A Most Unladylike Proposition - Chapter 3

'Would you like me to formally introduce you?’ His mother snapped her fan shut, clearly irritated with him.

‘No.’

‘No?’ she demanded incredulously.

‘We are to formally meet tomorrow,’ he reminded her. ‘Introducing her now, with no time for her to prepare, will only unsettle her.’ And make her aware of my intentions.

Clearly flummoxed by his odd behaviour, his mother stalked off to find her circle of dowagers.

James stayed. He waited patiently as Diana and her chaperone greeted their hostess and picked their way through the crowd. He even gave them a full minute to settle in before he exited the shadows like some creature on the hunt.

He may have hated dancing, but after seeing his fiancée for the first time, James was surprised to realize that he was eager to meet her. Greedy. Almost anxious. As if he needed to secure her first dance before anyone else did. For a man who was always so self-assured, his nerves were unsettling but not entirely unwelcome. They were just another challenge. Something to overcome.

When he stood before her, he bowed, first in her chaperone’s direction and then in hers, and said, ‘If you would forgive me using the ball’s theme as an excuse to approach without an introduction, my lady, I would beg the honour of your first dance.’

She gave him that smile. It was full and bright and, yes, a little shy. Its effect was not lost on James, who felt those little lightning strikes of awareness all through his body. He tried not to overthink it. He told himself that she was a beautiful woman, and he was a man of flesh and blood. Such things were to be expected. And yet he was astounded, almost bewildered, by the intensity of his own awareness.

She dropped her gaze, and although the gesture was perfectly demure, James rather wished she hadn’t. He wanted those eyes on him.

‘The honor would be mine, my lord.’

As if God Himself were smiling down on them, the master of ceremonies called the first dance. It was an old-fashioned minuet, a dance that required perfect timing and very little physical contact. It was as if He were laughing at James specifically.

James bowed and indicated for her to lead the way.

‘Will you be all right, Mrs. Smythe?’ she asked her chaperone, her voice laced with genuine concern.

The lady in question beamed happily and replied, ‘Of course, my dear. I’ll wait right here for you.’

Lady Diana stood to her full height, which appeared to be almost an entire foot shorter than his six foot four. She stepped in front of him, took a huge breath as if she needed to bolster herself, and led the way to where other couples were lining up to dance.

As the first couple in the line began their minuet, James and Diana took their place to wait their turn. Though they did not touch, James was acutely aware of how close she stood. He could smell the vanilla perfume that clung to her skin, and when he chanced a glance down at her, he noted her impossibly long black eyelashes and the expressive eyes they framed.

Lady Diana tilted her head back to look up at him. ‘I don’t suppose we are going to exchange names at some point?’

For a moment, he considered that it might be pleasant to have no deceit between them. But then he asked, ‘Would you prefer that we did?’

She did not even take a moment to think it through. ‘No. This is far more exciting. You could be anyone in the world,’ she said wistfully. ‘A Russian prince, a lecherous womanizer, or perhaps a pirate, here to find a young lady to ransom.’

James couldn’t stop his grin. It was genuine and quick, spreading over his stoic features for a few seconds before he managed to reclaim himself. ‘I believe the Crown eradicated piracy last century,’ he said gravely.

‘And your accent is not Russian,’ she replied. ‘Which unfortunately leaves only lecherous womanizer.’

An almost-surprised laugh stuttered out of him. As if he had not expected her to be able to pull it from him, let alone so quickly. He had not met many women who could make him laugh; they were all too interested in appearing quiet and genteel. ‘Would it ease your mind if I vowed to keep my hands to myself?’ he teased.

He had been expecting a ready agreement or perhaps even a mock chastisement for his boldness, so when Lady Diana looked at him for a long moment before whispering, ‘Not necessarily,’ those lightning strikes of awareness spreading through his body sparked a flame even as his mind queried: Surely, she is not propositioning me? It didn’t matter that she was his fiancée—she didn’t know that! Where was her sterling reputation? Her morals? And, worse, where were his? Because he was having a very difficult time focusing on anything but what his hands might actually be able to do for her.