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Chapter 4.2 (Part 2)
Felix stayed by his wards until they were claimed for the first dance. His sharp eyes had seen a number of less than desirable gentlemen approach the sisters, only to veer away as they saw him. If nothing else, his presence had achieved that much.
Searching through the crowd, he finally spotted Daniel Hammington disappearing into one of the salons where refreshments were laid out.
"Going to give them the go-by for at least a week, huh?" he growled as he came up behind Lord Daniel.
Daniel choked in the lemonade he had just drunk.
Felix gazed in horror at the glass in his friend's hand. "No! Bless me, Daniel! You turned temperate?"
Daniel grimaced. "Have to drink something and seemed like the best of a bad lot." His wave indicated the unexciting range of beverage available. "Thirsty work, getting a dance
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Mesmerized, she has sufficient presence of mind to keep a gentle smile fixed firmly on her face but her thoughts were whirling even faster that her feet. With a superhuman effort, she forced her kids to drop, screening her eyes from his. "Oh, we Flemings have many accomplishments, dear guardian." To her relief, her voice was clear and untroubled. "But I'm desolated to have to admit that they're all hopelessly mundane." A rich chuckle greeted this. "Permit me to tell you, my ward, that for the skills I have in mind, your qualifications are more than adequate." Margaret's eyes flew to his. She could hardly believe her ears. But Felix continued before she could speak, his blue eyes holding hers, his voice a seductive murmur. "And while you naturally lack experience, I assure you that can easily, and most enjoyably, be remedied." It was too much. Margaret gave up the struggle to divine his motives and made
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“Count me out.” Daniel Hammington threw his cards on the table and pushed back his chair. None of the other players was surprised to see him leave. Normally an excellent player, tonight his lordship has clearly had his mind elsewhere. And the brandy he had drunk was hardly calculated to improve matters, although his gait, as he headed for the ballroom, was perfectly steady. In the ballroom, Daniel paused to glance about. He saw the musicians tuning up and then sighted his prey. Almost as if she sensed his approach, Sophia turned as he came up to her. The look of sudden wariness that came into her large eyes pricked his conscience and, consequently, his temper. “My dance, I think.”
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Relieved to find she was not crying, as he had thought, Daniel immediately caught her hand to prevent her flying from him again. Stung by the shock his touch always gave her, intensified now, she was annoyed to discover, Sophia tried to pull her hand away. When he refused to let her go, she said, her voice infused with an iciness designed to freeze, “Kindly release me, Lord Daniel.” On hearing her voice, Daniel placed the emotion that was holding her so rigid. The knowledge that she was angry, nay, furious, did nothing to improve his own temper, stirred to life by her abrupt flight. Forcing his voice to a reasonableness he was far from the feeling, he said, “If you’ll give me your word you’ll not run away from me, I’ll release you.”
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