“Have you asked a lady to marry you?” she pressed.
“Why is it that I suddenly feel as if you and I are not sharing the same conversation?” Edgar took a firm grip of her arm and, without asking her permission, began escorting her across the floor at a remarkably fast clip.
Dodging one dancer after another, all of whom were attempting to take their proper places on the ballroom floor, Wilhelmina found her steps faltering ever so slightly when she caught sight of the quadrille leader for that evening, Mr. Dyer. He, unfortunately, was sending a glare her way—brought on no doubt by the fact she and Edgar were disrupting his well-structured dance.
“Where are you trying to take me?” she asked as they passed a group of young ladies, none of whom were making the slightest attempt to hide the fact they were gawking Edgar’s way.
“We need to find somewhere private to speak.”
“If you’ve forgotten, we’re in the midst of a ball. Privacy is next to impossible to find, unless you want to chance being discovered in what society will assume is a compromising situation. Which,” she hurried to say, “is not something I’m willing to do.”
Edgar stopped in his tracks. “I would never place you in a compromising situation.”
Remorse was swift. Edgar had always been, first and foremost, a gentleman, and implying differently had done him a grave disservice. Inclining her head, Wilhelmina touched his arm. “Do forgive me, Edgar. I didn’t mean to question your integrity. Of course you would never place me in a compromising situation.”
“Thank you,” he said shortly as he prodded her into motion again. Before she knew it, she was standing in front of a pair of French doors.
“I think these might lead outside to the back terrace,” she said.
“Which will be the perfect spot for us to have a chat.”
Opening her mouth to point out the pesky fact that it was January, in New York of all places, she suddenly found herself unable to speak a single word, because Edgar had gone ahead and opened one of the doors right before he practically pushed her outside and into what could only be described as a blizzard.
“What a lovely night to enjoy a chat outside,” she yelled over a howling wind that was tossing snow every which way. “Although I should probably point out that it’s not exactly weather a lady wearing a ball gown is usually subjected to, nor . . .”
Before she could finish her complaint, Edgar had shrugged out of his black tailcoat, stuffed her unceremoniously into it, then took hold of her hand and began hauling her forward again.
“Where are we going?” she yelled.
“I overheard a lady remarking about Mrs. Travers having a conservatory back here. It’ll be the perfect place for us to have our chat,” he called back.
Wilhelmina wrinkled her nose. “Far be it from me to point out the obvious, but since we only recently broached the subject of compromising situations, I feel I really should—”
The rest of her words were cut off when the snow suddenly began whipping around them, stealing the very breath from her. Lowering her head, Wilhelmina didn’t bother to protest further, and before she knew it, they’d reached the conservatory in question. Opening the door for her, Edgar ushered her inside and pulled the door firmly shut behind him.
A blast of warm, moist air settled over her.
“See?” he began, brushing snow out of his hair before he brushed it off the sleeves of his starched white shirt and matching silk waistcoat. “I told you it would be the perfect spot, and it’s definitely quiet.”
“And secluded,” she pointed out, shrugging out of his tailcoat and handing it back to him.
Taking the coat, Edgar smiled. “A most excellent point, although given that there is a blizzard raging about outside, I doubt anyone from the warm and toasty confines of the ballroom will feel compelled to follow us. Besides, I doubt anyone even noticed us leaving.”
“Didn’t you notice that entire gaggle of young ladies perusing you?”
A flash of amusement flickered through Edgar’s eyes. “Why, Willie, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you sounded a touch jealous just now.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, and stop calling me Willie.”
Instead of looking the least bit contrite, Edgar grinned and took hold of her arm. He steered her along a stone pathway that wound through the many plants surrounding them.
“I am quite capable of walking on my own,” she said, ducking underneath the branch of a lush fern that seemed to be thriving in the environment the conservatory provided.
“I don’t recall suggesting you weren’t, but as I am a gentleman, and the floor of this conservatory does seem to be a little slick, I’d be remiss in my role as that gentleman if I didn’t make certain any hazard to your well-being was avoided.”