Juliana shook her head, overwhelmed by the moment. “No, Your Grace.”
Mariana beamed up at her future husband, and said, “I think that is an excellent idea!” She then leaned in to Juliana and whispered conspiratorially, “Mind he doesn’t tread on your toes.”
The foursome laughed at Mari’s jest, and Rivington guided Juliana into the center of the room. Mariana and Callie watched as the two took their place and Juliana received her first public acceptance—in the form of a dance with one of the most powerful men in England. The sisters looked to each other, unable to hide their wide, proud smiles.
“I find I should very much like to dance myself,” came a voice close behind them. They turned to find St. John smiling at them. “Lady Mariana, never say you have promised this one to someone else?”
Mari looked down at her dance card and laughed. “Indeed I had, my lord,” she whispered, “although, it appears that my partner has chosen your sister instead.”
Nick shook his head, a tragic frown upon his face. “I shall endeavor to make it up to you, my lady.”
“That would be the gentlemanly thing to do,” Mari said with a brilliant smile, and allowed him to guide her onto the floor.
Callie watched them go, amused. It was almost enough for her to forget that they’d all summarily left her with Ralston. Almost enough.
Uncertain of what to say in light of their last conversation, she turned and met his unreadable gaze. Nervous, she decided on the safest topic. “Lord Ralston,” she said, “it appears your sister is in fine form this evening.”
“Indeed. Thanks to you and your family.”
“Rivington is proving himself to be an excellent soon-to-be member of our motley crew.” Callie’s lips curved in a quiet smile as they watched the dancing couples.
One side of Ralston’s mouth kicked up. “I am indebted to him.” He looked at her, spearing her with a serious look. “And to you.”
His eyes darkened and narrowed as they passed over her, and Callie detected a slight shifting of his weight. And it was then that she knew…he had noticed her dress. Ask me to dance. She knew that it was a terrible idea—that the very last thing she should do was allow herself to be swept away by Ralston tonight—mere hours after refusing his proposal of marriage and resolving to remain far, far away from him. Ask me to dance so that my first waltz in this gown is with you. She quashed the little voice, resolving this moment to stop her silly flights of fancy. Dancing with Ralston was a decidedly awful idea.
“Lady Calpurnia, would you care to dance?”
At first, Callie was legitimately confused by the words, which she had willed Ralston to speak but that instead came from an altogether different direction—over her right shoulder. She blinked uncertainly, barely noting Ralston’s thunderous expression before understanding dawned, and she turned to face Baron Oxford.
No! She resisted the urge to stomp her foot.
She could not refuse his offer; not only would it be the height of impropriety to do so, Callie was certainly in no position to refuse any offer to dance. It wasn’t as though they came fast and furiously. She darted a little glance in the direction of Ralston, briefly wondering if he might step in and claim the dance for himself. She would not deny it if he were to say that he had requested the waltz in question.
But he said nothing, instead watching her with that cold, unreadable gaze. She turned back to Oxford. “I would very much like to dance, my lord. Thank you.”
The baron extended his hand to her, and she settled her palm in his.
When their hands touched, he flashed a broad grin that did not wholly reach his eyes. “Excellent.”
Ralston watched as Oxford guided Callie into the waltz, fury coursing through him at the sight of the other man’s arms wrapped around her—touching her. Only years of training in restraint stayed him from storming out onto the ballroom floor and wrenching her from the clutches of the fortune-hunting dandy.
It should be me dancing with her, for God’s sake. Ralston berated himself as he followed their path around the dance floor, Oxford’s tall frame towering over Callie as he swept her through the room, turning her into a swirl of blue. As if the events that had transpired—her thorough dismissal of him and his marriage proposal—had not smarted enough, now she was in Oxford’s arms, dressed like an angel.
Where the hell had she found a dress like that? It fit her beautifully, embracing and celebrating the lush, feminine shape of her, highlighting her lovely breasts, the subtle curve of her hips, her voluptuous figure. It was a dress designed to enhance and embolden and drive men mad. It was a dress that served only one purpose—to tempt men into removing it.