She darted back between the palm fronds. Behind her, she could hear him hissing her name, but for once, her mother had been right. She had had quite enough of Lucian Deverell’s company.
Chapter Eleven
Three days later, Rosalie attended Lady Mayberry’s ball. She was in her usual position, standing in the corner with two of her fellow wallflowers, when her friend Annabelle Fox-Strangeways gasped. “Is thatLucian Deverell?”
Rosalie craned her neck to look. She already knew that the answer would be yes. The gossip on everyone’s lips tonight was that the man referred to as the devil himself had somehow managed to secure an invitation to aball.
“What could he be doing here?” Lady Frances Calthorpe whispered.
Rosalie shook her head, mystified. All of the usual reasons for attending a ball seemed implausible. He did not make respectable conversation. Rosalie should know! He did not appear to have any fondness for the watery beverages on offer. He did not enjoy such insipid pastimes as dancing.
And he certainly couldn’t be searching for abride.
Annabelle leaned in. “Do you think he sneaked in the servants’ entrance?”
Rosalie nodded sagely. “That seems like the most plausible explanation.”
“Do you know what I heard?” Frances asked. “I heard that he didn’t attend a single lecture during his time at Cambridge. He must be some kind of idiot!”
“He’s really not,” Rosalie said without thinking.
Silence fell. Rosalie looked from Frances to Annabelle. They were staring at her, dumbstruck.
“What?” Rosalie asked.
“You’vespokento him?” Annabelle hissed.
Rosalie blinked at them. “I… yes.”
“When was this?” Frances asked.
Rosalie bit her lip. “Let’s see. The first time was?—”
“The first time?” Annabelle grabbed her arm, pulling her behind a potted palm. “Do you mean to tell me that you spoke with the most scandalous man in all of Londonmore than once, and you couldn’t be bothered to tell us?”
Frances leaned in. “Just how many times have you spoken to him?”
Three, her brain supplied.Not that I’ve been ruminating obsessively over our conversations.
She shrugged, trying to look nonchalant. “I don’t know. A few.”
Frances and Annabelle exchanged a look.
Annabelle turned to her. “You’d better start at the beginning.”
“All right.” Rosalie cleared her throat. “The first time I encountered him was at the Duke and Duchess of Tyrone’s rout.”
“What?” Annabelle hissed. “You attended the Duke and Duchess of Tyrone’s rout?”
Frances cast a pregnant look toward Annabelle. “And again, she didn’t tell us.”
Rosalie sighed. “Here’s what happened...”
She described the unkind remark she had overheard about Lady Priscilla.
Annabelle cringed. “You said something. Didn’t you?”
Rosalie bristled. “Of course, I did! Wouldn’t you have done the same?”
