“Of course,” husband and wife said in unison.
This too, like the shared glance, was the sort of folderol that inspired biliousness. Love was for henwits and featherbrains. Another bow, and Trevor’s feet were already in motion, taking him through the cumbersome swarm of guests.
Montrose’s voice chased after him in what was presumably an aside to his duchess. “He rather reminds me of myself, my love.”
What the devil didthatmean?
Scowling, Trevor edged his way past the dowager wearing the atrocious turban, and nearly earned a feather in the eye for his effort. Then a couple exchanging flirtation in the midst of where he needed to be. Was there something contagious in the air tonight?
He jostled past a fellow from one of his clubs who attempted to strike up a conversation. Trevor pretended not to see him and carried on, wading deeper into the melee. Still, nary a hint of Lady Virtue. Where had the minx gone?
As he asked himself that question, grinding his molars, he caught a hint of her dark hair in the crowd. She was walking toward the periphery of the ballroom, aiming for a door. Trevor increased his speed, intent upon hunting her down.
* * *
Virtue was takenby surprise when someone suddenly approached her from behind and herded her into an empty chamber in the hall outside the Duke of Montrose’s ballroom.
A most indelicate squeal tore from her as she whirled about to face the offender who had dared to all but shove her into the room.
“What are you…You!”
“Me.” The door closed behind Ridgely, and the two of them were alone again, just as they had been that morning.
Only, this time, they were in the midst of a ball, hundreds of fellow guests beyond these four walls. The circumstances were far less scandalous than that morning’s. However, at dawn, there hadn’t been half thetonpresent to witness their folly.
“You can’t be in here with me like this,” she hissed, gesturing between the two of them. “Alone.”
Ridgely shrugged and then leaned his shoulder against the door in an indolent pose. “Of course I can. I’m your guardian, and you’re my ward.”
Well, yes. She supposed there was that. Virtue frowned, considering him. He was every bit as handsome by the glowing light of the sconces and lamp as he had been earlier in the carriage. And then again beneath the blazing chandeliers in the ballroom. There was something about Ridgely in evening clothes that made her heart trip over itself and unwanted longing flare to vivid life.
“But your reputation is terrible,” she pointed out. “If anyone finds us in here together, they’ll assume the worst.”
“To the devil with everyone else.You’remy concern.” He slid the latch into place and pushed away from the door, sauntering slowly toward her, his expression grave. “What were you doing, sneaking away from the ball?”
She eyed him warily, aiming for a nonchalant air she little felt as she ventured deeper into the room and farther away from her sinfully tempting guardian. There could be no more kisses between them, regardless of how desperately she yearned for them.
Not here, anyway.
Notever, she reminded herself.
Ridgely himself had proven the fault of her logic. She couldn’t persuade him to send her to Greycote Abbey with wanton behavior when she enjoyed it. There was far too much danger in the way his kiss had made her feel. Too much vulnerability. No, she would have to find another means of convincing Ridgely to relieve himself of all duties related to herself and to let her return home.
To that end, Viscount Morbray had seemed an excellent means of making mischief. He was full of himself, he preened like a peacock, and he would be frightfully easy to outwit. Or was it ViscountMowbray? Morbray, Mowbray. It hardly signified. He was a popinjay, and she’d pretended to laugh at his jests during the reel they had partnered in, most of which she hadn’t even heard over the din of the orchestra.
“Answer me, infant,” Ridgely demanded curtly, stalking her across the room like a cat in search of his prey.
She bumped into a rosewood table, the collision making her thigh smart. She rubbed it and glared at him. “Cease calling meinfant, and perhaps I will.”
“Unfortunately for you, I am the one who issues orders between the two of us,” her guardian said smoothly, coming to a halt before her where she had paused on the sumptuous Aubusson. “Tell me what you intended. Were you meeting that fop I saw you partnered with last?”
“He is not a fop,” she said, but only because she required Ridgely to believe her smitten with the fellow, and not because she disagreed.
Morbray/Mowbray was indeed a dandy if ever she had seen one.
“His shirt points were nearly blinding him,” Ridgely said, his tone cutting. “Do not, I pray you, tell me you didn’t take note. I’m reasonably certain they’re visible from the moon.”
She rolled her lips inward to contain her laugh. Here was a pity in life. The Duke of Ridgely possessed a cutting, deliciously wicked wit. If he were anyone else—that is to say, if he were a Nottinghamshire suitor and not the evil guardian so intent upon selling her beloved Greycote Abbey and marrying her off—she would have been charmed by him. But he was Ridgely, and Ridgely was horrible with a capitalH, which was the very worst sort of horrible there was.
