“As would I, Miss Addison,” he said, and placed his hand on hers, and gripping it tightly, marched her inside, right into the middle of the dance floor.
When the orchestra struck the first chords of the waltz, he bowed, and Miss Addison curtsied perfectly. He instantly snaked an arm around her waist, his hand to the small of her back—a perfectly trim back, he couldn’t help notice—and jerked her hard into his chest at the same moment he simultaneously led her into the stream of dancers.
Her eyes glittered with indignation.
Grif laughed and let his gaze drift to her mouth. “What is it, then? Do ye no’ care for a Scotsman’s dancing?”
“It is a little close,” she remarked through gritted teeth.
“Ah, so now ye’ll fret about propriety, is that it?” He laughed sardonically and pulled her closer.
Miss Addison pressed her lips tightly together.
Grif looked at those lovely lips, at her pure complexion. She was an exasperating woman to be sure, but a man had to like the feel of her in his arms—she was lean, surprisingly firm, yet supple. He wondered how she managed it, since his impression thus far of society ladies was that they did quite a lot of sitting about all day. Miss Addison, however, had not gathered any dust, and her body gave him a deliciously hot feeling of pleasure.
He smiled again—he liked seeing the furious glint in her eyes. “What is it now? I should think ye’d enjoy this waltz, as I will no’ be so commanded again.”
“You flatter yourself, my lord,” she said coolly. “I did not command it. I merely suggested. Perhaps you think that forward at Ardencaple—or wherever you claim to hail from—but in London it’s naught more than a suggestion.”
Grif wisely ignored the remark about Ardencaple and went straight to her bald-faced lie. “Ye didna suggest it, lass—ye practically planted a boot in me arse and kicked me out here.”
Miss Addison gasped self-righteously. Grif responded by twirling her about and pulling her closer into his body, so that his lips were grazing the ringlets above her ears, and he could smell the sweet scent of rosewater in her hair. “And I really donna believe ye care in the least if ye are forward or no’.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said, pushing back against his shoulder. “I hardly care what you make of it, but instead of all your prattling, I’d rather you occupy your thoughts with directing us to the east end of the dance floor.”
Grif laughed incredulously. “I beg yer pardon, but would ye now command the dance?” he exclaimed. “What a shameless lass ye are!”
“And what, pray tell, would you have against the east end of the dance floor?” she demanded as she struggled to see over his shoulder. “I should think one end as good as the other, particularly when one is so very determined to be off of it and away from such a ‘shameless lass’!”
That prompted another laugh of disbelief from Grif, and he abruptly twirled her about again, to see for himself what she was trying so hard to see. He knew instantly, of course, for there was Lockhart, at the very edge of the dance floor. “Ach, how could I be so blind?” he asked with a chuckle, and instantly and effortlessly waltzed her in the opposite direction of Lockhart. “Ye donna mean to torture me at all!” he laughed. “Ye mean to use me to torture another man, God have mercy on him.”
“I have no idea what you are talking about,” she declared, and tried to turn him. Grif held fast. “Do you mind?” she snapped.
“Aye, I do,” he retorted cheerfully. “I donna know what ye may be accustomed to, Miss Addison, but in Scotland a man will lead the dance unless he’s been gelded.”
“Oh dear God!” she cried. “What possible difference could it make?”
“All the difference in the bloody world. I willna allow ye to curry the favor of another man whilst ye dance with me. I’ve me honor to protect.”
“Your honor? You barely deigned to dance with me at all, and now you would pretend to be insulted? I should hardly be surprised—God only knows what else you pretend, Lord Ardencaple!”
“Any number of things, particularly in yer company.”
“So I’ve surmised!”
“Ye have a rather unpleasant habit of surmising quite a lot,” he said with a frown. “But ye should at least have the decency to remember that ye trapped me into this dance to make Lockhart jealous and therefore at least give me the attention I’m due!”
She gasped. Her face turned red. “I beg your pardon, I did not trap you in this dance!”
“I canna for the life of me see how ye might argue it!”
“Do you mean to say that if a lady makes a suggestion as to the dancing that she has trapped a gentleman?”
“Aye, that I do mean to say, absolutely. And now we may both be at peace, for the dance has come to its inevitable end,” he said, and dropped her hand, stepped back, and bowed.
“Thank God,” she muttered, and dipped a barely discernible curtsey while making a show of smoothing the hair at her nape.
“I beg yer pardon?” he asked, slowly straightening.