The Reluctant Guardian. Susanne Dietze

outing with your beau.”

      She stumbled and drew sharp glances. That was what plagued him? Interrupting her outing with her... “Beau?”

      “I never guessed you and Mr. Knox—well, you may be a summer bride yet.” He wiggled his brows.

      Her foot landed square on his. Accidentally, of course. Had the act been purposeful, she might have ground down harder with her heel.

      He winced. “Have a care, Gem. Wouldn’t want to get a reputation as a poor dancer.”

      To think she had imagined him trapped by a scheming Miss Scarcliff. Cristobel had been right about Hugh all along.

      Earlier she’d desired to quit the dance with him. Now she just wanted to quit him. Impossible, of course. Much as she would prefer to jerk her chin toward the ceiling and leave him on the floor of Almack’s, she could not. Instead, she fantasized about ripping the diamond stickpin from his neck cloth and snapping it in twain with her bare hands.

      Focusing on the pin’s gleam kept her gaze from his face, at least, while she followed the patterns of the dance. Together. Apart. Hands meeting. Good thing she wore gloves. Otherwise, he would balk at the iciness of her touch.

      “Is something wrong?” His eyebrows rose to his hairline.

      Other than his manners? “What makes you think such a thing?”

      “Your silence. But I suppose you are concentrating on the steps since Knox watches us.”

      If Hugh knew Tavin was paid to watch her, he might not sound so smug.

      It was their turn to execute a move in the center. While she circled Hugh, Tavin strolled past in her line of sight. His bored expression didn’t change when their gazes locked.

      “Mr. Knox isn’t my anything, Hugh. He’s a friend of the family.”

      “If you say so.” He looked at her as if, were they alone, he might tap her nose.

      The strains of violins sounded their final, lingering notes, and she curtsied while Hugh bowed. He offered his arm and led her to Amy, who waited under a gilt mirror beside a young fellow with high shirt points, an unexpressive face and sandy-blond hair curled over his ears. Where was Tavin? Amy’s eyes sparkled. “Gemma, may I introduce Mr. Scarcliff, Hugh’s future brother-in-law?”

      Mr. Scarcliff inclined his head, forcing his shirt points into his cheeks. Did the fashion cause him pain? His bland expression didn’t alter, so he was either uninjured or accustomed to the sensation. “When Hugh speaks of you, it is with utmost affection.”