“Why do I feel as if I’m headed to my own court-martial?”
“Because you are. Have you no idea what you’ve done, what you’ve made me do?” She looked up at him with those beautiful brown eyes, stricken with worry.
“What? Taken you away from Fitzroy? I had no idea you were enjoying his company, or I would’ve left you alone. I thought I was being a gentleman, but clearly I’m going to need more practice.”
She stopped, staring up at him. “No, I’m grateful for the rescue, but the dance—the waltz. I’m a debutante. I don’t have permission yet to waltz with anyone. Doing so without being given leave—” She shook her head, her brown curls bouncing against her smooth cheeks. “I’m ruined.”
Ruined? For dancing with him? What rot. Nothing improper had occurred there in the view of all, so why the fuss?
Yet the look in her eyes, the anger simmering on her father’s face, and the determined set of the jaws of the Patronesses told him there might be some substance behind her claim.
Evan, you idiot. What have you done?
“I’ll explain it to them. It’s my fault. I had no idea. Let me tell them what happened, and I’ll take the blame.”
She removed his hand from her arm and shook her head. “Sir, please. You’ll only make it worse. I must insist that you leave me alone. It will be best for both of us.”
Frowning, Evan took a deep breath. “Very well, but I am no coward. I will return you to your father and face whatever faux pas I’ve committed like a man.”
Just as they reached the knot of people with judgment on their minds, a commotion at the entrance had everyone turning their heads. People stirred, and the orchestra stopped mid-measure. The couples twirling on the dance floor slowed, and into the silence, someone let out a loud gasp.
The Patronesses’ mouths dropped open, and to Evan they looked like freshly landed codfish. Had the doorman let in yet another undesirable like him to tilt their axes?
Taller than most, Marcus looked over the crowd, his brows rising, and then he shot a glance at Evan.
An opening formed, and there stood the Prince Regent, resplendent in evening finery, his retinue crowding behind him. His cravat dug into his chins, and his coat was large enough to make a fine bivouac tent on the Spanish plains, but he cut a commanding figure.
To his right and left, men bowed and ladies curtsied, lowering their heads but not their eyes as they stared.
The prince strode near—was he making right for them?—and Evan bowed, mimicking Marcus, just a few steps away. Diana grabbed his arm and dipped into a low curtsy.
“Ah, two of my favorite people.” The prince rubbed his hands together and then held out his palm to Diana, who took it and rose so gracefully it took Evan’s breath away. “How are you, my dear? You know, you’re shining everyone down around here. If you’re not careful, you’ll be named this Season’s ‘Incomparable’ and have every other woman jealous.” He kissed the air just over her knuckles. “And you, Whitelock, how are you faring? I can’t tell you how I enjoyed conferring a title upon you.” He appraised Evan from hair to boots. “You’re wearing it well. I was pleased to issue your pass to Almack’s. I thought I’d toddle round to see how you were making out. It’s been too long since I attended an Almack’s bash.”
“Your Highness.” Evan bowed again. “Mr. Haverly has taken it upon himself to become my mentor. I only wish I were a more apt pupil.” And also that Marcus would’ve mentioned the prohibition against waltzing with a debutante.
“Good, good. He’ll steer you right.” The prince glanced up at the balcony and leaned to speak to one of his courtiers. “Tell them to play. This place is dead without music.”
“Your Highness. What a pleasure to see you here.” One of the Patronesses stepped forward. Lady Jersey, was that her name? “We’re honored.”
He nodded, his lips pursed as he studied her. The orchestra filled the room with an Austrian melody, and the prince’s countenance lightened. “Ah, the waltz. I adore the waltz. My dear, would you do me the honor?” He offered his arm to Diana.
She looked from Lady Jersey to her father, who was now narrow eyed and as calculating as a miser.
“Your Highness,” Diana faltered. “I haven’t yet been given per—”
“She’d be delighted.” The Duke of Seaton stepped forward. “I was just now receiving Lady Jersey’s blessing to give Diana permission to waltz at Almack’s, wasn’t I, Lady Jersey?”
That lady looked as if she’d swallowed a caltrop, but she nodded. “Yes, of course. Lady Diana is a lovely dancer and of impeccable character, Your Highness. It isn’t often we grant permission to a debutante her first evening here, but how could we refuse such a charming young lady?”
Evan wondered if the words choked her. Marcus appeared to be smothering laughter behind his forefinger laid along the seam of his lips.
As the prince led Diana into the center of the now-empty dance floor, Evan turned to watch their progress. The Prince Regent was a large man, with quite a girth, and he dwarfed Diana, but he moved with more grace than Evan would’ve imagined. Diana appeared to almost float across the gleaming wood, a half smile on her face. After a complete turn around the floor, other couples joined them, and Evan had to work harder to see her in the throng.
The Duke of Seaton and Lady Jersey were sharing some private, intense words. Behind them, wearing a smirk that made Evan’s body tense, Viscount Fitzroy laughed, eyes heavy lidded as they followed Diana’s every move. Percival Seaton went by with a girl in his arms, light gleaming off his golden hair. He must be quite recovered from his Salamanca injuries.
Fitzroy waited until Lady Jersey had marched off before joining the Duke of Seaton. He motioned to Diana as she twirled by in the arms of the prince. Seaton jerked his head, his brows going high. What was that bounder Fitzroy saying about her?
“You realize, my good man, that the prince saved you both from ruin, even though he has no idea?” Marcus spoke quietly, almost out of the side of his mouth. “What were you thinking, dragging her into a waltz, of all things?”
“How was I supposed to know? You might have mentioned it amongst all the other lessons you’ve been cramming down my craw all week.” Now that he had time to mull over the situation, hot embarrassment coursed through Evan, drawing his ire. He had never asked for any of this. By rights he should be returning to his regiment and the life he knew, ready to wreak some havoc on the enemy in Spain and push the French back to France, where they belonged.
But one did not say no to the Prince Regent.
Before the dance ended, but when it appeared the Prince Regent’s stamina had, he returned a flushed Diana to them. “My dear, I haven’t enjoyed anything so much for years.” He was red cheeked and panting slightly. “It’s been awhile since I took a turn with so fair a young lady.”
She curtsied. “Thank you, Your Highness.” Gratitude laced her words, and Evan knew it was for more than the compliment or the dance. She knew as well as Marcus that His Highness had saved her Season and most likely her reputation.
As she straightened, the prince looked over to Evan. “I say, I have a wonderful idea. Whitelock”—he flicked his wrist, motioning to him—“as my newest nobleman, you’re in need of a bride. And Diana, as my goddaughter …” He paused, his eyes gleaming. “Yes. What a match it would be. It would be just the thing if you two should marry. Whitelock, you should offer for the girl! She’d be perfect. In fact, I shall have to insist upon it.”