Page 8 of Courting Claudia
“He’s my father’s choice. Besides, it’s not as if I have a line of men to choose from.” Claudia held up her dance card. “He will propose when the time is right. He’s merely busy with his career. Like it or not, Richard is my only choice.”
“What about Mr. Middleton?”
“What about Mr. Middleton?”
“What color were his eyes?”
“Brown.” She said that entirely too fast. Cripes. She was supposed to be uninterested in that man. If she was so uninterested, why did she keep thinking of him? And his brown eyes.
“But he’s nothing special?”
“Oh, all right, he’s handsome. Devilishly so. Satisfied?” She crossed her arms over her chest, then smiled in spite of herself.
“Partially.”
“It simply doesn’t matter whether or not he’s handsome, I’m still not work—”
Gracious, he was here. And dressed head to toe in black, like a walking sin. His hair, tied back tonight, gave him an almost civilized look. But the sharp slant of his eyebrows over those sensual eyes revealed his secret. She popped open her fan and waved it back and forth a few times. Her cheeks blazed as if on fire. Perhaps she had a fever. Where had that pleasant breeze gone? As if even the trees and wind stilled when he entered the room. What was he doing here?
“Claudia?” Poppy waved a gloved hand in front of her face, which brought her attention back to her friend.
“Yes?”
“Care to share your secret?”
“That’s Mr. Middleton.”
“I suspected as much. I could tell by his devilishly handsome face.”
“Stop that.”
“You’d better stop waving that fan about—you’re beginning to make a spectacle of yourself. What is he doing here?”
“How should I know?” Claudia closed the fan and slipped it back on her wrist. “It matters not to me why he’s here. We have no relationship, nothing whatsoever to discuss.”
“Then you’d better think of something to discuss, because he’s headed in our direction.”
He saw her standing across the ballroom, dressed in flamingo pink. She looked more like a frosted cake than a woman. How exactly did he court a woman like her? He’d never courted a lady before, not even his former wife. But tonight he didn’t have to think of courting. No, tonight he only needed to convince her to continue to work for him. Tomorrow he could start his courtship.
Damn, there were enough ruffles on that dress to distract a man from noticing her womanly curves. A ruffle gathered the entire neckline that dipped subtly off her shoulders. Clusters of rosebuds bunched on the gathers of her two-layer skirt, but it was the rosebuds pinned at her cleavage that grabbed his attention. It was a bosom that men would write poetry about; not him, though, because he didn’t write poetry. But if he were that sort of man, her breasts would certainly inspire a sonnet.
He glanced at her face. Her sassy expression did nothing to hide her surprise to find him heading in her direction. She turned to the tall, attractive woman next to her and attempted to say something, but her eyes were drawn back to him. When he finally reached her, she smiled tentatively.
“Miss Prattley, what a pleasure to find you here,” he said.
“Thank you, sir. Please meet my dearest friend, Lady Penelope Livingston. But everyone calls her Poppy.”
“A pleasure.” He nodded over Lady Penelope’s hand and then brought Claudia’s to his mouth for a kiss. Her eyes grew round and a blush colored prettily in her cheeks. She was not a beautiful woman, not in the classic sense, not like her friend, but something about her drew the eye to her face. It was her smile; honest, real, and full of actual joy—not one of the manufactured smiles that most women wore. She was more cute than pretty, in the way that children or puppies were cute. Only those ruffles hinted at a not-so-childlike body beneath. Cute or no, Claudia Prattley was all woman.
“I thought perhaps we might share a dance this evening. That is, if you still have room on your card.”
“Well—”
“Of course she has room left.” Poppy nudged her friend in the side.
“Certainly. Where are my manners? I apologize, Mr. Middleton. I do believe I must be coming down with something. I’m simply not thinking clearly. It’s been agitating Poppy all evening. Why, I was just saying that—”
Poppy nudged her again.