Once Upon a Wallflower

“I must insist. I am in desperate need of a reprieve from your aunt’s interrogation. I assure you that my injury”—he indicated his left leg, which he clearly favored—“only prevents me from dancing the liveliest of the country dances. But I can maintain some grace through a waltz. Just follow my lead.”

He reached the edge of the sea of whirling dancers, pulled her into his arms, and looked deep into her eyes.

“Trust me.”

And with that, they began to dance.

She took the opportunity to study his face. Ashfield’s presence was fiercely compelling. It was not just his size, which was considerable—he easily stood several inches taller than any other man in the room and, despite the leanness of his frame, his shoulders were massive in his dark evening coat. Rather, it was the brutal intensity of his pale gray eyes, the unmistakable spark of intelligence that shone there. He was not exactly handsome. A thin white scar cut down his left cheek following the curve of his jaw, his nose was entirely too sharp, and he wore his hair unfashionably long, in an out-dated queue. Yet there was something magnetic about him. Mira could easily believe the rumors about him dabbling in the dark arts were true. If the devil materialized as a man, he would look exactly like Nicholas, Lord Ashfield.

Still, with the warmth of his hand at her waist and the lilting strains of the beautiful music, she felt no fear. With Nicholas guiding her firmly about the dance floor, she felt…graceful. Almost delicate. It was divine.

As they moved, her every sense was heightened. The hot smell of the blazing beeswax candles mingled with the spicy scent of Nicholas’s soap. The pulsing buzz of conversation and the rhythmic whisper of her skirts underscored the hypnotic strains of the music. Beneath her fingers, the fine fabric of Nicholas’s evening coat rode the hard contours of his shoulder and chest as he carefully guided her between the other dancers, who were nothing more than softly colored wraiths fluttering on the edges of her perception. Her mouth was filled with the taste of excitement, anticipation for some unknown wonder, and her field of vision was occupied entirely by the sight of Nicholas. The combination of sensations was heady, intoxicating, breathtaking.

As they completed a turn, the music faded to silence, and Nicholas spoke, his low voice—meant for her ears alone—sending echoing vibrations through Mira’s body. “I must say, Mira, that you are not at all what I expected.”

She stiffened at his remark. She had been so caught up in her own enjoyment, she had forgotten about the horrible ruse she and her family were perpetrating. She had to act quickly, to give him a way out of the engagement, but the shifting sea of guests afforded inadequate privacy for the delicate proposition Mira intended to make.

“My lord, I confess I need to speak to you in private. Perhaps we could go riding tomorrow in Hyde Park? Could you call around five o’clock?”

As soon as the words were out, Mira realized what a faux pas she had committed, how fast she must seem. It was not her place to demand his presence, ordering him about like a servant.

Nicholas stared down at her, eyes wide with almost comical bemusement. “By all means, Mira,” he said wryly. “I am at your disposal. I shall call tomorrow at five.”

“Oh, my lord,” she said, the words tripping over themselves in a mortified rush, “I did not mean… I only thought… Oh, I am so sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” he asked, his stunned expression giving way to amusement. “I am flattered you crave my company.”

“But I did not mean to suggest that at all, my lord!”

“So you do not crave my company?”

Mira frowned in consternation. “No. I mean, yes. Oh heavens, I don’t know what I mean,” she concluded, throwing up her hands in surrender.

Nicholas’s expression softened. “Mira,” he said, “I shall be happy to call on you tomorrow at five o’clock. For now,” he continued, “I am afraid I cannot withstand further examination by your Aunt Kitty, and I must excuse myself. Until tomorrow.” He inclined his head in a small bow and, lips still lifted in a faint smile, he headed toward the door, leaving Mira quite abandoned in the crowd.