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money.”
    â€œMore than comfortable, if what I hear is true,” the first woman said. “But take a glance across the room if you think you can really do it.”
    Annelise turned her head, to follow their gaze, only to see Christian Montcalm, a vision in satin, holding Hetty’s hand in preparation for the next dance.

4
    A nnelise could cover a surprising amount of ground in no time at all, even weaving her way through the crowded dance floor. She was tall, but she had a certain grace, and was able to slip to the other side of the room without causing much notice, just in time to physically fling herself between Montcalm and Hetty.
    It was perhaps not the best decision, since he’d been holding Hetty’s hand in preparation for leading her out to dance, and when Annelise used her body to break them apart his arm brushed against her breasts. With any other man she would have thought it an accident. With this man, who was a known connoisseur of beauty, she wasn’t quite sure.
    She had to move fast and had always been good at thinking quickly, so at the last minute she’d grabbed young Mr. Reston by the hand, thrusting him forward. “Miss Chipple, may I introduce you to Mr. Reston? He’s a great admirer of yours, and begs the favor of this dance.”
    â€œI…er…that is…” Mr. Reston had turned a brightpink that didn’t go well with his spots. “I mean, I would be honored if I could have this dance, Miss Chipple.”
    â€œLovely,” Annelise said cheerfully, putting Hetty’s limp hand in Reston’s gloved one and giving them a little shove toward the dance floor. “I’m certain Mr. Montcalm will understand.”
    Hetty would have lingered, but Mr. Reston finally understood his duty, and a moment later he was leading her through the paces of a country dance, and within moments Hetty was laughing.
    â€œI’m certain Mr. Montcalm understands very well,” Christian said, his low voice sending shivers down her spine. Too much imagination, she told herself, turning to look at him. Up at him. Such a novel experience. Why were all the men so short and she so tall? Except for someone like Montcalm, who was out of reach and unacceptable?
    She dashed that thought out of her brain instantly. She’d been around matchmakers too long—why in the world was she thinking such thoughts in terms of herself? She was about to give him a look of smug triumph when she realized the cool green of his eyes did not appear particularly amused.
    â€œMiss Chipple had promised me this dance,” he said. “I don’t like having my plans thwarted.”
    â€œI imagine you don’t,” she said sharply. “There are any number of women who would be more than happy to dance with you.”
    â€œAnd only one who’d hate it beyond belief,” he said. And before she realized what he was doing he’d taken her hand and swung her onto the dance floor.
    She hadn’t danced in years. Certainly not since her father’s death. She should have fumbled, tripped, but dancing had always been one of her few gifts and the steps came back to her by instinct. She should have pulled away, and indeed, she felt dozens of curious gazes in their direction, but the hand that held hers was very strong and Christian wasn’t about to let her go. He wasn’t the sort of man to give in and having a struggle on the dance floor would be undignified and unwinnable.
    â€œEverybody is staring,” she said in a whisper. “Let go of my hand.”
    â€œI wanted to dance. You robbed me of a partner—it’s your duty to replace her—”
    â€œNot with me!” she whispered, horrified. It couldn’t have been a worse dance. It was one of the newer dances, one where the partners always remained with each other, always touching. If it had been a quadrille she could have easily slipped away, but his fingers gripped her