i dont even go here

Baelor led her onto the floor, even as her hand tightened in his grip and tried to tug him back to the safety of the shadows. It was a strong hand, with long fingers under what looked to be a rather shabby glove. Baelor wondered afresh what Ser Arlan's plan had truly been. To marry her off well seemed unlikely, if not impossible, with the meager resources he'd scraped together. Perhaps he too had meant to throw himself on the Prince's favor, as she had yesterday evening; yet it seemed at odds with the man he'd once known.

"You'll gain few admirers clinging to the wallpaper," he informed her as they took their place for a gavotte.

"I'll gain even fewer admirers in full candlelight," she muttered, just loud enough to hear, and he could not help the laughter that escaped his lips. She looked down at him, as startled as he at the noise, and he thought how strange it was to look up, into eyes the clear blue of a sky reflected on the surface of a still pond. She looked away and added, "Besides, this is about ridding yourself of admirers more than securing me a spouse who won't despise me."

Your Grace ought to have been at the end of the sentence, but Baelor was already learning that among Miss Pennytree's talents were neither tact nor ettiquette. He did not mind, though it was as well that the gavotte did not provide much opportunity for eavesdropping. "Honor me by assuming I can ward off the eligible ladies present this evening," he said, "and keep your eye to your own objective."

She scowled, an expression hopelessly out of fashion yet somehow all the more charming for it. "Yes, my flotilla of admirers."

"You already have one," he reminded her, nodding at the top of the line where Lord Lyonel watched them with a narrowed, jealous gaze.

Miss Pennytree opened her mouth but the music stilled her reply until the exchange which brought them back together for conversation. "Lyonel's not an admirer, he's a menace," she informed him. "At my first ball, he lead me through a waltz. Stepped on my foot, too."

That Lord Lyonel would do such a scandalous thing was hardly scandalous at all — he had courted notoriety with far more lust than any paramour. But Baelor had heard of the exchange, and not for Lyonel's outrage. "You stepped on his foot in return, if the stories are to be believed," he replied mildly.

She had made a complete conquest in the process. It was likely what had gotten her the invitation to this evening's affair; there were no few of the ton here assembled eager to see what the Laughing Storm would do, upon discovery that his newest beloved was now in the clutches of the House of the Dragon. A pretty bit of drama for the beginning of the Season, though a risky one — for while a gentleman might weather almost any scandal, a young lady's reputation was far more easily bruised. 

But Miss Pennytree had been blunt in summing up her chances at a tolerable match with no fortune or family to bolster her, now that Ser Arlan was dead. And Baelor himself had tried everything short of an actual wife to keep the wolves of matrimony at bay. They were both compelled to wager a good deal on this scheme, though watching her count the steps under her breath as she made the next turn he was bitterly aware of how much more she had to lose than he.

"Well," she replied as she returned to his arms, "he deserved it. And he's got nearly as many doe-eyed beauties vying for his attentions as you have. He'll not pursue some oversized—"

"Discounting the fact that even now, he is staring daggers into my back," Baelor commented, "I am compelled to inform you that you will gain no admirers at all if your only conversation is how unattractive you are."

She blinked down at him as the next measure parted them for another minute or so; Baelor danced with Lady Ashford as Miss Pennytree was taken round the turn by her husband, who barely came up to her elbow. There were a few titters from the sides, but they faded quickly enough as he raked his eyes across the throng. He was still Prince Baelor Targaryen, and a woman found in his company was not to be mocked. Besides, for all her inexperience Miss Pennytree showed a tolerable foot along the floor, her muslin gown fluttering behind her like a banner held aloft by a proud squire upon the field.