Page 57 of The Cornish Mermaid

“If a gentleman should dance more than once with you, then you’re as good as engaged.” She frowned. “Although I had wanted you for Kit, I do think a marquess who will become a duke before too long is probably a better match, if a good match is what you would like. Mama would certainly think so, if it were for me. Even if he is so old… and fat.”

Morvoren’s eyes widened. “But I don’t want to be a marquess’s wife, whatever one of those is called, nor a duchess.”

“I’m sure he must intend to propose to you,” Ysella went on, unfazed by Morvoren’s heartfelt declaration. “Or he would not have asked you to dance twice, as he did. The marquess is very proper, and he knows full well what dancing with you twice means, and that people here tonight will have remarked on it. He’ll assume you know it as well, and that in accepting, you’ve virtually agreed to be his.” Her brow furrowed. “Perhaps Mama would say that you have let yourself get into something of a pickle.”

Morvoren scowled at her. “Well, I don’t want to marry him at all. And if I’d known dancing with him twice would lead to this, then I’d have refused him on the spot. And if he asks me to marry him, which seems highly unlikely on the acquaintance of just two dances, then I shall turn him down. When I marry, it will be for love, and even if I’d known the marquess more than a few hours, I doubt very much that I could ever love him.”

Ysella’s face lit up. “Oh, I hoped you’d say that. In fact, I might have guessed you would, dear Morvoren. You are such an original, which is no doubt why the marquess is so attracted to you. All the young men have been clamoring to dance with you. I’ve been watching.”

“And you,” Morvoren said, her mood lightening a little now she was out of the marquess’s line of vision. “You’ve been quite a success as well.” The light shining from the ballroom windows showed Ysella blushing. “Has anyone asked to dance twice with you?”

She fanned herself looking coy.

Even out here the air remained warm, despite the hour. In the east, the sky was turning pink so it must surely be getting on for dawn. An overpowering longing for her bed swept over Morvoren and she sank down on one of the chairs.

Ysella sat beside her. “Several young gentlemen did ask, but luckily the dance they were after was already taken. I’m not such a ninny as to allow any of them to get the upper hand.” She tilted her head to one side. “Not that I mean you’re a ninny. You just didn’t know. You need to learn the ways of politely refusing, such as claiming to be too faint or tired to dance, perhaps mentioning that your foot is too sore because the last gentleman you danced with trod on it so many times. That sort of thing.”

She giggled. “There are so many ways a girl can say no without actually saying the word when an outright refusal is tantamount to saying you will not dance at all, with anyone. And wouldn’t that be a shame when dancing is such delightful fun?”

Nice to be told now, after the fact. Another wave of tiredness drenched Morvoren. “I think I shall remain out here in the quiet and cool for a while,” she said. “It’s so hot in the ballroom and I’m feeling exhausted by all that dancing.” she patted Ysella’s hand. “You can safely leave me sitting here, as I can see you’re desperate to get back inside to your young admirers.”

Ysella threw a longing glance over her shoulder at the open doors, through which the sound of joyful music still cascaded, clearly torn. “Well, I’m not sure you should be out here on your own, but it would be worse if you were with a gentleman, so perhaps I shall go back inside. You should have some peace to rest out here. No one else comes outside, usually, at this time of the morning. Don’t go to sleep, will you?” She giggled. “I’ll come and find you when they serve breakfast. It can’t be long now.”

Morvoren shook her head. “Don’t worry. I won’t fall asleep. But my feet are truly sore, although I trod on more feet than trod on mine, and my legs are aching. And on top of that, I need this cooler air to refresh me. You go back inside, Ysella. I’m used to being on my own where I come from. I’ll be fine.”

With only one slightly guilty backward glance, Ysella slipped back through the open glass doors leaving Morvoren to her own company.

Oh, the bliss of the cooler air across her skin, of the scent of roses from the gardens below the terrace and the muting of the incessant dance music. She must be feeble indeed if she couldn’t dance the night away like an eighteen-year-old. Perhaps twenty-three was over the hill.

Despite her promise not to fall asleep, she put her arms on the table and rested her head on them. She just needed to close her eyes for a few minutes.

The clearing of a throat disturbed her reverie. Blinking in confusion, she pushed herself upright and stared at the figure before her. Jasper, Marquess of Flint, stood on the opposite side of the table. Even in her sleepy state, Morvoren recognized the look of lust in his eyes. Uh oh.

*

Kit

The ball dragged past after that glorious first dance with Morvoren, and Kit deeply regretted having claimed it so early. By doing so he’d precluded himself from requesting a second dance without raising the eyebrows of all the stately mamas gathered in the seats about the perimeter of the ballroom. The mamas who wanted him for their own insipid daughters.

If only he were bold enough to laugh in their faces and write his name down for every dance on her card, so no other man could partner her. But he couldn’t. No matter how much his heart ached for her, he couldn’t subject her to the dangers of the life he lived. And besides which, he’d now decided to return to Cornwall in just a few hours time, so it would be unfair and ungentlemanly to let her think him interested. Even if his heart cried out to do so.

He’d aimed at least to seek Morvoren out to lead her into supper, but his plans were thwarted by his mother’s request that he should escort Lady Elizabeth in while she herself went in on the arm of Lady Elizabeth’s despicable brother, Jasper.

Then, after supper, to Kit’s utter horror, Jasper begged two dances one after another from Morvoren, who accepted with a polite smile on her face as though she were encouraging his suit. Was the girl mad, or out to snare herself a duke’s heir? In the eyes of most girls, a prospective duke must be a far better catch than a lowly viscount, but he’d not thought her that calculating.

Damn and blast it. Jasper had just returned from London where he’d been on the search for a new young bride to give him his longed for son. Did he think Morvoren, with her healthy glow and strong build, would fit the bill? Her beauty would be the icing on the cake for a man like that. After marrying for money to bolster his father’s ailing estate the first time, it seemed Jasper was out to please himself this time around. And it looked as though Morvoren had set her cap at him.

He glared at her from afar as she whirled around in Jasper’s hold, her face alight with a pleasure that twisted his heart.

Unable to tear his eyes away, he brooded, a heavy frown settling on his brow. Did he have the right to be this angry? He hadn’t, after all, declared his intentions in any way, so she would not feel bound to him. In fact, he’d done his best to steer well clear of showing any preference for her this week, treating her much as he treated his sister. She still puzzled him, and he’d been telling himself, repeatedly as though to convince himself, that his fascination for her was just his need to untangle her mystery.

But he’d been a fool. Right from the moment he’d pulled her from the water he’d felt something drawing him to her. Wasn’t that the reason he’d offered her the hospitality of Ormonde? And yet he’d kept her at arm’s length as long as he could, telling himself that with his dangerous double-life he couldn’t afford to become embroiled in a love affair. Only that minx Ysella insisting that he should help teach their guest to dance had brought down the barriers he’d erected between them.

She was such fun, so full of laughter, but so sensible in many ways. Good for Ysella, despite the affair of the riding astride, which, in all honesty, he could quite understand. And even his mother had come around to liking her, a difficult obstacle for any girl to overcome.

He shook his head. He’d missed his chance now though. A marquess had turned her head. If only Denby had not invited them to this ball…

He went into the card room and played a few hands of five card loo, losing moderately but breaking even in the end.