A Dangerous Pursuit (Regency Spies & Secrets Book 1) - Laura Beers (macos ebook reader .TXT) 📗

couldn’t help but wonder what kind of illicit activities Lord Hawthorne and his brother were entangled with.

Chapter Fourteen

With a drink in his hand, Baldwin knew he was scowling as he watched Miss Dowding dance a set with that blond dandy, Lord Whitmore, but he didn’t care. The poor man was making a fool of himself as he tried to win Miss Dowding’s favor. He hoped that she wasn’t foolish enough to fall for his pathetic attempts to woo her.

Miss Dowding looked especially lovely tonight in a gown that hugged her curves perfectly. Her hair was piled high atop her head, showing off the elegant curvature of her neck. Blast it! Those were things he most definitely should not be noticing about her, especially since he had no intention of pursuing her.

What a waste of an evening, he thought, as he tightened his hold on his glass. His mother had made him dance the first set with Jane, but he refused to dance with anyone else. He would rather be anywhere but here, including his filthy rented room on Draper Street, but his mother would have been devastated if he hadn’t attended his own ball.

His brother’s voice broke through his musings. “Why aren’t you dancing?” he asked, coming to stand next to him.

“Not interested.”

“Ah,” Oliver replied, following his gaze. “Then, may I ask why you are staring at the lovely Miss Dowding?”

Bringing the glass up to his lips, Baldwin responded, “I’m not.”

“You are a terrible liar, you know,” Oliver joked as he turned to face him. “You have been scowling at Miss Dowding since the first set.”

“I have not.”

Oliver smirked. “You might want to turn your attention to another young woman for the rest of the evening or people may start talking.”

Baldwin placed his empty drink on the tray of a servant passing by. “What are you even doing in the ballroom?” he asked. “I thought you had adjourned to the card room.”

“I did, but I was thinking about asking Miss Dowding for another dance.”

Now Oliver had his full attention. “You want to dance two sets with Miss Dowding?” Baldwin asked in disbelief.

“Why not?”

“In case you haven’t noticed, Miss Dowding doesn’t appear to have a shortage of dance partners,” Baldwin said. “Men have been lining up to speak to her.”

“That doesn’t surprise me,” Oliver replied, “but I assume most of them are fortune hunters and rakes.”

“Why do you say that?”

Oliver gave him a surprised look. “Because Miss Dowding is one of the richest young women in all of England.”

“She is?”

“How is it that you weren’t aware of that?”

Baldwin ran a hand over his chin. “I had no idea,” he replied. “She doesn’t appear entitled or pretentious.”

“No, she does not.” Oliver accepted a drink from a servant before growing serious. “You should know that she was asking me questions about the night at the Flailing Duck.”

“What did she ask?” he questioned, furrowing his brows.

Oliver lowered his voice and shared, “She wanted to know why I was in the rookeries on the night you abducted her.”

“What did you say?”

“I told her to ask you.” Oliver took a drink from his glass.

“Thank you for that,” Baldwin remarked dryly.

Oliver lowered the glass to his side. “What would you have me say?” he asked. “I couldn’t very well tell her the truth.”

“No, you are right, of course,” Baldwin replied.

“You will need to think of something to say to Miss Dowding, because she can’t keep asking questions,” Oliver warned. “It could jeopardize both of our covers.”

“I am well aware of that fact.”

With a concerned look, Oliver said, “We both know what Corbyn would say about this.”

“I do,” Baldwin replied, frowning. “He would say ‘deal with it, or I will deal with it for you’.”

Baldwin watched as Miss Dowding was escorted back to her companion by Lord Whitmore. A group of gentlemen were already waiting to speak to her, and she politely acknowledged them with a smile. But he could tell it wasn’t genuine.

“The next dance is the waltz, you know,” Oliver revealed.

“I hadn’t realized that.”

Oliver placed a hand on his shoulder and said, “You might want to ask her to dance before someone else does.”

“I hate dancing,” Baldwin muttered.

“True, but ladies generally enjoy it,” Oliver teased.

Miss Dowding glanced his way, and their eyes met. He watched, transfixed, as her green eyes sparkled under the candlelight. In the next moment, he found himself walking purposefully as he made his way over to her.

Stopping in front of her, he extended his gloved hand and asked, “Would you care to dance, Miss Dowding?”

She glanced down at his proffered hand before saying, “I apologize, but this set is taken.”

“By whom?” he growled.

“Mr. Thatcher has requested this set,” she replied, gesturing towards a lanky young man standing nearby.

Turning his gaze towards Mr. Thatcher, Baldwin remarked in a stern voice, “I am sure that Mr. Thatcher will graciously step aside until the next dance. Won’t you?”

A flicker of fear came to Mr. Thatcher’s eyes. “I do not mind, my lord,” he replied, his voice trembling slightly.

“Excellent,” Baldwin replied as he returned his attention to Miss Dowding. “Shall we?”

As he led them towards the dance floor, Miss Dowding murmured, “Poor Mr. Thatcher. That was poorly done on your part.”

“I asked, and he offered to dance the next set with you.”

She huffed. “You practically threatened the poor man.”

“I did not,” he argued, glancing over at her. “Trust me when I say that when I threaten someone, you will most assuredly know.”

Baldwin stopped in the middle of the dance floor, brought her left arm up, and slid his hand around her waist. He heard her slight intake of breath at his touch, which pleased him immensely. Perhaps she wasn’t as immune to his charms as he had led himself to believe.

The music began, and Baldwin started leading her around the floor. “You dance superbly,” he praised.

“Thank you,” she replied as her gaze darted around the room.

“I must admit that I haven’t danced the waltz in over three years.”

“Well, it doesn’t show,