed to her that her life had been devoid of enjoyment for a long, long time.
But relaxation and enjoyment were luxuries she could not afford.
She looked into Lord Merton's eyes. They were smiling back at her.
"You waltz well," he said.
Did she? She had danced it once in London a number of years ago and a few times at country assemblies. She did not consider herself accomplished in the steps.
"Of course I do," she said, "when I have a partner who waltzes even better."
"The youngest of my sisters would be delighted to take the credit," he said. "She taught me years ago, when I was a boy with two left feet who thought dancing was for girls and wished to be out climbing trees and swimming in streams instead."
"Your sister was wise," she said. "She realized that boys grow up into men who understand that waltzing is a necessary prelude to courtship."
He raised his eyebrows.
"Or," she added, "to seduction."
His blue eyes met hers, but he said nothing for a moment.
"I am not trying to seduce you, Lady Paget," he said. "I do beg your pardon if – "
"I do believe," she said, interrupting him, "you are the perfect gentleman, Lord Merton. I know you are not trying to seduce me. It is the other way around. /I/ am trying to seduce /you/. And determined to succeed, I may add."
They danced in silence. It was a lovely, lilting tune that the orchestra played. They twirled about the perimeter of the ballroom with all the other dancers. The gowns of the other ladies were a kaleidoscope of color, the candles in the wall sconces a swirl of light. Behind the sound of the music there were voices raised in conversation and laughter.
She could feel his heat, flowing into her hands from his shoulder and palm, radiating into her bosom and stomach and thighs from his body.
"Why?" he asked quietly after some time had elapsed.
She tipped back her head and smiled fully at him.
"Because you are beautiful, Lord Merton," she said, "and because I have no interest in enticing you into a courtship, as most of the very young ladies here tonight do. I have been married once, and that was quite enough for this lifetime."
He had not responded to her smile. He gazed at her with intense eyes while they danced. And then his eyes softened and smiled again, and his lips curved attractively upward at the corners.
"I believe, Lady Paget," he said, "you enjoy being outrageous."
She lifted her shoulders and held the shrug, knowing that by doing so she was revealing even more of her bosom. He really had been the perfect gentleman so far. His eyes had not strayed below the level of her chin.
But he glanced down now and a slight flush reddened his cheeks.
"Are /you/ ready for marriage?" she asked him. "Are you actively seeking a bride? Are you looking forward to settling down and setting up your nursery?"
The music had stopped, and they stood facing each other, waiting for another waltz tune to begin the second dance of the set.
"I am not, ma'am," he said gravely. "The answer to all your questions is no. Not yet. I am sorry, but – "
"It is as I thought, then," she said. "How old are you, Lord Merton?"
The music began again, a slightly faster tune this time. He looked suddenly amused again.
"I am twenty-five," he told her.
"I am twenty-eight," she said. "And for the first time in my life I am free. There is a marvelous freedom in being a widow, Lord Merton. At last I owe no allegiance to any man, whether father or husband. At last I can do what I want with my life, unrestrained by the rules of the very male-dominated society in which we live."
Perhaps her words would be truer if she were not so utterly destitute.
And if three other persons, through no fault of their own, were not so totally dependent upon her. Her boast sounded good anyway. Freedom and independence always sounded good.
He was smiling again.
"I am no threat to you, you see, Lord Merton," she said. "I would not marry you if you were to approach me on bended knee every day for a year and send me a daily bouquet of two dozen red roses."
"But you /would/ seduce me," he said.
"Only if it were necessary," she said, smiling back at him. "If you were unwilling or hesitant, that is. You are so very beautiful, you see, and if I am to exercise my freedom from all restraints, I would rather share my bed with someone who is perfect than with someone who is not."
"Then you are doomed, ma'am," he said, his eyes dancing with merriment.
"No man is perfect."
"And he would be insufferably dull if he were," she said. "But there /are/ men who are perfectly handsome and perfectly attractive. At least, I suppose their number is plural. I have seen only one such for myself.