meantime, what else was there for Meredith to do?
As she looked this lanky man up and down, she tried to assess his character, if not his bank account. Would Lord Ainsworth make a good husband? Would he care for her? Would he support her writing career? Would this sandy-haired man with the too-wide smile and kind eyes be the man she would be tied to for the rest of her life?
The thought sobered her.
This London Season was a serious business.
Marriages were being brokered in every corner as young girls in their debut season preened and the women in their last season looked desperate, while the anxious mothers assessed and appraised and the eligible gentlemen looking to wed scrutinized and judged. In truth, Meredith was no different than any other young lady in attendance at the Braithwaites’ ball.
She was there looking to find a husband.
The very thought tied her stomach into tight little knots.
The dance ended and Lord Ainsworth escorted her back to Lavinia. After she thanked him for the dance, Lavinia shook her head. “No,” she whispered so only Meredith could hear. “His family is on the brink of ruin.”
With a heavy heart, Meredith watched Lord Ainsworth head toward his friend, the pompous earl.
It seemed that poor Ainsworth was in the same predicament as she was. He needed to marry someone with money to save his family, just as she did. Apparently, that was the way of the world. Perhaps she would write a story about young women marrying for money when she finished The Edge of Danger. She’d call it, Mercenary Maidens. Then she laughed in spite of herself.
“He seemed rather nice though,” she said to Lavinia.
“Yes, he’s a nice young man, Meredith, but don’t waste your time on the likes of him.” Lavinia smoothed her hand over her ashy blond hair that was similar to Aunt Delilah’s. “There’s no future in it.”
“Where is Aunt Delilah?” asked Meredith, glancing around.
Lavinia pointed to the dance floor. “She’s with Nicholas Clark. He’s an old suitor of hers, from before she left for America.”
Tiny, five-foot-one Delilah Remington was dancing with a six-foot tall man. An incongruous sight! He was an older man, graying around the temples, but quite dignified looking. Meredith grinned at them. Delilah was as determined to find herself a new husband as she was at finding one for her niece.
“Let’s get some punch, shall we, Meredith?” Lavinia suggested, her chubby face showing signs of perspiration. “It’s rather warm in here.”
Meredith had begun to follow, when a tall, broad, male figure stepped in front of her.
“Excuse me, Miss Remington. May I have the honor of the next dance with you?” a deep, rich voice asked.
It was the handsome and pompous earl!
In spite of Lavinia’s vigorous nods of encouragement, which declared Lord Waverly as an acceptable dance partner, Meredith’s first instinct was to refuse him. How she longed to spurn his offer, if only to see a look of surprised indignation on his smug, handsome face!
But his gorgeous green eyes boldly dared her to dance with him. They glittered with amusement and superiority as if to say, are you afraid? Meredith was not one to back down from a challenge. She glared at him, piercing him with her frostiest stare, leaving him with no doubt about how little she thought of him.
“Yes, you may.”
With that brisk acceptance, Meredith walked with him to the dance floor just as a waltz began.
As they took their positions and his arm encircled her waist, a little thrill went through her. Just the touch of his gloved hand against hers sent a shiver of delight coursing through her body. He smelled good too. She recalled that from seeing him earlier that day. Was it bergamot? She wasn’t sure. The man was so startlingly handsome. The force of it momentarily knocked her off balance, and she stumbled awkwardly.
One dark eyebrow rose in question and he paused while she righted herself. “Are you quite all right?” he asked in mock innocence. “Do you require assistance?”
“I am just fine, thank you.”
She was mortified, but would not give him the satisfaction, although she sensed that he already knew. Her cheeks turned scarlet, and she avoided looking directly at him.
They began to move in time with the lilting music.
She hated to admit it, but he was an excellent dance partner. He had a firm grip on her, yet it was a light touch. His movements were commanding but not pushy. He was graceful while at the same time entirely masculine. He knew exactly what he was doing. Unlike Lord Ainsworth, who floundered about more than he actually led her, Lord Waverly was quite accomplished. In fact, he was perfect. Drat him!
“You don’t like me, do you?”
She looked up at him then. He was grinning at her, his dimple flashing and his eyes full of amusement. It was quite dizzying to look in his eyes.
“What gave it away?” she responded dryly.
He laughed then. Actually threw back his head and laughed.
The sound of his laughter warmed her. He had such a wonderfully shaped mouth, and she idly wondered what it would be like to be kissed by him, a man who knew what he was doing. And Lord Waverly clearly seemed like a man who knew what he was doing. It would be something special to be kissed by him.
Meredith! She mentally shook herself at her wayward thoughts.
“Why is that so funny?” she asked when he finally composed himself.
“Because you’re honest.”
“And that amuses you?”
He looked at her quite earnestly. “No, it’s not funny in that sense. However, I find your honesty refreshing. You don’t hide your feelings, unlike most women I’ve met. I know you don’t like me, and you didn’t deflect when I called you out on it.”
“You’re a very odd man.”
He laughed again. “I admit I have never been called odd before. So now you must tell me . . . why don’t you like me? Is it because I was staring at you in the bookshop?”
“You were rather rude,” she pointed out. Did she not like him? She wasn’t sure. Perhaps she liked him a little bit.
He twirled with her so gracefully, she felt as if she were flying. Meredith had danced with dozens of gentlemen back in New York, but Lord Waverly was by far the best partner. Never had she so enjoyed a dance. She found herself wishing the waltz wouldn’t end.
“Perhaps it was rude of me to stare,” he offered.
“It was more than staring. It was ogling.”
“But you smiled at me when I ogled you.”
“I did no such thing!” she protested. “You smiled at me after you winked at me.”
“Because
