The Officer's Temptation | A Regency Romance

Chapter Eleven: The Ball

"Lady Balfrey is in fine form this evening." Kate whispered as they passed on the dance floor, gloved hands touching momentarily in a turn. Marlowe twirled with another partner before the dance allowed him to return to Miss Jennings. The curls pinned beside her face wafted slightly as they swirled by one another in another pass. Kate's eyes shone at him from across the dancing line. 

"And what ever could you mean by that?" he whispered in her ear as she rejoined him.

Their arms interlaced as they circled. Her scent filled his nose like orange blossoms flowering in the hot air. "You have eyes, do you not?"

"For no one but yourself," he said glibly. They hopped past each other on another turn.

"You are flirting, sir."

"Yes. Is it working?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" she tittered.

"Of course. Could you not say?" He whispered in her ear on the last pass, feeling his voice drop deeper into his chest.

"I can't solve all your problems for you, dear Lieutenant. You shall have to be resourceful and find out on your own." She swiped a damp curl away from her forehead as they stepped into the final positions of the dance.

"Now who is flirting?" he teased.

"Not I. For the song is ending and I can only flirt while dancing."

"Then we must dance again." The last strains of the music faded from the air. He grinned at her as he gave her a little bow. Her dimples showed as she gave him the requisite curtsy. The ballroom erupted into applause for the musicians, who wiped the sweat from their brows before beginning to pluck their strings for the next dance.

She took his arm, and halfway pulled him from the floor. "Lud, I shall faint away if I dance another step. The air is too close in here. And besides, I should not be monopolizing you. There are so many ladies who would like a turn."

The air was close, damp with the humidity of summer and the heat of the dancers and candles that flared around them. Even with the magnificent set of doors that lined the wall to the gardens all thrown open, there was no breeze to be found. He steered her towards the table where a servant was filling glasses of cool water from an urn. He handed one to Kate and took another for himself. Condensation had collected on the glass, dampening his glove. "How could I enjoy dancing with another partner after witnessing your grace on the dance floor?" The better question was how could he bear to watch Kate dance with anyone else. He felt a churning in his stomach just thinking of another man provoking her radiant smile. But that, he decided, was too impolitic to say.

She giggled indelicately, almost spitting out the sip of water she had taken. 'I stepped on your foot!"

"Only once... or twice," he teased. "I didn't mind at all. I suppose they will have to take the foot off after such an injury, but truly, I don't mind. It's not often a man can claim to have been injured by a stampeding elephant."

"You rogue! You wound me with your teasing."

"Not as much as you wounded my foot." His sharp wit was rewarded with an even sharper poke in the ribs that set him laughing.

Kate jerked her chin at something across the ballroom. "See, there is your Lady Balfrey," she said. "She shall send the chaperones to their deaths."

Marlowe followed her gaze before he could stop himself. Arabella was beside Nicholas, dressed in a scarlet gown whose deep square neckline was perhaps only a tenth of an inch away from being too scandalous for polite society. Her cheeks were flushed with wine and she was hanging onto Nicholas in a way that was so sensual, it was almost obscene. "She's not my Lady Balfrey," Marlowe said pointedly.