The Reincarnated Noble Lady is the Infamous Viscount's Heir - I've Accepted a Contract Marriage for Estate Management. - Chapter 1.8

Ada swiftly took the glass from my hand and gently pushed me forward. In a quiet voice, she whispered, “This is an emergency—time to retreat.”

If I were a more expressive lady, I might have smiled brightly and accepted the count’s hand with delight. Or perhaps I would’ve feigned confusion and hesitation, playing coy.

But instead, here I am thinking, Emergency retreat!

At a grand ball, faced with an incredibly handsome man inviting me to dance, shouldn’t I be feeling a flutter of excitement? A racing heart? Maybe even a kya! moment?

Nope. None of that.

Because across the room, my ex-fiancé is heading straight toward me, and the only thing I feel is dread. Whatever he wants, I’m certain it’s nothing good.

To be clear, I have no lingering feelings for my ex-fiancé—no fluttering heart, no sparks, and certainly no wistful nostalgia.

I feel like a passenger desperately leaping from a sinking ship onto a lifeboat.

Desperate situations call for desperate measures.

Hiding my inner turmoil, I took the count’s hand with all the composure of a proper viscountess.

In stark contrast to my nerves, Count Rockwell smiled gracefully as he led me onto the dance floor for a waltz.

His movements were smooth and confident, his touch steady.

Thank goodness I had practiced with Jessica during her dance lessons. If I hadn’t, I might have stumbled—and missed my chance to escape my ex-fiancé entirely.

As the count guided me effortlessly through the steps, he looked amused.

“I was faster,” he remarked, casting a glance toward my ex-fiancé.

As we turned, I saw my ex-fiancé’s face—contorted with frustration. He looked ready to click his tongue in annoyance but instead spun on his heel and left.

Saved.

The way he retreated reminded me of a dog losing a territorial battle, tail between his legs.

Then again, who could blame him? Against the count—a lion among wolves—he stood no chance.

The count’s aura of refinement and strength wasn’t just for show. It was clear he wasn’t only skilled in aristocratic manners but also physically formidable, likely honed by his military career.

“Did I interrupt anything? A lover’s quarrel, perhaps?”

“Not at all. Thank you for your assistance, Lord Rockwell.”

Hearing my response, the count raised a single eyebrow with an elegant ease that seemed straight out of an old Hollywood movie.

He’s so expressive. It’s no wonder the ladies are infatuated with him.

“Have I properly introduced myself?”
“You’re quite famous for your signature line when inviting someone to dance,” I replied.
“Ah, you’ve heard that. Allow me to formally introduce myself—Vincent Rockwell.”
“I’m Grace Wilcox.”

His name was one every lady here had likely whispered about at some point. His amethyst eyes and warm smile held a charm that was impossible to ignore.

No wonder women are so captivated by him.

Even I felt my heart skip for a moment, though I quickly composed myself.

This is where my “cool beauty” face comes in handy.

Keep it together. Don’t let anyone think I’m swooning over him.

As a viscountess, I couldn’t afford to invite rumors. If anyone thought I was fawning over the count, it could lead to unnecessary drama with the other noblewomen.

Honestly, I’d love to fangirl from a distance and shout, He’s so dreamy! like any other young woman, but my position doesn’t allow it.

After all, I’m the head of the Wilcox family.

The materials I manage—Petit Arachne silk, magic wool, and horn rabbit fur—are sought after in noblewomen’s fashion. I can’t have anyone boycotting them out of spite because I’m seen as frivolous.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Jessica and Percival.

“Are you looking for those two?” the count asked, following my gaze.

Jessica and Percival were dancing, occasionally glancing in my direction.

There they are. Thank goodness. I’ll join them after this song ends.

“Yes, I was looking for them. That’s my sister and her fiancé,” I said.

“Your sister and her fiancé… I see. There’s also a Wilcox at the academy, isn’t there? A remarkably talented female mage.”
“Yes, my elder sister, Abigail Wilcox. She’s the pride of our family.”
“Ah, I had the pleasure of meeting Abigail recently. You don’t resemble her much, but you do share one thing in common.”

Something in common?

My sisters and I couldn’t be more different.

Patricia, our eldest sister, is the epitome of a glamorous noblewoman, excelling in social grace. Abigail is, well, practically a cheat code with her magical prowess. Jessica, the youngest, is sweet and innocent, with a childlike charm.

Even our hair and eye colors are different.

“You’re all very close,” the count said with a knowing smile.

Ah, of course. We are the famously close Wilcox sisters.

Still, it’s surprising to hear that Abigail is acquainted with someone like Count Rockwell. Imagine the two of them together—a perfect power couple. The thought of their combined presence painted such an impressive picture in my mind that I couldn’t help but smile inwardly.

The song was nearing its end, and I prepared to curtsy and excuse myself.

But before I could, the count extended his hand again.

Thinking he wanted a polite handshake, I reached out—only for the next song to start, and his grip to tighten as he led me into another hold.

“Wait—what!?”

The second waltz began, and I was already in position.

“Lord Rockwell—”
“Call me Vincent.”

Despite my surprise, my face betrayed nothing—a skill I owe to this “cool beauty” face of mine.

Internally, though, I was rattled.

Vincent stepped smoothly into the dance, his movements seamless.

“Well, you see,” he said with a playful smile, “this is the best way for me to avoid being mobbed by ladies expecting me to spout theatrical lines. Think of it as your turn to help me out.”

“Theatrical lines?” I echoed.
“Ah, yes. You know, the ones that sound like they’re from a cheap play,” he replied with a hint of amusement.

So, he knows. He knows his infamous line is utterly over-the-top.