“Infinitely so.”
The orchestra ended their melody, and the dancers shifted on the floor. Lord Mark and Judith took up a corner position near the violins, as the musicians paused to retune their instruments. As three other couples joined them, he leaned closer, his eyes sparkling again. “One for the wanton, if unmarried. Two or more for a harlot. Perhaps five or more if she would like to become a wanton harlot. More on both counts for a widow, I would think. Society tends to be kinder to women who have already had a turn at fidelity and the provision of an heir and spare.”
She ignored the barb. “And the rakehell?”
“I suppose it would depend on the quality of the women.”
“Intriguing distinction. Nobility.”
“Five. At least it was for me. But they were married, so I had the aid of their husbands to spread the... um... details.”
Behind them the orchestra settled and turned their attention to their conductor. “Am I to assume you did not stop at five?”
“Ah, Lady Sculthorpe, you see before you a man aiming for the status of a true scoundrel.”
“Your mother must be so proud.”
“Not a word I would have chosen, but she is here tonight. I am officially her escort. You may ask her if you like.”
“Do not think I will not.”
He released her hand and faced her. “Such hesitation on your part would not cross my mind. But first we must dance.”
As the lively strains of the quadrille swirled around the ballroom, the dancers spread into four groups of four couples each. Judith smiled at her partner, reminding herself to thank Edmund later. Even if her acquaintance with Lord Mark Rydell advanced no further than this chat and a dance or two, Judith had been thoroughly entertained, unlike her previous danceswith gentlemen who barely knew how to discuss anything beyond horses and whisky. Items she ordinarily knew a great deal more about than they did.
Plus, he was rather lovely to look at.Was he really here only to escort his mother?
Feeling a blush of desire rising in her belly, Judith turned her attention to the other three couples. She had a passing acquaintance with two of the women, but she knew none of them well. The ranking member of the group, and thus first gentleman of the dance, was a viscount from Kent and his wife. The second and third couples took their spots, with Judith and Lord Mark taking position as the fourth couple, which would give them a few moments to get their bearings. The music, a spritely tune led by the violins, lifted into the air, the partners bowed to each other, and the first lady stepped off, reaching for the hand of the second gentleman opposite her.
Ignoring the growing chalk dust cloud around her feet, Judith found herself moving through the fast paces of the dance with joy. The bouncy steps, in-and-out and circles, the star shape left her a bit breathless but exhilarated. Each “return to partner” meant a tight grip from Lord Mark’s hand and the light in his eyes shone even more as he focused on her face. The turns that brought them closer together allowed a faint scent of soap, pine, and mint to reach her, a pleasant aroma that did not overwhelm as so many of the gentlemen’s colognes did. He was indubitably the best dancer of the evening, his steps light and sure as he moved through the intricacy of the quadrille with a smooth and confident ease. His firm leadership through the steps differed pleasantly from the limp fish hands most men employed.
Perhaps skilled dancing was a requirement of an excellent rake. While that had not been her experience so far—and Judith had substantial experience with less-than-excellent young rakes—she decided that finding out the exact skills of this somewhat-older version might be well worth her time.
*
Mark bowed atthe end of the dance, then escorted the dowager countess back to the beverage table before leaving her, as they had both lost track of Edmund. Mark had recognized the earl had ulterior motives when he wanted to introduce his stepmother but not precisely what those motives were. Now Mark had a couple of strong suspicions, and he could not decide whether to admire the man for a wily plan or call him out for being so devious. Mark decided to let the evening play out instead, wondering if the dowager had been included in her stepson’s scheme.
He rather hoped not, given how much he had truly enjoyed their encounter.
Mark knew that aristocratic men often married much younger women, especially for the second or third marriage. Still... to hear the woman referred to as a dowager countess had led him expect someone in her dotage, white-haired and tottering. Lady Sculthorpe had instead been a pleasant surprise with her wit and beauty—a woman he would have pursued with enthusiasm before the war. He relished their banter and enjoyed her quick and precise steps in the quadrille, the rush of color in her face from the exertion making her even more alluring. A lovely face with emerald eyes that shone, surrounded by a well-styled mane of chestnut curls and complementing an enticing figure that held a womanly fullness that made him want to linger in her company. The faint hint of lilies had followed her on and off the dance floor, and the tinge of pink in her cheeks made him wonder how she would look, how she would smell in the fullness of her arousal.
Definitely not white-haired and tottering.
Although neither of those terms described his own mother, despite her being more than twenty years older. While Phyllida had reached her early sixties, she remained statuesque, with an almost military posture and blonde hair only now going to gray. While her tendency to continue wearing the black of mourning usually dragged down her otherwise youthful look, tonight she wore a lavender gown—a pleasant change made for the purpose of attending the ball—but she had refused all offers to dance.
Nor was Phyllida yet a dowager, a word that would not apply to his mother until his brother Matthew married.
Still... the contrast between the two women locked in his brain as he turned over the suspected reasons for the introduction, and he glanced back at Lady Schulthorpe, who had already been lured into another dance by a young lord.
An extremelyyounglord.
Mark paused, his brow furrowing as he watched the couple spin through the dance.Whywasshe dancing with someone barely able to shave?
A thump hit his chest, and he started, glaring down at his mother—and the fan that had just landed against his waistcoat.
“Stop staring at her.” The words hissed through taut lips.
Mark stepped back and closed his hand around her fist—the one clutching the fan. “Do you even know who she is?”
