“Do not worry; your honor is safe on this dance floor. After all, I cannot have some brutish father or prudish mama chasing me off before we finish our set.”
“My father isn’t here. And my mother courted scandal once or twice in her youth.” Eliza supplied the information without thought. Only after the words had slipped from her lips did she recognize the risk inherent in that intelligence.
“And her daughter?” he asked. His tone was conversational, with no worrisome interest.
“In general, I leave the scandals to my sister.”
“And on special occasions?”
“I dance with dull-witted lords whose hands best remain precisely where they are and not an inch lower if they do not wish for my brutish uncle to interrupt.”
Lord Sinclair’s head tipped back on a laugh, exposing the enticing knot of his throat beneath the black silk of his necktie. “Any other relatives I need to avoid?”
“I’ve a protective cousin. But you had the right of it. Though my father is not in attendance, I rather think he is the one you ought to concern yourself with.”
“And why is that?”
“You really don’t know?”
“Know what?”
“You’ve not been in town long, have you?”
“We arrived a few days ago. How did you surmise that?” His curiosity seemed piqued, even as he rewarded her with another improper spin.
“Just a suspicion.” She infused the response with a cryptic note. “Where were you, if not in town?”
“I’m not certain I believe that. But I’ve been helping my father with a project.”
“You may believe or disbelieve at your leisure. It is of no matter to me.”
“Did Bella tell you?”
“She mentioned she had been much in your company of late. But that was not what led to my suspicion.”
“You must tell me.”
“Imustdo nothing. And I’m certain you’ll stumble upon the answer on your own.”
The music reached a crescendo before fading into the milling voices. Eliza’s curtsy answered Lord Sinclair’s bow—a flirtatious edge to his expression.
“May I fetch you a glass of lemonade?” he asked as he guided her toward the edge of the floor, away from both of their sisters, Eliza noted with some relief. “I would not wish for you to be parched while you mock my ignorance.” There was no reproof in the statement. No, he was perfectly content to allow her teasing.
“Oh, you do not want the lemonade, trust me. It’s wretched.”
“It is?”
“Yes, they’ve skipped the sugar entirely. Added sawdust to the pastry as well. Lord Linden is under the hatches.”
Lord Sinclair choked on nothing before clearing his throat. “How the devil do you know that?”
Eliza offered a closed-lip smile as she tipped her head to one side.
“Mysterious… Well, unless you enjoy scotch, I’ve nothing to offer.”
She held out a wordless hand, her smile deepening when his brows raised in astonishment.
Lord Sinclair caught her elbow and guided her to an alcove, boxing her against it. When she tried to glance over his shoulder for onlookers, she understood he was shielding her. His hand, the one that seemed so at home on her waist, reached into the breast pocket of his coat. The silver flask he pulled out was etched with a design that time and use had made indistinguishable. He unscrewed the cap before he handed the flask to her, shifting so his shoulders blocked more of the room.
