Char recalled their romance. Her looks had won a viscount, but aside from that, there was little closeness between the two of them. The bed sport wasn’t memorable and no children had resulted from their marriage. She did not count her marriage a success. The best she could say was that it just was.
“I am sorry. The time I spent with him was entertaining. I considered him a friend.”
“His mother lives near Sloan Square. I’m sure she would like to see you again.”
“Perhaps. Well, the music is starting up again. Would you care to dance, Lady Dunlevee?”
“When there are so many wistful maidens waiting your return to the floor?”
“A bird in hand?”
“Does that apply to dance partners?”
“I don’t see why not.”
“I do need to mention something else, Mr. Forrester.”
“Yes,” he said. The light shined on his face and she caught her first long, intimate glimpse of him. He was as handsome as his brother, the duke. They all had tall, athletic grace and noble features, probably from some French ancestor. The combination of a strong bladed nose, high cheekbones and winged brows made them all appear powerful. And for a moment, Char wished she could hide in his valise and escape with him on his next jaunt.
“Well. It’s just that… It is widely believed that I killed Arthur.”
The silence was so cold, Char could almost believe the balustrade would crack open. It was a typical reaction and one she was well used to.
“And did you?”
Joshua was rarely surprised—a cliché, certainly, but the truth. When she didn’t answer, he speculated on her reasons for telling him and her motivations for not answering his question.
He could assume she denied it vehemently when the event had happened. He could also assume that, knowing ton gossips, her denials were met with stony disbelief. After all, her husband was dead of a gunshot wound.
And he supposed there was always the possibility she had a hand in his death, but looking at her, it seemed impossible to believe.
“As I said, the music is playing and my dance card is empty,” he said.
She laughed. “You only need walk through those doors to find a bevy of candidates who would gladly endure your loathsome embrace.”
Lady Dunlevee had an interesting sense of humor. “But what about you? You’re free.”
“Have you ever danced with a murderess before?”
“I don’t know. Will I have danced with one at the completion of this set?”
For the second time she didn’t answer, instead saying, “Shall we?”
When they came through the double doors, he felt and saw it—the side glances, the furrowed brows, the unasked questions. Well, he would give the old biddies and pompous doubters something to talk about.
“A waltz?”
“Don’t hold me too close. I don’t need another scandal.”
Neither did he, but he swept her into the dance nonetheless. He’d been glib about his ability on the ballroom floor, but he did have to envision the dance steps in his head as he led her through a few turns.
It was through the third turn that he glanced at the woman in his arms. She was staring at his cravat, he thought.
“I’ve always found that old scandals are easily forgotten amidst the shadow of new ones.”
“Do you have any idea the number of indiscretions that have occurred in the past two years? I’m still considered a pariah, by anyone’s measure.”
“But you refused to bow to the pressure of ton scrutiny. It might help if you said you weren’t guilty when asked.”
“And this is something I must do the rest of my life? I’m not a liar. If I say it once, should that not be enough? Or is it that I must say I am innocent to every person who asks for the rest of my days?”
“Did you do it?”
“No. I did not.”
“I believe you. Now, we never need to speak of it again. Unless it is your wish.”
Once more she hid in her silence. Her only communication was the burning sensation on his upper arm where her hand rested. Her eyes were closed, her long lashes resting against her rosy skin. She seemed mesmerized by the gentle swirl of the dance and the soothing cadence of the orchestra music.
He was recklessly mesmerized by the widow Dunlevee. Marriage was one thing, and the room full of eligible debs waited in line for him. Widows, however, were good for something altogether different.
His gaze traced her check and jaw, then the shell of her ear. Behind her ear was the dark spot of a beauty mark. An identifying mole.
Joshua missed a step.
“I’m sorry. It seems I am a bit rusty.”
The misstep happened quickly; he recovered and Char only glanced up.
“So tell me, Lady Dunlevee, what do you do with your free time?” Aside from pose naked for French painters.
She laughed. “Currently, I am devoting all my time to finding husbands for my sisters. You wouldn’t be available for the rest of your life, would you?”
The violin coda sounded and the twirling couples came to a stop with the end of the music. Char slipped from his embrace and clapped, her gloved hands barely making a sound.
“Thank you, Lady Dunlevee. It was most enjoyable renewing your acquaintance.”