Page 44 of The Mistletoe Dare

She smiled, profoundly touched by his words. “You mean you didn’t think it was your winning personality that drew me in?”

He snorted, returning a crooked grin which made him look almost boyish. “I did not.” His expression sobered, and he gazed at her. “You are the most beautiful woman here tonight, Lady Georgina, and I do not know why you might want to, but I would be honoured if you would dance with me.”

Oh.

Well. What choice did she have after a speech like that?

“Oh, Rochford,” she said with a sigh of resignation. “I should like that very much.”

Rochford let out a breath of relief, which made her smile. He held out his hand to her, and she took it, too aware of his touch even with gloves between them.

Georgie followed him out onto the dance floor, conscious of curious gazes watching them together. This was the second time they’d danced together, and Rochford never danced. Tongues would wag, but she didn’t care. Let them talk. All she had wanted was to dance with him again and she had her wish. After Christmas, she’d return to Scotland and their silly chattering would die out quickly enough.

Rochford swept her into the dance, and Georgie relished every moment. Though she doubted either of them would win any prizes for style or elegance, he moved very well, and it was a joy to be close to him again. His powerful arms seemed the safest place in the world to be, as he guided her effortlessly about the floor. Goodness, but this was heaven. She never wanted the dance to end.

“Do you like living in Scotland?”

The question caught her off guard, and it took a moment for her attention to return to reality.

“Yes, very much,” she said, a little surprised that he would try to make polite conversation.

“You don’t find it too dull, too remote, lacking in entertainment?” he pressed, studying her face intently, concern in his eyes.

Georgie watched him in return, puzzled by his sudden interest. “No. Not at all. I love the countryside. I walk for miles, and ride too, though I confess I enjoy coming to town as well. I have been so looking forward to this visit with Aunt Prue and everyone, but I would not wish to spend too much time here.”

He nodded. “You would hope to settle in the country when you marry, then?”

“I suppose so,” she said cautiously.

Her answer seemed to reassure him, his expression clearing, though he wasn’t done. “But what if your family were far away? Wouldn’t you miss them?”

“Of course,” she said at once, wondering where this was going. “But that is the fate of many brides, and I hope they would visit often, and that I would visit them.”

“I suppose you’d want a place in town, too, and to arrange balls and parties and the like?” he added, sounding far too casual.

She frowned at him suspiciously. “Why on earth would you suppose that? I’m hardly angling to be a society darling. Of course, if I married a man whose position demanded a great deal of entertaining, I would have to adapt, but I’m certainly not searching for the role. As I said, I like coming to town from time to time, but I prefer a quiet life.”

“You do?” he asked, a pleased glint in his eyes.

“Yes, I do. Rochford, why all the questions?”

“No reason,” he asked, and then swept her into a dizzying series of turns until she could hardly remember her name, never mind what they’d been discussing.

Chapter 13

Dearest Georgie,

I must correct you, I’m afraid. The title of most vexing man who ever lived has already been taken. Mr Sylvester Cootes has certainly earned the title. His brothers are both charming, though the elder Lord de Ligne is a dreadful rogue. I think Greer is smitten with him, however. I should not be surprised if there is an announcement in that quarter very soon.

Do have a care with your duke, Georgie. Just think how dreadful it would be to end your days married to a man who makes you cross every time you speak to him.

―Excerpt of a letter to Lady Georgina Anderson (daughter of Gordon and Ruth Anderson, The Earl and Countess of Morven) from Lady Aisling Baxter (daughter of Luke and Kitty Baxter, The Earl and Countess of Trevick).

14th December 1840, Beverwyck, London.

“Thank you for the dance, Monsieur Le Comte,” Evie said, grinning at Louis César. She adored dancing with Louis, for he was a marvellous partner and always made her feel light as a feather. She suspected he could make anyone feel like they floated on air.

He smiled at her, tucking her hand into the crook of his arm as he guided her from the dance floor.