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him fervently.
    Malcolm frowned. “Is it my intentions you question, then? I assure you, madam, they are strictly honorable.”
    “Oh, dear,” she said with a sigh. As he looked at her in surprise, she hurried on. “That is, I’m sorry to hear you have intentions, my lord. You would never suit.”
    “Indeed,” he replied, glancing at the gossamer young lady on the dance floor with more interest than he had felt earlier. “May I say, madam, that you came to that conclusion on remarkably little evidence.”
    “Not at all, my lord,” she corrected him, obviously warming to her argument. “I have read and heard a great deal about you. You are obviously a gentleman of mature years, with a thriving career and every expectation of a glorious future. You will want a wife who can help make that future a reality, someone with intelligence, breeding, and a great dollop of common sense. My cousin is beautiful, cultured, and well-read, completely self-absorbed, and utterly lacking in common sense. She would attempt to lead you a merry dance, as she does the youth who cluster about her. You would see through her shortly. I merely save you that time.”
    He stared at her for the third time that night. “Thank you, Miss Compton,” was all he could think to say. She smiled at him, revealing dimples on either side of her generous mouth, and making her eyes appear the color of a southern sea at sunrise.
    “You are most welcome, Lord Breckonridge,” she replied. “If we are in agreement, I shall take my leave of you.”
    He had no choice but to bow, still stunned by her logic, her intuition, and her honesty. “Your servant, madam.”
    She dropped a curtsy and started to go. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a movement. To his left, Prestwick was motioning frantically toward Sarah. The dance on the floor was ending, rather soon he thought, and he heard the musicians begin the strains of a waltz. He found himself smiling. Hadn’t he said always said Prestwick was a clever fellow?
“Miss Compton,” he began. She turned to him. “How do you feel about the waltz?”
    “I have yet to give Persephone permission to dance it,” she said primly, casting a quick glance to the floor, where indeed her charge was suffering herself to be led away.
    “Do you find it so wicked?” Malcolm asked, waiting for her to confirm his fears.
    She eyed him for a moment, then a conspiratorial grin spread, bringing her dimples once more into view. “Truth be told,” she replied, “I adore it. I learned from my cousin’s dancing master. God bless Lady Jersey for bringing it back from Vienna. It is truly the only dance worth dancing.”
    He felt his own grin spreading. He held out his hand. “In that case, will you do me the honor?”
    She stared at his hand as if he had offered her a snake. “You are asking me to dance?”
    “I am asking you to waltz,” he corrected her. “Turn about is fair play, after all. Well?”
    She stared at him a moment longer, as if weighing the repercussions. Then she laid her hand firmly in his.
    “I would be delighted,” she told him, and he pulled her into his arms and out onto the floor.
    It was the finest waltz he had ever danced. From the moment he held her womanly frame against him, the ballroom receded to a soft gray blur, like a mist around them. She was attuned to his every movement, was reacting seconds before he even knew he had indicated her to do so. She moved so gracefully beside him that it heightened the feeling that they were dancing on air. He gazed down into those witch’s eyes, now a deep blue, and wondered whether he were under a spell he would ever care to break.
    Anne Fairchild would only laugh at him. Her charming husband had presented him with the Incomparable Miss Compton, and found he much preferred her chaperone.
     

Chapter Four
     
    It was the finest waltz she could have imagined. From the moment he put his strong arm about her waist, the ballroom receded to a soft gray blur,