Page 10 of A Rogue Worth the Risk

“I shan’t.” Ruining an old friendship was not Caspian’s plan. He had too few remaining friends to lose any more. “I give you my word.”

“That’s enough for me. Ah, here is my enchanting bride.” Brockman broke into an exuberant smile. “And my delightful sister.”

Fighting unexpected nerves, Caspian faced the women.

Across the ballroom, Lady Osborne regarded him with something more than casual interest. Her penetrating gaze drifted to Miss Brockman, and she said something to her cousin, Lady Octavia Sewell standing beside her.

Lady Sewell’s face screwed into a disapproving frown before, nose pointed ceilingward, she sailed away from her smiling—gloating?—cousin.

Brockman swiftly made the introductions, and Caspian bowed to the Brockman women.

“It’s my pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Brockman held his arm out, and his beaming wife laid her hand atop his forearm. “Darling, may I have the honor of the next dance?”

“Of course.” She gave Miss Brockman a little wave as her besotted husband led her onto the dance floor.

Aware of the many inquisitive and a few critical gazes pointed in his and Miss Brockman’s direction, Caspian battled whether to ask her to dance or escape into that coveted private retreat.

You cannot keep hiding.

It makes you look all the more guilty.

No small amount of truth there.

“Thank you for preventing me from falling earlier this evening, my lord. I am not usually so clumsy.” Miss Brockman gave him a winsome smile, mirth shining in her eyes. “Nor do I normally dart about with my hair down and my skirts up.”

Caspian cocked an eyebrow. He would wager she did so more often than was respectable. Nonetheless, she could laugh at herself. Another thing to like about her in addition to her straightforwardness.

“Think nothing of it.” He flicked a speck of lint off his cuff. “I was glad to be of help.”

A fine line drawing her brows together, Miss Brockman swept her light blue glance around those standing nearest to them. Several people averted their gazes or turned away. Others boldly stared, disapproval stamped upon their judgmental features.

Defiance flashed in her eyes, and she stepped forward, murmuring, “Aren’t you going to ask me to dance, my lord?”

Her boldness conquered his vacillation.

Yes. Yes, Caspian was. And gladly, too.

He swept his lips into what he hoped was a charming smile.

“Miss Brockman? Would you care to dance?”

Caspian extended his hand, still half-expecting her to turn in a whirl of blue and ivory and dash away, leaving him standing there like the leper most of Society regarded him as.

“I would be utterly delighted.” She produced a smile so radiant that he blinked rather stupidly at the brilliance.

She openly cocked a snook at the busybodies looking down their haughty noses at him.

What an intriguing spitfire.

Something more than gratitude flickered near his cold heart.

“My brother has spoken so highly of you, Lord Strathmore.” Miss Brockman raised her voice just enough to carry several feet away but still remain modulated. “I am acquainted with so few gentlemen of such noble character, integrity, and moral scruples.”

Her declaration was met with more than one irritated harrumph and offended scowl.

The minx was truly doing it up brown.