Jeremiah Wilcox’s voice.
Danica started, but not badly enough that she spilled any of her punch — and, she hoped, not so badly that Jeremiah would notice.
She turned toward him. “Good evening, Mr. Wilcox,” she said steadily, although it was impossible to ignore the admiration in his gaze as he regarded her. From anyone else, such a look would have been flattering. From the man who was her great-great-etc.-granduncle?
Not so much.
“I couldn’t help noticing you didn’t have a partner for the Spanish dance. My sister Emma and her husband Aaron could make up a new quartet — if, of course, you’re amenable.”
Could she turn him down? Maybe, but it wouldn’t be very politic, and might even seem ungrateful, considering how he’d offered her the protection of the Wilcox clan.
“Certainly, Mr. Wilc
