“I did hear about the loss of your father. I am sorry.”
His lips pressed together. “I thank you.”
“And you are second of eleven, if I remember.” Judith waited for the man’s response and was not disappointed.
His eyebrows arched and the smirk vanished, as did the gleam. “Nine these days.”
“All children are important to be counted.” Judith’s own losses were never far from her mind. “All are precious.”
His eyes narrowed, studying her, tiny creases appearing at each side. He tilted his head to one side, and the candlelight over his head caused the faint silver streaks in his ebony hair to glimmer like a light dusting of snow. Yet “handsome” did not quite describe the clean lines of his jaw and aquiline nose, his sculpted cheekbones, or silken curls. To have such a man focus on her made Judith’s stomach tighten with an unexpected glee, and she fought to keep her expression calm, not completely succeeding.
Edmund cleared his throat again.
Judith touched her stepson’s arm. “Do you need some air, sir? Itisrather stuffy in here.”
That gleam returned.
Edmund’s cheeks pinked. “No.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “Mother, please.” He straightened and took a deep breath. “I brought Lord Mark over because I know him to be a good dancer. I realize he is a little older than those you usually choose—”
Mark’s eyes snapped toward Edmund. “I beg your pardon?”
“So few men my own age can maintain pace with me.”
Those eyes turned back to hers. “Do I hear a challenge in that statement, Countess?”
“Lady Sculthorpe, please, as I am the dowager. Perhaps you did. If you think there is one to be heard. Are you my own age?” A rude inquiry, but that had never stopped Judith before.
“The next dance, I believe, is a quadrille.” He held out his hand, ignoring her question.
She raised hers, the dance card and its attached pencil dangling from her wrist. “Probably wise to start simply.”
Edmund rolled his eyes as Lord Mark signed the card. “Now you see why I prefer to attend Society events with my wife. She is far more docile.”
Lord Mark paused, then added his name to a second dance. “Docility is not always an admirable quality.”
Judith watched him sign. “Ah. I like a man who has lofty expectations.”
Lord Mark released the card. “I merely enjoy adventures where I can find them. Large or small.”
With another roll of his eyes, Edmund wandered off, and Lord Mark offered Judith his arm.
She took it, amused by some of the sly glances and fluttering fans that followed her escort to the dance floor. Lord Mark was exceptionally attractive—uncommon for such a staid and limited event. The more eligible bachelors of thetonoften sought out a larger field of play, such as Almack’s or a grander ball.Perhaps he does not consider himself eligible, given his reputation.
Their stroll around the edge of the dust-covered floor continued, smooth and measured, and Judith could feel the strength in his forearm. She glanced up at him. “I see by the unsubtle glances we are receiving that your renown is everything I have heard. Is it truly well earned?”
“I suppose that would depend on what you have heard.”
“Ah. Notoriety is not always what it is made out to be. So here is a theoretical question for you.”
He looked down at her. “Theoretical?”
“I prefer theoretical questions to coy small talk.”
“A distinct change of pace for a lady of theton.”
“How many women, would you say, must a man take to his bed before he is considered a rakehell, in contrast to how many men a woman can take to her bed before she is considered ruined, a wanton? Or a harlot?”
Lord Mark gave a low snort. “Am I to assume you are implying one number is significantly higher than the other?”
