Before He Was Mine (Before Series, Book 2)

Three Dances, A Ruined Emilia They Make

Lord Trotten had danced with Emilia twice more, eagerly listening to her tips on winning games of whist and spotting the best gossip in the ton (Madame Mischief of Mischief in Mayfair was her favorite). But upon the final chord of her third dance, Lady Worthington was there to whisk Emilia away.

Honestly, Emilia was surprised that Theo had not stepped in before that, but then Lady Worthington had informed her that the duke left sometime earlier. As an informant for the marriage-minded ladies of the ton, it was vital for her to know such things, after all.

It would seem that the matron had finally decided to step up to the task of chaperoning. But it was all rather too late, anyway. Emilia could hear the hushed whispers spread throughout the room while Lady Worthington chastised her for dancing so many times with a single partner.

Because doing so in a London ballroom was practically a declaration of courtship, if not marriage.

Emilia admitted to Lady Worthington that she hadn't been thinking about that when she had agreed to continue dancing with Lord Trotten. He was simply so lovely.

Lovely to look at, with those dancing blue eyes. Lovely to talk to, with that cunningly smooth voice. Lovely to dance with, with his sleek, lean figure.

"You had better hope that he calls upon you tomorrow, dear!" Lady Worthington had said as they gathered themselves within her carriage. "Or you shall find yourself in a scandalous situation indeed."

Emilia had not been able to sleep that night, fretting over what she would do if he should call upon her in the morning. And then she had switched to fretting over what she would do if he did not.

However, Lord Trotten called on her at an alarmingly early hour and put her worries to rest.

"Good morning, Lady Emilia," he said as he practically waltzed into the parlor, his eyes twinkling just as they had the previous night. She offered him her hand, and he bowed over it. Emilia saw him hesitate. In her rush to greet him, she had forgotten her gloves.

She always forgot those damn things.

But Lord Trotten seemed not to care and shocked her by brushing his lips against her bare hand. Emilia flushed at the feeling as his flesh graced her own. She might have even gasped, though she dearly hoped she hadn't.

It was resolved right then and there: Emilia would have to forget her gloves more often.

When Lord Trotten straightened, the corners of his mouth were stretched in a smirk.

It was possible that she had actually gasped and that he had heard it. Oh, dear.

Emilia busied herself with ringing for tea and tried to tame the blush that was overcoming her face. It was so very hard when he looked at her like that--like she was the first woman he had ever met.

She searched for something to say and decided to ask him about his time on the continent. "What was your favorite place that you visited while you were abroad, my lord?"

Lord Trotten considered the question as he arranged himself comfortably in the chair across from her.

"I would have to say that Italy was my favorite," he answered. Emilia admired his deep, smooth voice.

"Why was that?" she asked, genuinely curious. She had never traveled outside of England. Travel was yet another thing that daughters of dukes generally did not get to partake in.

"The people there are so...lively and interesting. It never grew dull. Plus, it is simply stunning." He tilted his head and smiled. "Are you certain you are not Italian, Lady Emilia?"