Valeria softened. “They undoubtedly would. It permits a better acquaintance much faster, for you learn things about her, and if she asks similar questions, then she learns more about you too.” She shrugged. “It avoids the banal inquisition that, I daresay, almost all ladies and gentlemen who are in want of a spouse find very tedious indeed.”
“Goodness,” Roger murmured, rubbing the back of his neck. “Would that truly work?”
Valeria smiled. “Try it and see how you fare. Report back to me, and if I find myself at the end of the Season without a match, perhaps I shall turn my efforts toward matchmakinginstead.”
“What is your favorite stanza of poetry, Miss Maxwell?” William jumped right in.
Her eyebrows quirked up, her heart leaping for a moment, savoring this gift to say whatever she pleased. “I rather like William Blake: ‘What is now proved was once only imagined…’ or ‘The man who never alters his opinion is like standing water, and breeds reptiles of the mind.’ Though I also like, ‘Love seeketh not itself to please, nor for itself hath any care, but for another gives its ease, and builds a Heaven in Hell’s despair.’”
Roger gasped, glancing around himself in something like a panic, no doubt appalled that she had used that blasphemous word so casually. A word that should, in his opinion, probably never leave a lady’s lips. But William seemed enchanted, his expression softening, his head nodding as if contemplating her choice of favorites.
“I must read this William Blake,” the baron said.
“The most sublime act is to set another before you,” a voice rumbled behind Valeria. “How can a bird that is born for joy, sit in a cage and sing?”
She turned sharply, her breath halting as she peered up at the figure approaching. Her gaze darted back to the corner of the ballroom but, of course, Duncan was not there anymore. He was behind her, slowing to a standstill, William Blake purring from his lips like the sweetest music.
“Excuse me, gentlemen,” Duncan said, barely nodding his head to William and Roger. “I believe I have the next dance with Miss Maxwell, and I have a keen desire to continue this celebration of a great poet as we leap and turn in a lively reel.Mostinvigorating. After all, ‘he who desires, but acts not, breeds pestilence.’”
Valeria stared at him in disbelief, not least because her dance card was full, and his name was nowhere upon it. But also because he quoted Blake so well, as if he knew the poems intimately, not stumbling over a single word.
Duncan held out his hand. “Miss Maxwell.”
“Actually, my good man, we were just in the middle of—” the baron tried to protest, but Duncan cut him off with a cold look and a colder smile.
“Come with me, Miss Maxwell,” Duncan said softly. “There ismuchwe must discuss.”
Valeria felt herself reaching out before she could prevent it, even if she had wanted to. Her hand came to rest on his, and she rose to her feet, her gaze unwavering from his. That indecipherable darkness lingered in his eyes, though his smile was steadily edging closer and closer to meeting those enchanting pools of blue.
“If you will excuse me, gentlemen,” she said, remembering to be courteous, before Duncan guided her away from the table, heading for the excitement of the dance floor.
She peered up at him as they reached the periphery, waiting with other couples for the set to end so a new one could begin. He looked astonishingly handsome, his dark brown hair swept back in gentle waves, his complexion perfectly complemented by a tailcoat of deep red velvet: a perfect match for the gown she wore, and certainly not a coincidence.
“Your name is not on my dance card,” she pointed out, struggling to hide her relief that he was there. “You realize there is an etiquette to these things, do you not?”
He glanced down at her, flashing one of his truest smiles. “You know me well enough by now to understand that I do not care much for etiquette.” He covered her hand with his, as it rested on the crook of his arm. “You look exceptional tonight, Miss Maxwell, but I would have your personality bejustas dazzling. You have dimmed yourself too much.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Thatfulldance card would suggest otherwise.”
“I am not interested in names on a piece of paper, Miss Maxwell. I am interested in your demeanor, and how you are faring with the night’s endeavors,” he replied, as the music for the current dance came to a conclusion. “I am notquitecontent with what I have seen.”
As her mouth opened to protest, he ushered her onto the dance floor, where the presence of others made her hold her tongue for a moment. At least until the orchestra struck up again, to cover the sound of her whispered reprimand. She had doneeverythinghe had taught her to do, and now he was displeased? She would not allow it.
The music began afresh, and the pair surged forward to meet each other, palm touching palm.
But before Valeria could get a word in, he interjected.
“You are evidently doing very well,” he said, confusing her. “Indeed, you have been a remarkable student. The names on your cardareevidence of that, as is the chatter that I have heard on my wanderings through the ballroom and beyond. You are all anyone can talk about: the undisputable belle ofthisball.”
She turned in a circle with him, eyes locked with his. “Why do I sense a ‘but’ in your tone?”
“Because, my dear, dark angel, you have almost lost what made you unique,” he replied with a smile. “You are more obedient than I ever suspected, and you run the risk of becoming dull—an echo of every husband-seeking lady in society.”
Any joy she might have felt at being called a ‘good student’ evaporated with that remark, her pride wounded, her heart injured by the icy blade of truth he had skewered her with. To make matters worse, she could not argue, for she had felt the very same thing, that she had become a shadow of herself… but that did not mean she wouldnotargue.
After all, she was still owed an apology.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
