presumably she missed her husband and was taking her pleasure where she found it — until she nabbed another husband. The trick would be to make sure he didn’t end up in that role.
“Oh, good! A waltz!” she exclaimed, when the music began.
Dolmain welcomed the waltz, too. This new fad was the only thing that enabled a gentleman to publicly hold a lady in his arms without censure. Once the music began, he gathered her into his arms; they ceased talking and swirled about the floor in perfect harmony. She moved with the ease and grace of a fairy. Caroline was known as a marvelous dancer; she was surprised to see all her skills were required to keep pace with Dolmain.
She tilted her head back and gazed at him until he felt he was drowning in the depths of her long-lashed eyes. “Where did you learn to waltz like this?” she asked dreamily.
“At Whitehall,” he replied soberly, but a lambent flicker of amusement flashed in his eyes as he said it. “Now that I have made my debut, however, I look forward to performing in public again soon — with you.”
She drew her head back and cast a coquettish smile at him. “How nice. I expect we shall meet here and there.”
“Very likely, but I prefer less happenstance in my dealings. Shall we say, tomorrow at four?”
“You have been out of it longer than you realize, Dolmain. Waltzes do not begin at four, unless you are suggesting we attend some deb’s waltzing lessons.”
“Nothing of the sort. You and I are well past the age where we require lessons, I meant we might go for a drive. It is difficult to hold any rational conversation at a place like this.”
“I am not much good at rational discourse,” she warned. “I leave that to you politicians. My forte is nonsense.”
He lowered his head and whispered in her ear, “I shall let you in on all the naughty on-dits at Whitehall.”
His lips tickled her ear, as he breathed into it. She gave an impish grin. “Is it true there is a war going on with some Frenchie — what is his name, now? Ah, Napoleon Bonaparte. That’s it.”
“And you told me your forte was nonsense. You are up to all the rigs. But seriously, Lady Winbourne, may I call tomorrow?”
“I would be honored,” she said graciously. A spurt of triumph thrilled through her. Lord Dolmain would add a touch of class to her court of escorts. Yet she could not quite envisage him being content to be one of a throng.
When the waltzes were over, he accompanied her to the refreshment parlor. Due to the crowd, he walked a pace behind her. Warmed by the waltz, she let her shawl slip low over her shoulders, revealing the daring cut of her gown. Dolmain’s eyebrows rose in surprise.
“Don’t say it,” she warned, with a saucy look tossed over her shoulder, for she suspected he would be shocked at her gown.
“I was not going to disparage it. How else could you show off that charming beauty mark? The gown is very nice, too.”
“Thank you. Champagne for me, if you please. It is an extravagance to serve it at a charity do, but it draws the better class. Orgeat is so old-fashioned,” she said, with a tsk of disapproval.
“I assume, then, that you are a thoroughly modern lady?” he asked, and listened closely for her reply.
“I try to keep in the vanguard. I approve of all modern innovations — waltzing and Byron’s poems and damped gowns.”
“We think alike, you and I,” he said approvingly.
“Then you, too, are ready to return to the roulette table,” she said, when her glass was empty.
“Have another glass of wine first,” he said, hoping to minimize her losses.
“Why, Dolmain, are you trying to get me intoxicated?”
“No, to keep you to myself a little longer.”
She was flattered that he was enjoying her company, and had another glass. They flirted outrageously, each pleased with the other. The evening was not going as she expected, but it was enjoyable. After the second glass of wine, she insisted on returning to the
“Oh, good! A waltz!” she exclaimed, when the music began.
Dolmain welcomed the waltz, too. This new fad was the only thing that enabled a gentleman to publicly hold a lady in his arms without censure. Once the music began, he gathered her into his arms; they ceased talking and swirled about the floor in perfect harmony. She moved with the ease and grace of a fairy. Caroline was known as a marvelous dancer; she was surprised to see all her skills were required to keep pace with Dolmain.
She tilted her head back and gazed at him until he felt he was drowning in the depths of her long-lashed eyes. “Where did you learn to waltz like this?” she asked dreamily.
“At Whitehall,” he replied soberly, but a lambent flicker of amusement flashed in his eyes as he said it. “Now that I have made my debut, however, I look forward to performing in public again soon — with you.”
She drew her head back and cast a coquettish smile at him. “How nice. I expect we shall meet here and there.”
“Very likely, but I prefer less happenstance in my dealings. Shall we say, tomorrow at four?”
“You have been out of it longer than you realize, Dolmain. Waltzes do not begin at four, unless you are suggesting we attend some deb’s waltzing lessons.”
“Nothing of the sort. You and I are well past the age where we require lessons, I meant we might go for a drive. It is difficult to hold any rational conversation at a place like this.”
“I am not much good at rational discourse,” she warned. “I leave that to you politicians. My forte is nonsense.”
He lowered his head and whispered in her ear, “I shall let you in on all the naughty on-dits at Whitehall.”
His lips tickled her ear, as he breathed into it. She gave an impish grin. “Is it true there is a war going on with some Frenchie — what is his name, now? Ah, Napoleon Bonaparte. That’s it.”
“And you told me your forte was nonsense. You are up to all the rigs. But seriously, Lady Winbourne, may I call tomorrow?”
“I would be honored,” she said graciously. A spurt of triumph thrilled through her. Lord Dolmain would add a touch of class to her court of escorts. Yet she could not quite envisage him being content to be one of a throng.
When the waltzes were over, he accompanied her to the refreshment parlor. Due to the crowd, he walked a pace behind her. Warmed by the waltz, she let her shawl slip low over her shoulders, revealing the daring cut of her gown. Dolmain’s eyebrows rose in surprise.
“Don’t say it,” she warned, with a saucy look tossed over her shoulder, for she suspected he would be shocked at her gown.
“I was not going to disparage it. How else could you show off that charming beauty mark? The gown is very nice, too.”
“Thank you. Champagne for me, if you please. It is an extravagance to serve it at a charity do, but it draws the better class. Orgeat is so old-fashioned,” she said, with a tsk of disapproval.
“I assume, then, that you are a thoroughly modern lady?” he asked, and listened closely for her reply.
“I try to keep in the vanguard. I approve of all modern innovations — waltzing and Byron’s poems and damped gowns.”
“We think alike, you and I,” he said approvingly.
“Then you, too, are ready to return to the roulette table,” she said, when her glass was empty.
“Have another glass of wine first,” he said, hoping to minimize her losses.
“Why, Dolmain, are you trying to get me intoxicated?”
“No, to keep you to myself a little longer.”
She was flattered that he was enjoying her company, and had another glass. They flirted outrageously, each pleased with the other. The evening was not going as she expected, but it was enjoyable. After the second glass of wine, she insisted on returning to the