The Trouble With Honor (The Cabot Sisters #1)

“Thank you,” Sommerfield said perfunctorily.

“I had hoped,” George said, turning his attention to Miss Hargrove, “that I might entice Miss Hargrove to take a turn about the dance floor.”

Miss Hargrove blanched at the invitation and looked at Sommerfield, who looked just as flustered. He smiled nervously and patted her hand. “Of course you must, my dear.”

“But I...I thought that perhaps...”

“I vow not to step on your toes,” George said, and offered his arm. Miss Hargrove looked uncertainly at his arm, then at Sommerfield. Her fiancé nodded encouragingly.

She reluctantly put her hand on George’s. “Thank you.”

George moved quickly, forcing her to come along before she leaped into Sommerfield’s arms. He led her out onto the dance floor, and they lined up across from each other.

Miss Hargrove frowned at him. “That was rather brazen.”

“That is the least brazen I can be, Miss Hargrove. You may as well accept that I am a determined man.” He smiled.

The music began, and he bowed. She curtsied. They moved forward, and she skipped around his back.

“What could you possibly want from me?” she asked, taking her place in line again.

He stepped forward and around her back. “To convince you that there are more potent choices than Sommerfield for a beautiful woman such as yourself.”

She gasped as he stepped back into line. They came together in the middle, their hands meeting above their heads. “I am affianced to Lord Sommerfield.”

He twirled her around in a tight circle and smiled down at her. “I know.”

As they started through the paces again, she said, “What do you possibly hope to gain, Mr. Easton?”

“I think you know the answer to that.” He allowed his gaze to drop to her lips as he stepped back.

“And how do you propose to lure me?” she asked skeptically as they clasped hands overhead and turned. “You’ve no connections, and rumor has it that your fortune has been lost.”

George smiled. “Rumor has been unkind to my fortune, but I’ve not lost it. And I happen to think I am very well connected. I am the nephew of the king.” He let go of her hands and stepped back.

So did Miss Hargrove. “You can scarcely expect me to believe it,” she said laughingly.

“Then perhaps you will believe this,” he said, stepping forward again. “I am captivated by you.”

She didn’t respond to that but with a smile, and continued to study him. George danced as well as he was able, meeting her gaze at every turn.

When the music drew to a close, he bowed low and reached for her hand. He gave it a tender squeeze before placing it on his arm, covering it with his hand. “I beg your pardon if I’ve offended, Miss Hargrove,” he said as he led her back to Sommerfield, who shifted from one leg to the other, anxious to have his prize back at his side. And beside him, standing innocently with her hands at her back, was Honor. She didn’t look at George, and in fact, she made a point of looking away so as not to suggest any sort of familiarity between them.

“I am not offended, Mr. Easton,” Miss Hargrove said, smiling up at him. “But I am taken.”

“I will concede that you are...for the time being.”

Her smile seemed to go a little deeper, the color in her cheeks high.

That was it, the unmistakable sign of being smitten. No doubt he could invite her into the garden now to take full advantage of her. But as they had reached Sommerfield and Honor, George took her hand from his arm, stepped back and bowed low over it. “Thank you for the dance, Miss Hargrove,” he said. “A finer partner I’ve not experienced.”

Miss Hargrove laughed as if she found that quite impossible, but Sommerfield was quick to agree. “She is indeed a fine dancer. I confess, I could learn a thing or two from you, Mr. Easton.” He laughed as he nervously rubbed the side of his nose. “I should employ you to teach me the steps to our wedding dances.”

“I am not a very good dancer, my lord. I’m more of a horseman.”

“Nothing like a good horse race to get the blood flowing, eh?” Sommerfield agreed. “We are very proud of our horses at Longmeadow,” Sommerfield continued. “Some of the finest horseflesh in the country—”

Honor suddenly gasped. “Augustine, you must invite him to Longmeadow!”

Sommerfield and Miss Hargrove looked as stunned as George felt—he could not find his tongue immediately. “Pardon?”

“Oh, dear,” Honor said with a pretty smile and a curtsy. “I do beg your pardon, sir. Please, forgive my outburst, but it occurs to me that there will be quite a lot of horse racing at Longmeadow this spring.”

“Well, yes,” Sommerfield said uncertainly. “But I didn’t... That is to say...” Terribly flustered, the poor man smiled nervously at those around him, looking for help.