Pursuing Lord Pascal Read Free Page B

up to date, my love.” He turned
his attention back to Amy. “And I have to agree with him. You’re as
bonny as they come. Now let me show you off.”
    Amy let him lead her onto the floor.
Fenella’s family really were so kind. She sucked in a breath to
calm the nervous gallop of her heart. What did it matter what
London thought when she had such loving friends?
    As she lined up opposite Anthony, she noticed
Brandon and Meg taking the floor together. Seconds later, Fenella,
Morwenna and Sally found partners.
    She’d spent her life afraid of the ton’s
disparaging eye. But when she started to execute the steps—she’d
spent the last month practicing dances she hadn’t attempted since
adolescence—giddy excitement gripped her. Not strong enough to
banish uncertainty, but heady nonetheless.
    Here she was at the center of London society.
She had beautiful new clothes and friends set on her enjoyment. Who
knew what adventures the next few weeks might bring? At the very
least, she’d have something to remember when she went back to
counting heifers and weighing oats on her estate.
    * * *
    By the time she’d danced a minuet with
Anthony and a quadrille with Brandon, Amy was almost comfortable in
her new clothes. It still amazed her quite how much attention and
effort went into preparing a woman to appear at a ball that merely
lasted a few hours. If she took this much time to dress at
Warrington Park, the estate would fall into ruin.
    Gradually her choking fear receded. The
people she spoke to were nice to her, and nobody pointed a finger
in her direction and shrieked “imposter!” Which didn’t make her any
less of an imposter in this glamorous milieu.
    She even started to enjoy herself. The music
was pretty; the dancing was fun once she stopped worrying about
forgetting the steps; even a fashion ignoramus like her appreciated
the beautiful clothing on display.
    Best of all, Morwenna looked young and happy
for the first time in nearly four years. And the men in the room
showed the excellent taste to clamor to dance with her.
    Nor did Sally lack for partners. She always
spoke as if she was at her last prayers, but the gentlemen seemed
as eager to dance with her as with her pretty niece Meg.
    So when Mr. Harslett, a man with an
interesting take on using turnips as pig feed, deposited Amy back
with Fenella and Anthony after their dance, she could almost
pretend to poise. So silly to be scared of something as trivial as
a ball. At this rate, she might even survive her London season
without carrying too many scars away.
    Then all that frail confidence fizzled to
nothing. Striding toward her was the man she’d spent a couple of
wretched years dreaming about when she was a silly girl. He’d
fueled her romantic fantasies, until she hit sixteen and decided
that life was real and practical, and adolescent foolishness served
no purpose.
    Anthony greeted Pascal with unalloyed
pleasure. “Grand to see you.”
    “And you, Kenwick.” Lord Pascal bowed briefly
to Fenella. “Lady Kenwick.”
    “My lord,” Fenella said with a pretty
curtsy.
    “Will you please introduce me to your lovely
companion?”
    Lovely companion? Amy almost looked around to
see who he meant, even as those blue eyes leveled on her with
unmistakable intent.
    “Amy, may I present Lord Pascal?” Fenella
said, shooting him a speculative glance. “Pascal, this is Amy, Lady
Mowbray, down from Leicestershire for the season.”
    Automatically Amy extended her hand. When he
took it in his and bowed, a strange current zapped through her as
if she touched lightning. Bewildered, she told herself this was
impossible, especially as they both wore gloves. But rational
thought was elusive when such remarkable male beauty filled her
view.
    The hundreds of candles in the ballroom
turned Lord Pascal to gold. Golden hair. Golden skin. Tall,
perfectly proportioned body. Broad, straight shoulders. Narrow
hips. Long legs. Cheekbones high and prominent. Lips so crisply