Linley recognized quite a few faces from the Robeson’s and Lord Markham’s balls. The Duke and Duchess of Darlington stood with Lady Carrington. Lord Dewitt and Lord Luccombe leaned against a far wall while their wives flittered around the room. Patrick was right—he must have invited everyone. At least everyone who was anyone in London.
“La Infanta!” Lord Finchdale sauntered across the dance floor to where Linley and her father stood. “If it is all right with your escort, I would be honored to claim that dance you promised me.” Finchdale took her by the arm and hauled her onto the dance floor. “I wanted to dance now because I paid the band to play my favorite song!”
“Oh,” Linley said, wishing he didn’t hold her so tightly to him. “What song?”
“Steamboat Bill!” He dragged an unprepared Linley across the parquet floor.
“Aren’t you going a little fast?” she asked, trying to follow his steps.
Finchdale didn’t seem to care, he was having too much fun. That, or he was knee deep in a bottle of brandy. “Can’t you keep up, Se?ora?”
“Not at the pace you’re going.”
Finchdale bumped into one young couple, and then ricocheted into another, nearly knocking the other dancers down. Linley tried to twist her neck around to watch where they were going, but it was all she could do just to hold on for the ride.
“You’re going to get us killed,” she said.
A fine sheen of sweat glistened across Finchdale’s forehead, and his slick red hair flopped into his eyes, further impairing his already impaired vision. Still, he twirled, and slipped, and dipped, and twisted, holding Linley hard against his hip.
“Don’t they Castle Walk in Spain?” he asked.
Around and around they spun, growing dangerously close to the crowd that gathered to watch the spectacle. Linley searched for flashes of Patrick in the sea of amused faces. She saw her father on the outer perimeter of the ballroom, oblivious to his daughter’s dilemma. She saw Reginald talking to a pretty blonde. She saw Archie. She saw Gaynor. She saw…a footman carrying a tray of drinks.
And then she saw—at very, very close range—his chest.
They barreled into the unsuspecting footman, sending the tray of drinks crashing to the ground. The music stopped. Broken glass and champagne coated the floor. Finchdale slipped, losing both his footing and his grip, and the inertia of their spinning slung Linley face first into the crowd.
Face first into Gaynor Robeson.
Linley held out her arms, hoping that Gaynor would catch her. But at the very last second, the well-dressed young woman stepped aside. Just out of reach.
Sending Linley sprawling to the ground at her feet.
“My goodness, Miss Talbot-Martin!” Gaynor cried. “That was quite a show!”
Linley dragged herself up to her feet. “It was unintentional.”
“You didn’t ruin that beautiful gown of yours, did you?”
“No,” she said, inspecting the jade green velvet and blue chiffon. “The dress is intact.”
“That is a relief!”
Suddenly, Patrick materialized at her elbow. “Are you all right?” he asked, breathless. “I could kill Finchdale.”
“Where were you?” she asked.
“I went to make sure we had enough canapés to send out with the second round of hors d’oeuvres,” he explained. “I got here as soon as I could.”
By then, the glass had been swept up, the champagne mopped, and the last of the crowd shuffled off. The music resumed, and so did the dancing. The only evidence that remained of the Steamboat Bill fiasco was the hot, red tint creeping up Linley’s face.
When even Gaynor had lost interest in the scene and joined in on a tango, Linley turned to Patrick and hissed, “Finchdale made a fool out of me!”
“Finchdale made a fool of himself.”
“Did you even see what he did to me?”
“I saw a very drunk young man taking advantage of a very beautiful young woman.”
Linley rolled her eyes.
Patrick reached out and touched her gloved arm. “I’m sorry he embarrassed you.”
“I’ll recover.”
“Of course you will,” he said. “Another girl would have been humiliated, but you wouldn’t let an idiot like Finchdale ruin your evening.”
She nodded. “You’re right.”
“That’s my girl,” Patrick said, taking her hand. “Now, why don’t we show them how the Castle Walk is really done?”
***
Patrick enjoyed the evening more than any he could remember. He lost count how many times he danced with Linley, not giving a damn if anyone had anything to say about it. Sir Bedford seemed very pleased with the fundraising, and between he, Archie, and Reginald, they raised almost two hundred pounds.
Sitting on a sofa in the yellow drawing room, Patrick watched as Linley made her way through the crowd. Even though it had nothing to do with him, he felt proud of her. She was charming, witty, and sincere. She had every guest eating out of the palm of her hand.
Catching Patrick alone for the first time all night, Gaynor slipped through the throng of guests and sat down beside him. “I hope this seat isn’t taken.”
“Not at all,” he said, scooting over to give her more room.