“How?” was her one-word response.
Owen didn’t want to put her in any danger, nor did he want her to ask for the kerchiefs outside the safety of the ballroom. More especially, he didn’t want her to inquire for the particular pattern in case she alerted the murderer, who might have realized by now he was missing at least one.
“I am hoping you will ask each gentleman with whom you dance tonight for his handkerchief and collect them…somehow. I’m afraid I don’t know how. I would have to leave that up to you.”
A ghost of a smile haunted her pink lips.
“I don’t usually,” she said softly.
He leaned forward to catch her words.
She cleared her throat. “Dance with many, I mean.”
“But you do dance when asked. I know that.”
She nodded.
“In fact, you are an excellent dancer,” he added.
She rolled her eyes.
Simply not a good conversationalist, he amended silently.
“Will you help me without asking why?” He waited for her answer.
She paused. Her green gaze held his, seeming to penetrate deeply into his thoughts, seeking his motives. Whatever she saw, she accepted.
Almost imperceptibly, she nodded again.
“Thank you,” he told her. “I shall speak with you again later,” he said, feeling a surge of excitement and hope. He was ready to dash away to play his part in the plan. Then he looked back. “Please don’t leave tonight without saying goodbye.”
Otherwise, how would he get the handkerchiefs?
Her brows drew together in consternation, but he merely bowed toward her and backed away. He hadn’t much time. Dance cards were filling up. He must direct as many men toward Adelia as possible. To that end, he began circulating through the throng.
“Lady Adelia Smythe, where is she?” he asked each one as if he was searching for her. “Superb dancer and massive dowry. How can one go wrong?”
Many a man raised his head, seeking the lady before hurrying in her direction. It was as if she’d been invisible, and no one had noticed her presence until he spoke of her. As though he had lifted a veil, they could see Adelia standing by the back wall, clear as day, looking so becoming.
She was truly beautiful, he realized, sending another eager partner hurrying her way. This was too easy. He clapped another man on the shoulder.
“Lady Adelia, have you seen her?”
Her brother turned around with a concerned look upon his face.
Realizing who was asking, Lord Smythe frowned slightly. “Why? Are you hoping she’ll faint and need rescuing again?” He paused and crossed his arms. “I didn’t get a chance to thank you before.”
Owen shrugged. He didn’t think the Earl of Dunford owed him thanks, especially after his own ungentlemanly kisses with Adelia in his carriage.
“But you were being too much of an ass,” Smythe finished abruptly, “berating me and telling my sister how more important matters awaited you.” Her brother’s mouth curled with irritation. “Of course, you redeemed yourself since that time by asking my sister to dance. Oh wait, then you left her humiliated on the edge of the dance floor.”
Owen was shocked down to his toes. That this young buck—even if he was an earl—would take him to task in public was entirely beyond the pale. While Owen had acted appallingly at the last ball, to make mention of it was terribly rude.
Besides, Owen had escorted her to the theatre and made amends.
“Your sister has accepted my apology.”
“She was too easy on you,” the earl pointed out. He was probably correct.
