Lord Wraybourne's Betrothed by Jo Beverley Page B

the column of Lord Wraybourne’s throat and the muscles which stretched and tightened there and gradually became glossed with sweat.
    She knew nothing of the finer points of the sport. The applause of the others for a skillful pass was meaningless, but she saw beauty and grace in the lithely stretching and twisting bodies. As the bout progressed, the men’s fine lawn shirts began to cling to their bodies, outlining them for her admiration. The memory returned to disturb her time and time again, and she was infuriated that, try as she would, she could not recall Lord Randal’s body as vividly as she could that of her betrothed.
     
    On the final evening of her stay, Jane’s lessons were the excuse for a small dancing session in the music room. The Harrovings’ governess was brought down from the west wing to play the piano, and even Sir Arthur consented to stand up in the fourth couple necessary for most of the dances. As the partners rotated, Jane found Sir Arthur was a clumsy dancer and Sir Marius, too tall to be the most graceful, but she could not decide whether that title should go to Lord Randal or Lord Wraybourne. The former had the edge in beauty of movement, but the latter was more elegant.
    She stood with Lord Wraybourne ready for the first cotillion. “Now I will find out whether my dancing is really adequate or my teacher has just been kind,” she said to him with a nervous smile.
    “Good heavens, how am I to take that? Do I appear to be a critical sort?”
    Jane stared at him, distressed. “Oh, Lord Wraybourne, I never meant . . .”
    “And I am a swine to tease you when you are on edge. Forgive me, and do not worry. I have been watching your lessons, and you are a natural dancer.”
    Jane’s faint color was due to gratification and not embarrassment. “I do love dancing,” she confessed. “I hope I am invited to dance every dance all through the Season.”
    He laughed. “You will be worn to a frazzle, my dear. But whenever I am present you will not lack a partner.”
    “Surely, that would be very unfashionable?”
    He raised his brows. “But I, and therefore you, are fashionsetters, Jane. We will start a new style for marital fondness.”
    It was such an attractive notion that Jane felt obliged to protest. “We are not, however, married yet, Lord Wraybourne.”
    “I am very aware of that, Jane,” he said as the music started and they began the steps.
    Jane was glad the conversation had gone no further. During the lively dances there was no opportunity for more than the lightest conversation. Then, Lord Wraybourne claimed her for the waltz for the first time. Even though they danced at arm’s length as was proper, Jane felt ill at ease and kept her eyes down in the pretense that she was watching her steps.
    “You’ll find it easier if you look up, you know,” he said after a while. “You’ll just become light-headed doing that.”
    In fact she was feeling a little dizzy. “I am anxious not to make a mistake.”
    He smiled. “Then look up at me and tell me what a dreadful crush this ball is and how absolutely exhausted you are from all the invitations you simply have to accept.”
    “Oh yes,” she agreed. “I must practice my social conversation.” And with a slight and artificial smile she said, “It would be so much more enjoyable to spend a quiet evening at home for once, would it not, My Lord?”
    “Absolutely,” he agreed. “But then we poor gentlemen would miss the company of beautiful and charming women such as you.... Now Jane, you mustn’t gape at a compliment or they’ll put you down as the merest country bumpkin.”
    “But I am not accustomed to compliments.”
    “Tush. Randal must be losing his touch! I shall have to work at it. You will soon come to accept them as your due, and quite unworthy of the slightest consternation.”
    “Please, I wish you would not,” said Jane, lowering her head once again.
    “But the top of your head is quite delightful. If you do