Lord Fenwicke wove through the crowd of couples, leading Olivia to the center of the congested dance floor. As he clasped her right hand with his left and settled his other hand around her waist, awareness spread under her clothing and below her skin, sensitizing it. The waltz was an intimate dance, and she’d never actually waltzed with a man before.

His hand was long-fingered, aristocratic, and warm, even through the layers of their gloves. He held her in a firm, confident grip that felt nothing like the way her sisters had held her when they’d waltzed. He was harder, taller, so much more…masculine.

The fingertips of her left hand pressed against his elegant black wool tailcoat just below his shoulder. His snow-white cravat was stiffly starched and tied with an expert hand, a heavy contrast to the deep black of his velvet collar. He was clean shaven, his olive-toned cheek smooth, and when she glanced down, she saw that his shoes were polished to an obsidian shine.

Swallowing hard, she looked into his face. He was gazing down at her, a smile tugging at the edges of his thin lips and his dark eyes sparkling like his shoes.

“I can tell you’re new to Town,” he said. “There’s a freshness about you that’s impossible to find in any jaded city woman.”

“Ah,” she murmured. “Oh.”

She tried not to wince at her less-than-articulate response. But how was one supposed to respond to a comment like that?

The waltz began, and he nudged her into movement, chuckling. “You see? Your reaction proves my point. You’re utterly charming, Miss Donovan.”

Olivia rather felt that her reaction had proved what a dolt she was, but if he found her monosyllabic breathy murmurs charming, then she supposed she couldn’t complain.

He squeezed her hand, sweeping her into a wide circle. The music swelled in the familiar one-two-three tempo of the waltz.

Her skirts whooshed as he turned her in a wide arc, and she glanced up at him, her cheeks flushed in pleasure. “You are a wonderful dancer, Lord Fenwicke.”

He chuckled. “It’s a requirement of my position. When my dear father departs from this earth, I shall be a duke, and one of the many duties of a duke is to demonstrate proficiency in dancing. Fortunately, I enjoy it, so learning wasn’t a burden to me.”

“I enjoy it, too.”

For a while, they danced in silence. Olivia allowed the music to flow into her and through her. She stopped thinking about where to move her feet, and her body responded to her partner’s lead by instinct, knowing exactly how to perform the steps. Lord Fenwick’s hands were firm on her body, directing her every motion, and because he was such a good dancer, she gave him her trust and surrendered to his lead, allowing him to whisk her around the ballroom.

He spun her in a tight circle, surprising her, then clasped his arm around her waist in a firmer grip.
“Oh!” she exclaimed, breathless, as the satin of her skirts swished around her calves before settling at her ankles.

“Did you like that?” He grinned at her. She liked the way he looked when he smiled.

“Oh, yes.”

He spun her again, and then again, and laughter bubbled in her chest and then spilled out as they settled back into the rhythm of the waltz.

He bent down to whisper into her ear, “Look. They’re all staring at us.”

Olivia’s body went tight all over, and she nearly stumbled. “Oh, dear.”

“No, no,” he assured her, quickly righting her and guiding them both back into the pattern. “It’s not that we’ve done anything wrong. It’s because they’re envious.”

“About our dancing?”

“Perhaps that’s why the ladies stare. I’m certain, though, that the gentlemen stare because they are envious of me.”

“Envious of you?” She gave him a quizzical look. Because of his title, perhaps? But that didn’t make sense.

“Mmm, yes. Envious that I am the one who has been bestowed the honor of dancing the waltz with the loveliest lady at tonight’s rout.”

She tore her gaze from his and gazed at his wool-clad shoulder. “Oh.”

His words were simple flattery—she was well aware that she wasn’t the loveliest lady here—there were so many more beautiful and more elegant women present.

But Lord Fenwicke was clearly flirting with her now. And he was married. Was it a normal practice for the married gentlemen of the ton to flirt with unattached ladies? Truly, she didn’t know what to do; how to respond to this behavior.

“Does that embarrass you, Miss Donovan?”

“Of course not,” she said in a near whisper. She wasn’t a liar by nature, but she was too disconcerted to tell him the truth. Not to mention that the truth, in this circumstance, would make her look like the inexperienced fool she clearly was.

His arm was tight around her waist, and he kept her hand firmly clasped in his own. His body pressed against hers, and she could feel his…

A bolt of clarity swept through Olivia. She was completely out of her depth. This man was experienced, suave, and while Olivia couldn’t begin to comprehend his motivations, Lord Fenwicke knew exactly what he was doing.