Mr. Delaney stopped before them, and an electric current of unbridled anticipation passed between her sisters and stepmother. An incredible and dreadful awareness seized Poppy, and her tongue seemed to tie itself into knots.
“Lord Kingsley,” Viscountess Balfour said, “May I present Baroness Hayes, her mother Mrs. Ashford, and her sisters Miss Poppy Ashford and Miss Rebecca Ashford.”
It was only then Poppy noted the viscountess had somehow materialized beside Mr. Delaney…no Lord Kingsley. Poppy suspected whatever was happening now might have been planned by Lavinia and the viscountess.
He bowed most charmingly and flashed a smile. “It is a pleasure, Lady Hayes, Mrs. Ashbrook, Miss Ashbrook and Miss Rebecca.”
“Lord Kingsley,” Lavinia said, dipping into a most elegant curtsy. “A pleasure to meet you.”
Her stepmother and Rebecca responded in kind, but Poppy only stared at him, so many questions tumbling through her thoughts. Had he been an earl when they first met?
His gaze landed on her, and Poppy dipped into a curtsy which felt clumsy. “Lord Kingsley,” she said upon rising.
“Miss Ashbrook,” he replied, “Would you do me the honor of dancing the next set with me. That is if it is not taken?”
There was a gasp, then silence. It was then Poppy noted he stared at her and not Rebecca. A quick glance showed her family and the viscountess stared at her in varying degrees of shock. “I…a dance?”
“Yes, I believe a polka is up next?” He held out his hand. “I have not partnered with anyone as yet. Would you do me the honor, Miss Ashford?”
But I do not know how to dance, she wordlessly cried, staring at his outstretched gloved hand. “No,” she said so softly he might not have heard.
However, his brow arched in surprise.
Another sound reached Poppy, a sigh of relief from her stepmother. The crush of the ball that had felt exciting earlier now felt stifling. The walls pressed in on Poppy, and the sounds and scents were unexpectedly overwhelming.
“Our Poppy is not much of a dancer,” her stepmother said casually. “She never took to it, I am afraid.”
“I believe Rebecca is free for the next set,” Lavinia smoothly interposed. “And she is a most incredible dance partner.”
Poppy glanced up to find James' eyes—curiously penetrating, on her. Mortified, she dipped into another quick curtsy. “If you will excuse me, Lord Kingsley. I must urgently visit the retiring room for a few minutes.”
Without awaiting a reply, Poppy made her escape through the tightly packed ballroom, for once thankful for her short stature. They would not be able to see where she was headed.
James asked me to dance, and I refused. Poppy’s face burned, and she did not make for the retiring room but to the open terrace door leading to the back gardens. Keeping away from the laughter and the lantern lights, she walked to an alcove and took several gulping breaths.
Mr. James Delaney was the Earl of Kingsley. How was it possible?
Her heart lurched when someone gently touched her elbow from behind. The touch was so unexpected it surprised a gasp from Poppy. She whirled around, her gaze colliding with the fierce brilliance of indigo eyes. “Mr. Delaney…I…Lord Kingsley,” Poppy stammered. “Why…” Once again, her tongue tied in knots. She rarely engaged in conversation with the opposite sex, and when she did, it was to answer passionately asked questions about her younger sisters.
He waved his hand dismissively. “Let us dispense with formalities, shall we? Please, call me James.”
Poppy tried in vain to interpret the look in his eyes. There was something tender in his stare but also calculating. Poppy did not have enough experience to understand the emotions in his gaze. “I do not dare be so intimate,” she breathed.
He came closer until she could feel the pleasant heat radiating from his body though he did not touch her. “Why…why did you not tell me you are an earl?”
A quick frown chased his handsome features. “Would it have mattered? I am still the same man…your friend.”
A shaky laugh escaped Poppy as her heart squeezed painfully. “We met once and exchanged a few letters. Does that make us friends?”
He pressed a hand over his heart as if wounded, and his indigo eyes glinted with humor. “Do not forget I gave you my coat and walked a few miles in the biting cold to my inn without its comforting warmth.”
Oh! Poppy hated that every part of her body felt sensitized and that her heart raced. “Why did you ask to dance with me?”
“The truth?”
Her heart gave a little flutter. “Is there a reason to fib?”
“No.”
“Then your honesty is appreciated.”
A rueful smile touched his mouth. “I saw you, and immediately my senses crowded with memories of our first meeting. They were so vivid I could hear your sob, feel the weight of you in my arms, feel the softness of your lips against my jaw. And your eyes, you have the loveliest silver eyes. I wanted to see them again. Those were the thoughts which drove me to cross the expanse of the ballroom and ask you to partner me in a dance.”
Poppy was so stunned by that reply she had nothing to say. Had she been susceptible to flattery and vanity of self, Poppy might think the earl liked her. The expression in his eyes intrigued her. Poppy never had a gentleman look at her in this manner. As if he found her entirely desirable. Her breath hitched as the awareness flowed through her. James wanted her. Surely she mistook the matter.
“I…Mr. Delan…I am sorry, Lord Kingsley…you are staring.” In the most delicate manner possible, Poppy tried to ask what he wanted of her but only sounded like a bumbling fool. Irritated, she huffed out a sharp breath. “Why did you follow me out here? I am not overly familiar with the rules and etiquette of high society, but is this not inviting a scandal?”
“I was very discreet. No one saw. I wanted to know why you ran from me?”
“Should I dance with you, I would make a cake of myself,” Poppy said in an embarrassed rush. “And most certainly embarrass you.”
“Why is that?”
“I do not know how to dance,” she admitted. “I’ve only had one lesson from my brother on the waltz, and it was more for fun than any serious instructions.”
“You are a gentleman’s daughter,” James said, his brow lifting in surprise. “Your sisters seemed very accomplished.”
“I was not afforded the same opportunities,” Poppy said mildly. “Nor am I here tonight to dance and have fun. I am Rebecca’s chaperone. It is her you should ask to dance.”
“I have no wish to dance with your sister.”
Poppy stared at the earl, searching his expression. She was surprised he had not fallen instantly under Rebecca’s spell. “I…” she stopped talking, for Poppy truly had no notion of what to say.
“Richard often mentioned that growing up, your greatest wish was for a London season.”
Poppy’s heart jolted, and she waved a hand in casual dismissal. “That was more a flight of fancy from a seventeen-year-old girl who chatted her brother’s ears off about balls and musicales. I am now four and twenty, by all accounts, a spinster and firmly ineligible to be a candidate on the marriage mart. Ladies of my age do not have seasons!”