“Lady Celia, I should like to have this dance.” He bowed very smartly. He had handsome manners, too.
Celia blushed. He must know she couldn’t possibly dance with him again. “Indeed, sir, I think I must refuse.”
He didn’t look surprised or disappointed. “I think you must as well. Would you consent to take a turn on the terrace with me instead?”
A turn on the terrace—alone with a gentleman! She darted a glance at her mother, several feet away. Rosalind was watching and gave a tiny nod of permission, with an approving look at Lord Euston. Her stomach jumped. She had never taken a private stroll with a gentleman. She excused herself from her friends, all of whom watched enviously, and put her hand on Lord Euston’s arm.
“I am honored you would walk with me,” he said as they skirted the edge of the ballroom.
“It is my pleasure, sir.” She smiled at him, but he merely nodded and didn’t speak again. They stepped through the open doors, into the wonderfully fresh and cool night air. Instead of remaining near the doors, though, Lord Euston kept walking, leading her toward the far end of the terrace where it was darker and less crowded. Far less crowded; almost deserted, really. Celia’s heart skipped a beat. What did he intend? None of her other admirers had kissed her. Lord Euston wasn’t quite her favorite among them, but it would be immensely flattering if he tried to kiss her. And shouldn’t she have some practice at kissing?
Celia’s curiosity flared to life, and she stole a glance at her companion. He was a little handsomer in the moonlight, she thought, trying to imagine what his lips would feel like. Would it be pleasant, or awkward? Should she be modest and retiring, or more forward? Should she even allow him the liberty at all? Should—?
“There is something I must say to you.” Celia wet her lips, preparing herself, still trying to decide if she would allow it. But he made no move toward her. “Lady Celia,” he began, laying one hand on his heart, “I must tell you how passionately I adore you.”
She hadn’t quite expected that. “Oh. Er…Oh, indeed?”
“Since the moment I first saw you, I have thought of nothing but you,” he went on with growing fervor. “My will is overruled by fate. To deliberate would demean my love, which blossomed at first sight.” He took her hand, looking at her expectantly.
“I—I am flattered, sir,” she said after a pregnant pause.
“And do you adore me?” he prompted. Celia’s eyes widened in confusion.
“I—Well, that is…I…” She cleared her throat. “What?”
“Do you adore me?” he repeated with unnerving intensity.
No. Of course she didn’t. He was handsome and a wonderful dancer, and she probably would have let him steal a chaste kiss on the cheek, but adore him? No. She wished she hadn’t let him lead her all the way out here. What on earth was she to do now? “Lord Euston, I don’t think this is a proper thing to discuss.”
He resisted her gentle attempts to pull free of his grasp. “If it is maidenly reserve that prevents you saying it, I understand. If it is fear of your family’s disapproval, I understand. You have but to say one word, and I will wait a thousand years for you.”
“Oh, please don’t.” She pulled a little harder, and he squeezed her hand a little tighter.
“Or you might say another word, and we could go to His Grace tonight. We could be married before the end of the Season, my dearest Lady Celia.”
“Ah, but—but my brother’s away from town,” she said, edging backward. Euston followed, pulling her toward him, now gripping her one hand in his two.
“I shall call on him the moment he returns.”
“I wish you wouldn’t,” Celia whispered.
“Your modesty enthralls me.” He crowded nearer, his eyes feverish.
“Oh dear…”
“Sweet Celia, make me immortal with a kiss!” Celia grimaced and turned her face away from his. She was never going to dance with Lord Euston again. What a wretched first kiss this would be.
“Good evening,” said an affable new voice just then.
Lord Euston released her at once, recoiling a step as he spun around toward the intruder. Celia put her freed hands behind her, suddenly horrified at what she had done. Goodness—she was alone, in the dark, with an unmarried gentleman—if they were discovered here, she could be ruined.
“Lovely evening, isn’t it?” said Anthony Hamilton as he strolled up, a glass of champagne in each hand.
“Yes,” said Euston stiffly. Celia closed her eyes, relief flooding her as she recognized her savior. Surely he, of all people, would understand and not cause trouble for her.
“Lady Celia. A pleasure to see you again.” He gave her a secretive smile, as if he knew very well what he had interrupted and found it highly amusing.
“Mr. Hamilton,” she murmured, bobbing a curtsy. For a moment everyone stood in awkward silence.
“We should return to the ball.” Lord Euston extended his hand to her, pointedly not looking at the other man.
“No!” Celia exclaimed without thinking. Euston froze, startled. She flushed. “I shall return in a moment, sir,” she said more politely, grasping for any excuse not to go with him. “The air is so fresh and cool.”
“Yes,” said Euston grimly. He didn’t look nearly so handsome anymore. “Yes. I see. Good evening, Lady Celia.”
Celia murmured a reply, willing him to leave. “Good evening, Euston,” added Mr. Hamilton.
Lord Euston jerked, darting a suspicious glance at Mr. Hamilton. “Good evening, sir.” He hesitated, gave Celia a deeply disappointed look, then walked away.
Celia swung around, bracing her hands on the balustrade that encircled the terrace. Good heavens. That had not turned out at all the way she had expected. Why had her mother approved of him?
“That,” said Mr. Hamilton, leaning against the balustrade beside her, “may be the worst marriage proposal I have ever heard.”
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. It didn’t work. The giggles bubbled up inside her and finally burst free. She pressed one hand to her mouth. “I suppose you heard everything he said?”
“I suppose,” he agreed. “Including the part he stole from Marlowe.”
“No! Really?” Celia gasped. He just smiled, and she groaned. “You mustn’t repeat it to anyone.”
“Of course not,” he said in mild affront. “I should be ashamed to say such things aloud. It would quite ruin my reputation.” Celia laughed again, and he smiled. “Would you care for some champagne?”
“Thank you.” She took the glass he offered, and sipped gratefully.
He set the other glass on the balustrade and leaned on his elbows, surveying the dark gardens in front of them. “So you weren’t trying to bring Euston up to scratch?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” She snorted, then remembered she wasn’t supposed to do that. “I would never have walked out with him if I’d thought he meant to propose.”
“Why did you, then?” He glanced at her, his expression open and relaxed, inviting confidence. Celia sighed, sipping more champagne.
“He’s a wonderful dancer,” she said.
“And a dreadful bore,” he said in the same regretful tone. Celia looked at him in shock, then burst out laughing.
“That’s dreadful of you to say, but—but—well,