K
impton took the servant stairs to the Martindales’ lower level then made his way through a winding hallway to the ballroom. The dowager would have her eyes peeled for the main staircase watching for him. He’d lay odds she knew he was in the library the entire time. He reached the peripheral of the crush and, sure enough, her grace’s attention split, going from the top of the stairs then back to the dance floor.
He followed the dowager’s gaze to her niece, and bit back an irritated huff. Lady Lorelei was definitely a diamond, and not so rough as she believed. Shufflebottom was her equivalency on the Beau Brummel side. A fop of the first order. Yet, he was also a marquis. An unmarried marquis.
The rest of the evening followed in the same vein less any further swoons. After Shufflebottom, Lady Lorelei was passed off to their host, the Earl of Martindale. Her dance partner lineup was impressive: Marquis of Dorset, Earl of Greenmont, Viscounts Hereford, then Winchester.
Thorne leaned a shoulder against one of the ballrooms columns, his arms folded over his chest and one ankle crossing the other with the toe of his boot on end, just observing. The girl had to be exhausted. Cotillion, Quadrille, Scottish Reel, country dance and back again. Even Brock had been able to claim a dance with the “diamond,” the cur. Yes, his closest friend was a cur.
He strolled over. “Aren’t you missing your nightly appointment with Miss Hollerfield?”
Good God. He’d completely forgotten. Thorne jerked his watch from his pocket and flicked it open, then winced. “Did you enjoy your set?”
Brock shot him a grin. “I did indeed. Lady Lorelei is an engaging young lady.”
She’d certainly managed to fill his senses. Thorne grunted, his gaze prowling the dancers like a hungry tiger ready to pounce. Hell, the palms of his hands tingled along with his nether regions, he wanted her so badly.
Currently, she was taking her turn with the Duke of Oxford, a portly fellow with large jowls. A man twice her age, with no wife, and with a young daughter who was reputed still in the nursery.
The music faded and Kimpton strode off, intercepting Oxford and Lady Lorelei, just as the orchestra was striking up the supper dance. It was his turn. He’s the one who’d saved her, after all.