The Case of the Season

Chapter Three

Robin would have been lying if she had said her stomach didn't flutter slightly when she picked up her dance card from the table at Lady Danbury's ball. Regardless of her marriage ambitions, this was a momentous event for any woman.

She was also hoping to meet Sherlock Holmes this evening, and that made her more than a little nervous. She had no idea how he'd react to her, and she hoped it would be favorable so she'd have at least one pleasant memory of the season.

She'd worn her best dress for the evening, since Lady Danbury's ball was such a splendid affair. It was white muslin, which was quite typical, but she'd spent hours embroidering intricate lavender flowers on the skirt, bodice, and sleeves. It hugged her larger shape quite attractively, she thought, and definitely showed off her cleavage to maximum effect.

Though she didn't expect her dance card to fill or any men to pay her particular attention, she wanted to make a good impression, if only for her Aunt Violet. She was doing so much for her, and that needed to be acknowledged.

She was rather thankful that, for the moment, at least, her aunt and cousin Anthony were preoccupied with Daphne. He was watching every man who approached his sister like a hawk, and Robin preferred the freedom to circulate on her own.

She made her rounds through the party, watching the dancers in the center of the floor and sampling the food. Most of the women she passed were flirting very ostentatiously, hoping to attract interest from a man early, since it would only get more difficult throughout the season. She wasn't going to participate in that kind of behavior, though, especially when she didn't even know whether she liked any of these men yet.

Several dances had passed when two new arrivals caused a stir. Simon Basset, the Duke of Hastings, was a relation of Lady Danbury's, and no one had expected him in town for the season. He was very handsome and very eligible, having recently been elevated by his father's death, and was instantly surrounded by ladies. He looked profoundly uncomfortable, and Robin hoped that he would soon be relieved.

The other man drew most of her attention, though. As Lady Whistledown had postulated, Sherlock Holmes was in attendance. Though she'd never seen him in person, of course, Robin recognized him from the many drawings that had been in the newspapers.

He was very tall and well-built, with broad shoulders, a thick chest, and powerful thighs. Though he was unusually clad almost entirely in tones of brown, it did draw attention to his dark hair, which fell slightly over his forehead in short curls.

She hadn't thought it possible, but he looked even more uncomfortable than the Duke of Hastings, though the group of women that surrounded him was smaller.

As Robin thought of a way to introduce herself, she was hit by a sudden bolt of inspiration. She instantly pressed forward, easily parting the crowd until she was standing before him and staring up into his brilliant blue eyes.

Up close, she could also see the very fetching cleft in his chin. His drawings did not do him justice at all. He was an exceedingly handsome man.

He tilted his head and looked at her curiously. Before he could speak, she announced, "Mr. Holmes, I'm glad I found you again. You will be late for our dance if you do not accompany me presently."

He stayed where he was, clearly confused. She raised an eyebrow at him and expectantly held out her hand. Surely a man known as the world's greatest detective would get the hint.

After another moment, he did. "My apologies," he said smoothly, taking her hand. "Shall we?"

She flushed as he escorted her to the dance floor. They took their places and the dance began. He seemed perturbed, and she tried to soothe him with a joke.

"You can dance, can't you, Mr. Holmes?"

He huffed. "Of course I can dance. I was raised properly. Which is more than I can say for you, Miss..."

"Robin Ballard," she introduced herself as he turned over the very empty dance card hanging from her wrist.

"As I'm sure you know, I have not signed your dance card, Miss Ballard. And the reason is primarily that I do not enjoy dancing."

"I am aware that you didn't sign my dance card, Mr. Holmes, but I thought it looked like you needed a swift intervention before you were overwhelmed by the young ladies and their conniving mamas."

"The attention of one predatory woman is preferable to the attention of many in number only," he observed disapprovingly.

Robin laughed, a loud, pealing sound that bounced through the room, startling more than several people. Sherlock was momentarily stunned by its pleasing quality, but quickly regained his composure.

"I'm hardly predatory, Mr. Holmes," she continued. "But I have read everything about your cases, and I couldn't pass up the opportunity to meet you. May I ask how your current case is proceeding?"

"You may not, Miss Ballard, as it's hardly your business, unless you have pertinent information to give me."

"Well, if I knew who you were investigating, I might," she replied coyly, glancing up at him.

His brow furrowed. "That is privileged information," he informed her curtly.

"Then I can tell you nothing, Mr. Holmes."

"Therefore, you are of no use to me, Miss Ballard."

To his surprise, she wasn't offended by the statement. She simply smiled and laughed again, and he was once more stunned by the sound and its effect on him.

As their dance came to an end, he barely bowed to her before beginning to move away. When she followed him, he stopped and turned to her in exasperation.

"Miss Ballard, I really must go," he insisted.

"Of course, Mr. Holmes," she responded easily. "You should sign my dance card first, though, to complete my unsuccessful deception, since you were not at all pleased with your rescue."

He pressed his lips together in a thin line and relented, gently cupping her wrist in the palm of his hand and turning her dance card over so he could sign it.

Her breath caught in her throat slightly as he touched her. It felt much more intimate than the dance they had just shared.

But she didn't betray what she was feeling. Instead, she looked up at him and brazenly declared, "I wish you luck in your investigative endeavors, Mr. Holmes, though I quite imagine your regular techniques are going to fail among the ton."

He raised an eyebrow and found that he couldn't help engaging with her assumption. "And what makes you say that, Miss Ballard?"

"Well, Mr. Holmes, you rely on observation of behavior to make your deductions. That won't work with the ton, because everyone has the same goals. Therefore, they all act the same by design. And even though it's widely known, they all go to great lengths to keep up the facade. It takes finesse to get to the secrets underneath. Charm, Mr. Holmes. Of which you plainly possess none."

He blinked rapidly, not even realizing that he hadn't yet let go of her hand. He was used to being blunt with people, but not so used to them being blunt with him.

Before he could reply, she was bidding him farewell and removing her hand from his. "Regardless, Mr. Holmes, it was a pleasure to meet you. You exactly met my expectations. I imagine I will see you again, but I will defer to your wishes and make sure that it is only from afar."

She turned and left his presence, leaving him standing alone in view of the dance floor. He found himself waiting to see if she would dance with anyone else, but she didn't stop, heading instead for the refreshments table.

He stared after her for another moment, then shook his head to clear it. He wasn't here to find a wife, and he certainly would not have chosen one with manners as impertinent as hers.

He straightened his jacket and cravat, grimacing as another gaggle of ladies approached him. As hard as it might be for him to navigate the world of the ton, he was going to persevere, despite what Miss Ballard said.

He was the world's greatest detective, after all.