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He pushed himself off the wall, took a deep breath, and—not quite able to conjure a smile—he at least forced a scowl off his lips.

“Good evening,” he said evenly to the four-woman coterie.

The spinster narrowed her eyes at him while the other three chorused, “Your Grace,” followed by curtsies.

“It’s a fine evening for a ball. I do hope you’re enjoying the event.” It was blase, but it was the most effort his head was willing to put forth.

“We are,” the other blonde, who appeared to be the youngest, spoke first. Nudging her spinster sister, she continued. “It’s a lovely evening fordancing.”

Subtle.

Well, he certainly couldn’t say he hadn’t seen the same before. Or worse. He shuddered at a memory. Much worse.

“I fear I’m at a disadvantage, for I have yet to be introduced to all four of you.” He had better work up a little more charm. “Missing one might be understandable, but having not been introduced to any of you indicates gross negligence.” That earned him a couple of smiles from the brunettes along with a soft chuckle from the youngest blonde.

“I’m Lady Artemisia. These are my sisters, Lady Boudicca,” she pointed to the spinster, “Lady Joan and Lady Zenobia.”

He would have applauded any man for maintaining his stoicism at the mention of four fierce female warriors. As for himself, he couldn’t keep one of his eyebrows in place.

Boudicca, now that he knew her name, was peering past him. Apparently uninterested in the conversation. Not many women had the audacity to show such disregard. She was treating him as if she were his superior. As though to get back at him for something. Though he knew not what that was. Regardless, he had a goal he needed to complete.

“May I have the next dance, Lady Boudicca?” He extended his hand to her, hearing the final strains of the music. For a fleeting moment, there was an alarm bell ringing in his head at the suspicion she might decline. It took altogether too long for her to meet his hand. And, if he was correct in his observations, she only did so under the stare and a cough or two from her sisters.

Odd, that.

“Of course,” she lifted those clear blue eyes to his, “I should be delighted. Above all else.”

Her phrasing was off-putting. It was as though she were being sarcastic. Sheshouldbe delighted, but was she?

He was about to find out.

With a firm clasp on her gloved fingers, he led her to the floor. There was an energy about her that wasn’t quite restless, but it was fervid. It was an intensity he had not matched up against, except maybe with Samuel. Yet he had no idea what her intensity was aimed at. Him, he supposed. Positive or negative, it was yet to be seen.

“Your sisters are charming.” What better way to engage conversation than complimenting a person’s family.

“Yes.” The word hung in the air like a cloud of smoke one wasn’t expecting in a crowded ballroom. There were spaces for clouds of smoke, and this wasn’t it. “They are.” Another puff of smoke.

He almost choked on the awkwardness, but he had experienced worse. Her shortage of words appeared deliberate, which meant he needed to find out why. Or if he was unable to determine her motivation, he would at least need to break her out of it.

“They must have learned their charm from you,” he smirked.

“Why would you say that?” It was the scowl that gave her away. Well, that and the tone. She was offended. Again.

“You’re the eldest, aren’t you?”

Her response was a harrumph.

“Surely, you taught them all they know.”

“I may have, or I may not have.”

“May I inquire as to the origin of your effrontery? Is it me? Or is this your default demeanor?”

The odds were essentially in thirds. She could have answered affirmatively, negatively, or remained mum on the subject. So he should have had some expectation that she would be direct, yet he had no such preconceived notions.

So when she avowed, “I can assure you that it is you,” he merely threw back his head and laughed.

“And what exactly have I done to offend you? Perhaps I should apologize for bumping into you?”