“You look pleased with yourself,” Lauren commented, appearing at his side with uncanny timing. “I take it the conversation went well?”
“She’s considering accompanying me to Dorset,” he replied, still watching Courtney’s progress through the ballroom.
“Ah. And what of her handsome admirer?”
“Mr. Fancot is welcome to try his luck,” Lucien said, surprised by his own confidence. “But I don’t intend to make it easy for him.”
Lauren studied him thoughtfully. “You know, brother, I believe Ireland has made you more direct and less patient with society’s games than you were before. The old Lucien would have maneuvered and plotted. This new version simply stakes his claim.”
“Is that bad?”
She smiled, linking her arm with his. “No. In fact, I think it might be exactly what Courtney needs. She doesn’t have time to play games. She’s reaching a certain age… Perhaps she needs to experience the attentions of one who doesn’t play by society’s rules.”
Across the room, Courtney turned, her eyes finding his through the crowd. Even at a distance, he could see the question in them, the careful consideration. She wasn’t won yet and might never be, if he couldn’t prove his feelings were genuine. But for the first time since returning to London, Lucien felt he had a clear path forward.
A small niggle of doubt hit him squarely in his chest as he made his way to talk to Rockwell. He wondered what Courtney wanted from a match with him. While he found her physically appealing, and intelligent, and he really liked her, and he hated the idea of another man wooing her, Lucien was very aware thathis battered heart may refuse to open and let any woman in. What if she wanted words of love he could never say to her, or to any woman? Ava’s lies had destroyed his heart and he didn’t know how to recover.
Chapter Nine
The noise ofthe ballroom had grown overwhelming. Courtney slipped through the French doors onto the west terrace, breathing deeply of the cool night air, grateful for the momentary respite. Rockwell’s wedding ball was a splendid affair, but after her dance with Lucien, she needed a moment to collect her thoughts. Her heartbeat had only just begun to steady when Lauren appeared at her side.
“Seeking sanctuary?” Lauren asked, her blue eyes knowing.
“Just a breath of fresh air,” Courtney replied, smiling at Lucien’s sister. In the soft glow of the terrace lanterns, Lauren’s resemblance to her brother was striking—the same dark hair, the same direct gaze, though Lauren’s held the sparkle that Lucien’s had lost during his years in Ireland.
“I saw you dancing with my brother.” Lauren’s tone was casual, but Courtney detected the undercurrent of curiosity. “He looked…intense.”
“That would be one word for it,” Courtney agreed, smoothing an invisible wrinkle from her emerald silk skirts. The memory of Lucien’s hand at her waist, the earnestness in his gaze as he asked her to accompany them to Dorset lingered like the warmth of a hearth fire against winter’s chill.
“Well, if you’re hiding from him, you’ve chosen the wrong spot,” Lauren teased. “He’s been watching the doors since you left the ballroom.”
“I’m not hiding,” Courtney protested, though perhaps she was, a little. Not from Lucien, but from the intensity of her own feelings. “I just needed a moment to clear my head.”
“You and half the ladies of theton, it seems,” Lauren observed as their friend Valora appeared at the terrace doors, followed by Ivy and Ashley. Claire emerged a moment later, looking flushed from dancing. Ivy and Ashley, Rockwell’s sisters, always tried to keep Valora’s behavior in check. Valora was Axton’s sister, and he had a hard time keeping infatuated men away from the great beauty and ton diamond. Claire was the most sensible of them all. Her brother was the Earl of Marlowe, the biggest rake in all England and the main reason Claire always declared she never wanted to marry. Her brother’s heartbreaking ways made her believe love was for fools. All the ladies were part of the sisterhood investment club and the best of friends.
“There you both are,” Valora said, her dark eyes bright with mischief. “Discussing Lord Furoe’s sudden interest in courtship, I presume?”
Heat rose in Courtney’s cheeks. “We were discussing the loveliness of the evening, actually.”
“Mmm, very lovely indeed,” Valora agreed, her smile teasing. “Especially the part where the recently returned viscount couldn’t take his eyes off you during the waltz.”
“Oh, leave Court alone,” Ivy chided, though her own eyes sparkled with interest. “After everything she’s endured, she deserves some peace.”
“Thank you, Ivy,” Courtney said, grateful for the intervention.
“Though,” Ivy added thoughtfully, “I must say, the man does cut a fine figure in evening wear. Those shoulders have certainly broadened since his gentleman days.”
“Farm work,” Lauren explained, a touch of pride in her voice. “He’s grown quite strong. Papa says he can outride any of the grooms now.”
Courtney tried to reconcile this image, Lucien with rolled-up shirtsleeves, hair tousled, muscles straining as he hauled timber, with the polished viscount she’d fallen in love with five years ago. Both versions made her heart race, but in decidedly different ways.
“It is rather remarkable, isn’t it?” Claire mused, leaning against the stone balustrade. “How this season has unfolded. First Serena and Julian, then Tiffany and Wolf, and now Farah and Rockwell—all married to men they’ve known their entire lives.”
“It’s as if Cupid suddenly remembered a stack of unfinished business,” Ashley agreed with a laugh.
“Speaking of unfinished business,” Valora said, turning to Claire, “where is that disreputable brother of yours tonight? I haven’t seen Fane anywhere.”
Claire rolled her eyes. “Probably somewhere he shouldn’t be, with someone he shouldn’t be with. I wouldn’t wait on my rakish, man-whore brother if I were you, Val. He’s not looking at settling down anytime soon.”
