Excerpt from "The Wild One" by Denise Eagan

Finally, Lee excused himself and led Jess to the dance floor. With his arm around her waist and enough distance between them for respectability, he whirled her around the room to a waltz. When her feet, from lack of practice, faltered, he merely smiled and told her that she was doing just fine. The music ended and Lee brought her to a chair, first steering her away from Mr. McAllister, who seemed intent upon conversation.

“So,” he said in a conspiratorial tone, “did you get a good look at Eleanor Martin’s brooch?” He shuddered in revulsion. “A beetle for the love of God!”

Jess bit back a laugh. “But ever so expensive.”

“It doesn’t matter. No amount of diamonds and rubies can make a beetle attractive. I shall never comprehend why some women insist upon wearing bugs on their clothes.”

“It’s the fashion.”

“I’ve never seen you wear one.”

Heat rushed to her face. “You’ve never seen me wear any precious gems.”

Compassion flickered in his eyes, and he touched her hand briefly. “As it should be. You’d take the shine all out of them. Come,” he continued in a rallying voice, “it’s time to dance again.”

Two quadrilles and another waltz later he led her to a seat where, exhausted and perspiring, she fanned herself. When he made a sly comment about another woman’s huge dragonfly broach flying away with her, Jess hid her laughter behind her fan. A devilish smile lit his face. “Better not do that. The fan across the lips means ‘kiss me.’ Not that I wouldn’t love to oblige you, but this is hardly the place.”

“Oh,” she exclaimed, and let her fan drop to her side.

“Ah, the dance master is returning to the floor. If you’ll lend me your arm?”

Breathless—from dancing, she told herself firmly, not from the idea kissing Lee —she shook her head. “Another dance? No!”

“Should you consult your card, you’ll see that you’ve already promised it to me.”

“My card,” she said, glancing down at the little book hanging from her left wrist. She’d completely forgotten about it. “But I never wrote anything in it.” She lifted her hand and twirled the little book to untangle it.

“I did, while Del Huntington flirted with you, who, by the way, is married—at least occasionally—and a scandal in the making.”

“Occasionally?” she questioned, as she finally pulled the card off her wrist and opened it. A list of dances and composers were printed down the left side of the book. On the right, written next to every dance in careful masculine script, was Leland Montgomery. “Lee,” she said, shocked mirth shaking her voice, “you’ve claimed every dance.”

“Have I?” he asked, laughter rumbling through his words as he leaned forward to read it upside down. “What a fortunate man I am.”

“Fortunate! It’s scandalous, even I know that! I am very sure that Mrs. Hathaway invited you expecting you to dance with many different girls.”

“Bernadette didn’t invite me. Michael did, and he knows full well that I’m only here because of you. Come, the orchestra is striking up,” he said, taking her elbow.

“But—“

“Jess, if you keep complaining, I shall never invite you to another ball.”

“At this rate you’ll never be invited!”

“Then we had better enjoy this one, hadn’t we?”

Shaking her head, she laughed and decided to stop trying to appeal to his better self. Probably, she thought as they whirled around the floor, Lee didn’t have a better self. . .