The Matchmaker's Match. Jessica Nelson

and focused on the most pertinent point. “My lord, I do not dance, and since you are not aware of my status in the ton, let me inform you that I am most firmly on the shelf.”

      “This means you may not dance?”

      “A lady always knows her place,” she said, feeling an unnerving heat creep through her. Who was this man, and what right did he have to question her? “If you’ll excuse me, I must check on my cousin.”

      Indeed, the strains of music undulating from the ballroom had slowed. A new dance might begin at any moment, and she needed to find Lydia before then to ascertain the merit of Lord Dudley’s courtship. She must also not let matters progress too far until she heard from her Bow Street runner on Dudley’s background. Though he appeared innocent, she’d learned the hard way how deeply deceiving appearances could be.

      “Not so fast.” Lord Ashwhite moved toward her. His tall stature made her feel at a disadvantage. She drew herself up and met his arresting look with a firm one of her own.

      “Sir, do you dare detain me?”

      “I dare.” He grinned. “You see, your name is familiar for some unknown reason, yet it is only now that I meet you. My curiosity has been roused. A dance might put it to rest.”

      “You speak in circles,” she said lightly, feeling an unusual breathlessness creep into her voice.

      “Surely you jest, my lady, for I have been quite clear in what I want from you.” Again that roguish smile crossed his face. His eyes crinkled at the corners.

      Warmth suffused Amelia, for she had not danced in years. Not since The Great Disappointment... No, she did not wish to think of that. Swallowing against myriad feelings she had no name for, she offered the gentleman before her a slight smile, preparing to reject him. She had little patience for men who went around breaking hearts. Indeed, she had little patience for men at all.

      And then she spotted the enamored Lord Dudley heading toward her. She did not think she could endure another conversation with him. He simply did not take a hint.

      Oh, dear. She met Lord Ashwhite’s impertinent look.

      “I will allow one dance with the understanding that it is probable I will step on your toes.”

      Was it possible for his smile to widen? For that was what his lips appeared to do, easing upward in a most disconcerting, charming way. He swept her a bow and then offered his arm. “We shall dance, then, and see if a few rounds about the floor might clear my head. Perhaps I shall realize you’re not quite as fascinating as I fear.”

      Despite herself, Amelia chuckled. His arm felt warm and sturdy, and the merriment in his voice was catching. “Fear not. You can rest assured that by the end of our dance, you will find me both dreadfully boring and an awkward partner.”

      “Do not disappoint me, my lady,” he warned, his tone teasing.

      She patted his arm. “You, sir, will soon realize that Lady Amelia Baxley never disappoints.”

      * * *

      The marquis of Ashwhite could not take his eyes from his dance partner. She had disappointed him terribly. Not once had her toes flattened his. In fact, as they performed the steps to the quadrille, he admired her flawless dancing. She had misled him.

      What was it about this lady that provoked his attention? Not her dress, certainly, for while she wore the height of fashion, and the colors seemed acceptable enough, the dress did not stand out in any way. And the lady herself was not extraordinary.

      She stood an average height with an average girth. Her hair, tucked into a respectable hairstyle for which he knew not the name, was a tame brown. She hid her eyes behind overly large spectacles.

      Perhaps it had been that strident, no-nonsense tone as she’d rushed around the corner and hit him with her fan. Or maybe it was her skin, which looked like luminous velvet beneath the gentle glow of moonlight. He shook his head. Ridiculous musings.

      Still, Lady Amelia had captured his respect for running to the aid of another, though misdirected. Such heroism was uncommon.

      He watched her now, the graceful movements of her arms, the slender line of her neck as they completed the steps required. Yes, she had distracted him from the difficult problems that faced him. Because of a bizarre clause in his father’s will, after he finished this dance, he must scan the ballroom for prospective wives. This Season had produced a mass of simpering misses whose young faces looked fresh from the schoolroom.

      The music slowed and as he crossed the floor with Lady Amelia on his arm, he noticed the way a smile teased the corners of her surprisingly full lips. Her gaze flickered over to him and—was that laughter he saw in her eyes?

      A most intriguing lady.

      The song ended and he escorted her to the edge of the floor.

      “Lord Ashwhite, I must thank you for the dance.” She fanned herself, but still a blush stained her skin, turning it rose-petal soft. A beguiling creature, to be sure. “It has been much too long since I had such a delightful partner.”

      He inclined his head, unwilling to take his eyes off her. “Truly, it was my pleasure.”

      She gave him a broad smile, and then her expression stuttered as she looked past him. “Oh, dear. If you’ll excuse me, I must rescue my cousin.” Her features slid back into that commanding expression she’d pointed his way earlier. “Miss Stanley has no head where suitors are concerned. I have told her repeatedly not to speak with known rakes.” She drew the last word out with a heavy distaste.

      Spencer winced. So here was the downfall. Lady Amelia might make a delightful dance partner, but in the end she would prove to be as stubborn and stiff-necked as any dowager of the ton. And just as judgmental. With a rueful shake of his head, he turned away while she glided off to rescue her cousin.

      He knew the young man with whom Miss Stanley spoke, and though his reputation might not be spotless, he certainly was no rake. A self-deprecating smile tugged at Spencer’s mouth. What would the straitlaced Lady Amelia think if she found out with whom she’d danced?

      It had been surprising that she hadn’t recognized him by name or Miss Winston by looks. The actress was well-known amongst those who enjoyed the theater.

      “Ashwhite!” Lord Liveston, Earl of Waverly, clapped him on the back, ending his ruminations. “You’ve arrived from the Americas, I see? How was the trip, old chap?”

      “Enlightening.”

      “And?” Waverly’s mustache twitched with mirth. “No special young ladies over there? I thought you might return with an American miss. Or at least some adventurous stories.” His best friend snickered and chucked him on the shoulder again.

      Spencer threw him a stern look. “I’m done with philandering.”

      “With what? Oh, yes, yes, I received your letter. A bunch of rubbish. Tent meetings? Yelling preachers and people repenting publicly of their sins? Why, I can’t imagine such a thing happening in England. Those Americans are an untamed lot.” Waverly squinted at the procession of dancers moving across the floor. “Eversham and I are about to leave for more exciting places. Care to join us?”

      “I think I’ll stay here,” Spencer murmured. His stare centered on Lady Amelia only a few feet away, whose fan kept time with her mouth.

      “You really have changed...but for how long?” Waverly followed his gaze. “She’s a fine-looking lady. If I was in the mood for a wife, I’d take that one.”

      “Yes, she’s intriguing.”

      “Who needs intriguing when you have beauty like that?” Waverly grinned. “Those blond curls are artfully designed to trap a man, along with his fortune.”

      Spencer’s chin snapped up. His friend obviously had focused on Lady Amelia’s cousin.

      “The plain one is Eversham’s