She said nothing, but her fingers curled around his for the briefest instant before she slipped away.
He watched her go, the blue of her dress bright as the sky, and wondered how many puzzles he would have to solve before he could allow himself to be the answer.
The music resumed, and the dance floor filled once more, but for Tristan, the evening was already over.
Lavinia slipped away before her knees could betray her. The world beyond the waltz was as she’d left it, and somewhere among the roses, Frances waited, probably replaying her ownconversation with Mr. Perry-or-Percy, and likely dreading the next onslaught of her aunt’s schemes.
Lavinia’s first impulse was to gather her sister and vanish, but duty demanded she reassemble herself. She scanned the lawn for Frances and found her at a white-draped table, cheeks still flushed, hands folded with a decorum that bordered on the tragic.
Before Lavinia could reach her, Lady Montfort materialized once more, this time with a new player in tow. The man was handsome, immaculately turned out, and wore his self-regard like a medal pinned to his lapel. His smile was so quick it bordered on predatory.
“Lavinia, darling, there you are!” Montfort sang out, drawing both Lavinia and Frances into the gravity of her social orbit. “I have someone you simply must meet. Lord Dawnford—Lucien Ashwick—one of the most eligible men in London, and such an admirer of literature. I thought of you instantly.”
The earl bowed low, his eyes on Lavinia as if there were no one else within five miles. “Lady Lavinia, a privilege. I have heard so much about you—none of it adequate to the reality, I see.”
He extended his hand, palm up, waiting for Lavinia’s to land. She obliged, the chill of his ring cool against her skin.
He did not release her at once. “Would you grant me a moment’s conversation? I assure you, I am quite harmless. At least in public.”
She extricated her hand. “My time is not my own, Lord Dawnford. But you are welcome to join my sister and me, should you find the company of unchaperoned young ladies agreeable.”
He grinned, unabashed. “I find it ideal.”
Frances shot Lavinia a pleading look, but Lavinia only shook her head, the message clear: Endure, and I’ll extract us at the first opportunity.
Lady Montfort settled herself at the table’s edge, fanning vigorously, her gaze darting from Lucien to Lavinia and back, as if the match might be struck then and there. “Lord Dawnford is an expert on Byron,” she said, “and a favorite in every salon. Isn’t that marvelous, Frances?”
Frances managed a strangled “Yes, Aunt.”
Lucien turned the full force of his charm on Lavinia. “Your aunt tells me you are a keen reader, Lady Lavinia. I had hoped we might discuss poetry. Or anything else that comes to mind.”
“Poetry is a pleasant diversion,” Lavinia said. “Though I have little time for it these days. Real life, you see, is far more demanding than a stanza.”
“Is it?” He leaned in with his elbows on the table. “I would have thought poetry the finest training for society’s wars.”
She held his gaze, refusing to blink. “If this is a war, Lord Dawnford, I would suggest you are already losing.”
He laughed, surprised, and sat back, his eyes dancing. “They warned me about you. Said you had a mind like a rapier. I believe it now.”
Lady Montfort gasped, and her eyes widened. “You see? Isn’t she clever? Frances, dear, don’t you think your sister ought to let herself be courted more?”
Frances, to her credit, gave an evasive, “Perhaps.”
Lucien looked at Lavinia with the easy patience of a man who always got what he wanted, eventually. “If you would allow me to call, Lady Lavinia, I assure you, I can be very persistent. I never surrender.”
She smiled, cold and flat as ice on a winter pond. “That is a valuable trait in a solicitor, Lord Dawnford. Less so in a poet.”
His eyes narrowed, just a fraction. He leaned closer, lowering his voice. “It is also valuable in a suitor.”
She felt a sick twist in her stomach. She’d heard the rumors—Dawnford’s ruined conquests, his great wealth, and his total lack of shame. Frances was watching, wide-eyed, all too aware of the danger.
“Perhaps you should find someone more receptive to your persistence,” Lavinia said, and this time she stood, forcing both Frances and Lady Montfort to rise with her.
Lady Montfort sputtered, “But you’ve only just?—”
“We must thank our hostess,” Lavinia said. “Frances, would you come with me?”
Frances nodded, clutching her reticule.
