The snake was known to be the craftiest of all the beasts, so he and Emily needed to stay one step ahead of him. He gritted his teeth, Drummond’s offer irking him. No doubt the bastard imagined himself the hero to Emily’s distressed damsel. He snorted. His Emily was a charging bull and woe to the misbegotten matador who blocked her path. He almost felt sorry for the ignorant whoreson. Almost, but not quite. His attention shifted to Emily, who stood beside Julia and a few yards down from him. Her hair was tucked up in a neat chignon, threaded with violet flowers, and small ringlets framed her face. She was lovely. As if aware of his eyes on her, her gaze met his. He should look away, rather than stand staring like a lovesick fool, but he could not bring himself to do so, not when she moistened her lips and drew an unsteady breath. He wished everyone in the ballroom would magically disappear. He needed them gone, because the dance he yearned to perform with Emily was not a quadrille.
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