Читать книгу A Compromised Innocent - Elaine Golden - Страница 8

Oliver Fortney, Duke of Wainsborough, was bored witless.

The only reason he was at the Delcourts’ ball this evening was to offer moral support to his brother, William. Wills had only just returned from the continent and their mother had managed to browbeat him to attend. Oliver figured that if he made an appearance, as well, he could help Wills escape all the sooner.

So, here he was at another dreadful ball, talking with the same people and having the same dull conversation.

When had he acquired this ennui? He needed to find something more in life, something to appreciate. Hell, something to look forward to. Something other than the utter sameness society strove for, as if they’d all been pressed from the same butter stamp.

Someone like Angelica’s friend, Miss Elspeth Talbot. A fine-looking woman who could take the social horror of a stained gown at Gunter’s and maintain her dignity as she’d been introduced to him, someone whose consequence made most men stammer. She had glowed with a joy that Oliver wasn’t sure he’d ever personally known.

And now he found himself unsettled at the memory of her, with the temptation to seek her out. To see if she could show him just a taste of such delight in life.

Had it only been a few days since they had met? It felt like an eternity.

Oliver was not here to see her though this was the type of place such an unmarried woman was to be found. He hadn’t even looked for her, at least after he skimmed the room upon their arrival. The ball was a bit of a crush, so it was possible she was there. Somewhere.

His pulse began to pound at that thought.

Just then, Wills peered over Oliver’s shoulder with the oddest expression then he reached out in warning. “Move!”

Oliver pivoted in time to see a mass of white muslin skid to a stop at his feet. A young woman, eyes wide and ankles exposed where her gown had rucked up, peered up at him.

Well, well. Miss Elspeth Talbot was at the ball, after all.

The silence of the ballroom was deafening. The musicians had ceased their play, couples had halted their dance and conversation evaporated as all eyes focused on Miss Talbot. Even the man who appeared to be her erstwhile dance partner was frozen in place as if trying to assimilate what had happened.

Oliver frowned at the fellow—Wrothton’s boy, if he wasn’t mistaken—and tried to stifle a twinge of…what? The man should help her immediately; she shouldn’t be left in an undignified heap on the floor.

Then the oddest thing happened. Miss Talbot, pretty and pink-cheeked from the dancing or embarrassment or both, tilted her head back and laughed. No dainty giggle of a laugh either, but a howl of amusement, the type that accompanied the abandon of children at play.

The room quieted even more, if that were possible. The exception being the racket from Miss Talbot, though that dwindled to a chuckle.

Here was a woman who could laugh at herself and steal the judgmental power from those who might laugh at her behind gloved hands. Oliver’s heart gave a little lurch.

He noticed that her dance partner had disappeared, leaving Miss Talbot to fend for herself. He wondered who her chaperon was and why they weren’t rushing to aid her. So, Oliver took the initiative and offered Miss Talbot a hand to help her rise.

“I beg your pardon, Your Grace. I’m ever so clumsy!” she said. Her hair listed to the side and her gloves were discolored from contact with the floor, but her eyes sparkled enchantingly.

With her white muslin gown and fresh-faced innocence, she was the type of girl he avoided lest an overexcitable mother set her aspirations on him. But something was different about Miss Talbot, something fundamental that signified she was unique.

The first murmur of censure decided him. Being a duke ought to have some benefits, and halting the tide on cankerous gossip had best be one of them.

With as much finesse as he could muster, Oliver bowed. “At your service, miss.”

“Oh!” It was a soft exclamation and probably carried no farther than his ears, even in the quiet room. Then she extended her dusty, glove-clad hand. “Pleased to see you again, Your Grace. Is your sister, Lady Vinedale, here, as well?” Her voice was bright as a bell, but she’d begun to glance about as she realized they were the center of attention. The color began to leech from her face.

“Not this evening, no. May I reserve a dance, Miss Talbot?”

A little furrow appeared between her brows. “Do you jest?”

“No, indeed. May I?” he repeated, then scrutinized her dance card and scribbled his name. He was fairly certain this incident would cost her any and all future dance partners unless he did something. It had nothing to do with a desire to see what she felt like in his arms. William stepped forward in a show of solidarity and begged an introduction and dance of his own.

Oliver then offered his arm. “I recommend a retreat so you can collect yourself. Nothing swift as to suggest embarrassment; a leisured stroll, head held high,” he said in a low voice.

After a moment of hesitation, Miss Talbot smiled and accepted, her hand light and warm where it rested on his forearm. He liked that she was taller than most and he suspected her head would fit perfectly on his shoulder.

The musicians rumbled back into play, but curious eyes stayed fixed on them as they moved a circuitous route around the ballroom and out the door, no doubt wondering about his interest.

He didn’t know what to make of it, either.