Company Of Rogues: A Shocking Delight Part 11

"I get overly bold when angry."

Clara giggled, not apparently making much of anything. "I wish I'd seen it! But all the devotion can't be unwelcome when you seek a husband."

"I'm waiting for true love," Lucy declared grimly.

"Of course, but how will you find it if you don't allow men to pay court?"

It was a surprisingly good point. "I only wish they'd court me in smaller numbers."

"You could grant vouchers to the select few as the patronesses of Almack's do."

That made Lucy laugh. "What a tempting notion. How many should I allow at a time? Three?"

"Too few. Five at least."

"No more than that, however."

"The more the merrier as far as I'm concerned. The disappointed gentlemen turn to me."

Lucy heard no edge to the comment. "Then I shall welcome them en ma.s.se. But remember, they're all fortune hunters."

"No, they're not. All of them would like to marry a rich dowry, for what man wouldn't, but only some are desperate for funds. Stevenhope's well-to-do, as are Northcliff and Sir Harry."

"Never say there are lists showing gentlemen's fortunes."

Clara frowned in puzzlement. "Lists? One just knows such things."

No, one didn't.

"Come," Clara said, linking arms. "You must return to the dancing or people will wonder." As she steered Lucy back toward the music she asked, "Who was the man who tore a strip off your warring suitors? Jeremy said you spoke as if you knew him."

d.a.m.n Jeremy. "We met once. For mere moments. He seemed to be a country gentleman. I don't know how he comes to be here."

"Most of the men here are country gentlemen in season."

Another thing Lucy had forgotten.

She'd expected the ton to be a different world, but she'd not realized how different. People in the City lived most of the year in one home. Some of the wealthiest had villas on the river for the hottest months, or visited a sea resort for a while. They might take a tour of scenic wonders such as the Peak District, or even the distant Lake District, but not for long. City men needed to pay attention to their businesses, and commerce took no holidays.

The beau monde, however, flitted from country estates to Town elegance and in-between times to seaside resorts, s.h.i.+re hunting boxes, and Scottish moors. Such a wandering life.

"Perhaps your champion won a lottery," Clara said as they approached the ballroom. "Do you remember that corn trader who won one and purchased an estate? His antics were the talk of the Town."

Lucy didn't know anything of the man, but clearly he'd been another outsider and thus a figure of fun. Had he run back to his own world as she would like to do? She'd never liked the idea of everyone "knowing their place," but perhaps there was a point to the saying. It wasn't pleasant to be out of place.

"In we go," Clara said. "Any talk will pa.s.s, especially as the Earl of Wyvern is here."

"As long as he doesn't pester me."

"He probably will, being in need of a fortune. But the main point is that his notorious presence will wipe your adventures from everyone's mind."

"Then hail the arriving earl!" Lucy said, stepping back into the nest of vipers.

Chapter 9.

If there was talk, it hadn't deterred her suitors. Five converged. She was happy to be able to remind them that the first dance was promised to Sir Harry, and even happier to see him coming to claim it, allowing her to escape.

"You look a little distressed, Miss Potter," he said as they walked onto the dancing floor. "Anything I can do to help?"

"You heard about the duel," she said with a sigh. "It's all smoothed away."

"Good. Nonsense like that should be a thing of the past."

"My thoughts entirely, sir."

Here was another admirable man, and he was handsome enough in a stolid way. Potential husbands weren't in short supply in the ton, but she didn't want to marry anyone. Was it so unreasonable to want to enjoy the social delights and dance until dawn without unpleasant repercussions?

What was needed was a signal. If a lady wore a flower behind her right ear, she was open to proposals. A flower behind the left ear would warn suitors away. That whimsy melted her irritation and she smiled as they took their places.

But then she saw the Winsom man joining the line dance, partnering a handsome brunette wearing magnificent rubies. He should have looked out of place at her side, but he didn't.

"Who's the lady with the rubies?" she asked Sir Harry.

He glanced down the line. "Lady Arden. Arden's the heir to Belcraven."

That clearly meant a great deal, but to Lucy it simply reinforced his deceptiveness. He'd said he was a simple country gentleman, but as such he should be far from the orbit of dukedoms. He smiled at something Lady Arden said as if they were on easy terms. Lucy wanted to ask Sir Harry who he was, but resisted. She didn't know what to make of him in this new incarnation, but he was definitely to be avoided like the plague.

The musicians keyed that the dance was about to start. Sir Harry bowed as she curtsied, and she could escape thoughts in the dance, among opulence beyond reason, extravagance without restraint, and expanses of fabulous jewelry.

Sir Harry proved to be a good dancer, and the ladies and gentlemen she intertwined with all seemed amiable. Lucy relaxed into enjoyment-until she realized a problem. In a longways dance she would dance with all the men at some point.

She would have to take a turn with him.

She prepared herself, and when the time came, acted exactly as she had with other men, briefly meeting his eyes, smiling, stepping, joining hands.

Suppressing a s.h.i.+ver when his hand briefly touched her waist.

How could such a connection be fierce as fire?

She couldn't help but stare at him.

Did he look as startled?

Thank heavens the dance sent her safely on her way. Safe until they would meet again as the dance progressed through its cycle, sending each couple up and down the line.

Avoid him like the plague. She certainly felt feverish. It wasn't a physical disease, however. It was a return of the effect she'd felt before-the affliction that had engulfed her parents.

If it had been like this, she could begin to understand why they had acted as they had. This was no force to be calmly reasoned away. It truly was a fever that would build with every encounter, and now she couldn't take comfort in never seeing him again.

But she could avoid and resist.

With every sc.r.a.p of strength she possessed she would resist such a disastrous form of love.

David watched Miss Potter dance on, furious that he was still susceptible to her, even when he knew her true colors.

At a glance she was simply pretty, though she was doing her best to drive men mad with that low-cut gown that threatened to slide off her at any moment. He wouldn't have guessed that she'd have such a lush figure.

Her fatal attraction, however, came from something else, from the attributes that made her impossible-her intelligence, spirit, and quick wit.

Yes, she was a virago, but a magnificent one.

He had no doubt that if he'd not been there to stop those fools, she'd have ripped into them and sent them off with their tails between their legs.

Most men would see that as a fault, but he admired strong women. Susan was redoubtable, and his aunt Miriam, though a conventional lady, was rock solid when it came to anything that mattered. His mother was so far removed from feminine frailty as to fall off the edge, but he had to confess a part of him had always admired the way she'd faced up to a scandalized world and enjoyed life to the full.

As he progressed through the dance, he couldn't resist stealing glances at Miss Potter. Light on her feet, blond curls bouncing, sparkling gold from her slippers to her Grecian tiara. She was right. Those two had been dolts to call her gilded. She was a twenty-four carat G.o.ddess.

But not for him. He couldn't risk marrying a woman who could dazzle him so easily, and practice deception with such skill. A useful skill, perhaps, if she was in league with him, but disastrous if, as was more likely, she was horrified by his role as Captain Drake.

By the time the dance ended Lucy could understand the word "possessed." She could no longer resist.

Casually waving her fan, she asked Sir Harry, "The man dancing with Lady Arden. That isn't Lord Arden, is it?"

"Not at all. That's the new Earl of Wyvern."

Lucy needed a moment to understand his words. "Truly?"

"You think it unbelievable?"

"Only that some expected a clodhopper."

And he'd called her deceptive! In Winsom's he'd claimed to be a simple country gentleman-those exact words-and he'd looked the part. Yet here he was, an earl, dressed in fine style, at ease with a marchioness.

"Quite a surprise," Sir Harry was agreeing, "but not for me. I was introduced to him the other day at a shooting gallery. A decent shot, but not a patch on Middlethorpe, Austrey, and a few of the others he was with."

At ease with the great! Lords Marchampton, Launceston, and Worseley came jostling to beg for the next dance. Lucy fended them off-until she realized that she was waiting for the upstart earl to join them. He needed to marry a fortune after all, and she would relish turning him down.

He made no move, and she remembered him stating rudely that he had no interest in her. Now she could see why. It looked as if he was already partnered with a dumpy, frizz-haired chit.

Thoroughly out of temper, she chose Worseley, looking forward to meeting the deceitful Earl of Wyvern in the dance and showing by chilly distance that in her eyes he was a slug.

The dance, however, was an eight. Three circles of eight were forming in the long set of rooms and the slug was leading his partner into the set farthest away.

Lucy concentrated on Worseley, putting Lord Wyvern out of her mind. Too late she realized that Worseley was now convinced he was her choice! He even asked her for the next dance. Two dances in a row would be as good as a public announcement, so she gave him icy disapproval and chose Marchampton for the next, but she blamed the Earl of Wyvern for all her problems.

He'd returned his partner to an elegant lady. One Lucy recognized. Maria Celestin! She was a highborn lady who'd married a merchant, so she and Lucy's mother had been friends. That presented an excuse to go over and join the group.

Lucy firmly turned away. This was a crowded ball attended by hundreds. She could and would avoid the wretched man.

The next dance was the supper dance, and she chose Lord Northcliff. According to Clara, he wasn't a fortune hunter, and he had graciously danced with her cousin. After the dance, they went to the rooms set out for supper. There they joined Clara and her partner and Jeremy and his, a pretty young brunette called Clarabel Ponting. Lucy relaxed, but she didn't escape Wyvern entirely.

When the gentlemen went to get food for them, Miss Ponting gasped, "So handsome!"

Lucy didn't think she'd been able to gasp a word, even at seventeen. She thought Jeremy a surprising cause for gasping admiration, but then learned her mistake.

Clara said, "Lord Wyvern," her eyes as bright. "He's delicious, isn't he? I wouldn't have expected it."

"An estate steward can't be handsome?" Lucy asked, irritated by the unfairness.

"Ruggedly handsome, perhaps," Clara said. "Not in such a polished way."

Miss Ponting leaned across the table, endangering the arrangement of flowers in the center. "Mama wants me to attract him," she hissed, "but I'd be too afraid. They called his father the Mad Earl!"

She could also exclaim in a whisper. What a lot of interesting skills the girl had.

"He doesn't seem to be deranged," Clara said, but uncertainly. She was looking beyond Lucy's shoulder, which told her where Wyvern had ended up. The enemy was at her back. The deranged enemy. If Lucy needed any more reasons to avoid Lord Wyvern, there was one. Blood will out, especially insanity.

The gentlemen returned with food. Lucy hoped for a change of topic, if only to horses or hunting, but they, too, were fascinated by the newest earl.

As Sir Harry had indicated, he'd been all around the gentlemen's part of Town, and even at a house party where n.o.ble gentlemen had enjoyed contests in shooting, riding, and fencing.

"Gentlemen still fence?" Lucy asked.

"For exercise only, Miss Potter," Northcliff said.

"Does Lord Wyvern fence?" Clara asked.

"Not that I know, Miss Fytch, but I saw him show himself very well at the quarterstaff."

"Isn't that a rather lowly weapon?" Lucy asked, spearing a piece of pickled herring with her fork.

"Say rather that it is an ancient one, Miss Potter, and thus to be admired. Like the bow and arrow."

"I'm very good with a bow and arrow." Miss Ponting fluttered her lashes at Jeremy. He would be a viscount one day. That must be the explanation.

Everyone began to discuss the possibility of an archery contest here in Town, which was a pleasant change of subject but made Lucy feel even more an outsider. She indulged in no arcane exercises, and nor did anyone she knew. She a.s.sumed some City men practiced with a pistol as many would carry one when traveling. Her father did. Quarterstaff, though? That was the long pole carried by medieval peasants who couldn't afford, or perhaps weren't allowed, something more lethal. Yet here, in this modern age, lords and dukes wielded it.