“They’re still young enough for you to encourage them to do so.” A glimpse of shimmering gold caught the corner of James’s eye.
He shifted his gaze and tried to locate it while Pennington proceeded to argue his point. Another hint of gold flashed in response to the bright glow from hundreds of candles placed in the overhead chandelier. James stared at the dance floor. An unfamiliar sense of expectation gripped his stomach as the dancers swirled about, repositioning themselves, until…
Every cell in his body tightened. His mouth went dry and his heart beat with increased force. Because there, smiling at the man with whom she partnered, was the loveliest creature he’d ever laid eyes on. Elegant and stunningly beautiful with her blonde curls framing her heart-shaped face, eyes sparkling with merriment, and a teasing smile curving her full-bodied lips, the lady James beheld stole his breath.
Of course, she was probably some man’s wife – the sort of woman he had no business ogling. But how could he not when her body alone, clad in shimmering silk, was so perfectly curved and proportioned. He swallowed, fisted his hands by his sides, and tried to add as much indifference to his tone as possible when he asked Pennington, “Who’s the woman in gold? I don’t believe I recognize her.”
“That would be Mrs. Hewitt. Her husband is Mr. George Hewitt, the furniture manufacturer.”
Disappointment raced through James’s veins and settled in his gut. “I see,” he muttered.
“Ah! It seems the dance is ending.” Pennington gave James a nudge. “Come on, Dale. I’ll introduce you.”
“I really don’t think,” James began, his frown deepening when Pennington walked away and left him no choice but to follow. The viscount was clearly oblivious to the reason behind his interest and did not realize an introduction would be useless given the lady’s attachment.
Muttering a curse, he cast a hasty glance in his son’s direction, noted he was now happily engaged in conversation with a couple of young men his age, and went in pursuit. Having affairs with married women wasn’t his style, so what was the point in meeting the woman?
“Mrs. Hewitt,” Pennington said, drawing her attention as he approached. “Allow me to introduce you to Mr. Dale, the finest barrister of my acquaintance. Mr. Dale, I present to you Mrs. George Hewitt.”
Hands clasped behind his back, James executed a short bow while holding the lady’s gaze. In spite of schooling his features, he doubted he managed to hide his admiration. This close, she was even lovelier than she’d been at a distance. There were finer details he’d missed before, like the length of her sooty lashes, the charming laugh-lines at the edge of her eyes, which were, he saw now, not simply blue but a merging of sky and ocean.
His heart kicked into a faster rhythm as muscles flexed and strained in an effort to hold himself steady. She wasn’t for him, but damn if he wouldn’t allow himself a moment to simply reflect on her beauty.
“A pleasure,” he murmured.
“Likewise.” Her voice was soft and slightly melodic. The edge of her mouth curved to form a partial smile, and James was lost – lost in the momentary triumph of being the subject of her appreciation.
He reminded himself for the umpteenth time that this was a married woman. They would never share more than a brief conversation. But while they did, he would drink in every second, absorb every nuance, and tuck them all away in a private corner of his mind.
“Mrs. Hewitt hails from Cornwall,” Pennington said. “She and her husband both grew up there within one mile of each other.”
“How lovely,” James said, and immediately wanted to kick himself for the bland remark. The problem was he had no desire to speak of her husband or think on the fact that theirs was a love match nurtured since childhood. He’d once imagined himself caught up in such a union. His wife had certainly been most convincing in her feigned affection for him, until they’d spoken their vows.
He tamped down that memory. Clara had been duplicitous and more than ready to jump into other men’s beds in an effort to, as she’d put it, cure her unhappiness.
“He and I moved to London three years ago,” Mrs. Hewitt explained while James tried to figure out who he was. Ah yes, her husband. “We wanted our daughter, Cynthia, to have a proper coming out, you see, and since neither Mr. Hewitt nor I have any other relations here in Town with whom Cynthia could visit, we relocated.”
“Your daughter is most fortunate to have such considerate parents,” James said. He added a smile and instantly felt his heart soar in response to the blush creeping into Mrs. Hewitt’s cheeks.
Careful now, you old dog. Don’t let yourself get carried away.
“She married Mr. and Mrs. Clive Petersen’s son, Henry, a little over six months ago. We’re both extremely happy on her behalf.”
“A fine match indeed,” Pennington said. “Mr. Petersen’s success within the shipping industry does demand a great deal of respect.”
James nodded. “My felicitations to you and your family, Mrs. Hewitt.”
She met his gaze, the warmth he found there holding him captive. “Thank you, Mr. Dale.”
Pennington cleared his throat. “I’d hoped to introduce Mr. Dale to your husband, Mrs. Hewitt, but I fear it will have to wait. Apparently, the set I’m meant to dance with my wife is about to begin.” He gave her a studious look. “Would you excuse me?”
His tone struck James as slightly odd. It was almost as though he worried he’d made a mistake when he’d chosen to introduce her to James.
If she noticed, she showed no sign of it. “Of course.”
Pennington awarded her with a soft smile. “It’s always a pleasure to see you, Mrs. Hewitt.” Straightening, he offered James a more thoughtful look, which again struck James as odd. “I trust we’ll have a chance to talk more later. If not, I hope it won’t be one more year before our paths cross again.”
“I’ll try to make more of an effort to stay in touch,” James promised.
The viscount gave him a solid slap on the back and went to collect his wife, leaving James alone with the delectable Mrs. Hewitt. Or as alone as a man could be with a woman while still surrounded by dozens of people. He glanced toward the dance floor where a quadrille was starting up. How long had it been since he’d last enjoyed such activity? He honestly couldn’t recall.
For a fleeting second he contemplated inviting Mrs. Hewitt to partner with him for the next set, then dismissed the notion since it would probably be inappropriate in light of the heated effect she was having on him. And yet, he desperately wanted her touch, if only in the most innocent manner allowed. So he offered his arm. “Would you care to take a turn of the room with me?”
Pleasure filled every aspect of her expression. “I’d be delighted to, Mr. Dale. Especially if we can head toward the refreshment table since dancing has left me quite parched.”
“But of course. I find I could do with a cool drink myself.”
Her lips quirked as if she struggled to keep vast amounts of humor at bay. Those dazzling blue eyes of hers sparkled. And then she placed her hand on his forearm and it was as if James’s world burst open and pleasure poured in. He was wearing a jacket for God’s sake, cut from superfine wool. Beneath that, he had on a fine linen shirt. Yet Mrs. Hewitt’s touch singed him all the way to the bone, in spite of her gloves.