“You are a member of the same pugilist’s club as I frequent,” Owen said. “In the West End.”
“I am,” Smythe agreed.
“I shall see you there tomorrow, perhaps,” Owen offered. Let the young man take his anger out on him in an appropriate setting. Not that he was going to allow Smythe to beat him black and blue. A friendly, cleansing punch or two should suffice. “About two o’clock, shall we say?”
The earl nodded, followed by a grin. “If you are still looking for my sister, it appears she is on the dance floor.” Her brother appeared surprised by that fact.
Owen nodded and moved away. He was not about to interfere with Adelia at present, although by the ball’s end, he hoped to get her alone. Belatedly, he realized he should have put his own name on her card. So eager for her help and surprised by her acquiescence, he hadn’t been thinking clearly.
What if her dance card were entirely full when he tried?
That was precisely what happened. Having noticed she was barely ever off the parquet, Owen hoped to lure her to the refreshment table and, in that juncture, speak privately.
Thus, while she was on the arm of her latest partner, Owen approached.
“Lady Adelia, would you care for some lemonade between dances?”
She nodded and turned to the man beside her. “So warm,” she commented.
With a fan appearing miraculously out of thin air the way ladies’ fans always seemed to, she cooled her face. Immediately, the young lord whipped a handkerchief out of his pocket and handed it to her to blot her dewy skin. Owen couldn’t make out if there was a pattern on the lace.
Smiling her gratitude, Adelia took it, touched it to her temples on either side, before tucking it into the valley between her breasts.
Owen’s eyes popped.How many had she pushed down there?
He didn’t think it possible for her to stuff so many handkerchiefs into her perfectly fitted bodice. She must move each one after it had enjoyed a moment in such a blissful setting.
Seeing her dance partner’s eyes widen and stare at her generous cleavage, Owen felt an abrupt flare of protectiveness, wanting to tell the man to look elsewhere, or he would be forced to poke out his eyes.
At the same time, he also realized the brilliance of her maneuver. The man could no more make reference to his handkerchief and get it back than he could fly around the room. It would be the pinnacle of impropriety to notice where his handkerchief had gone and thus admit he was looking at her bosom.
She smiled slightly, curtsied toward her partner, and had just turned to Owen when another man stepped forward.
“Time for our dance, Lady Adelia.”
“I was about to take her for some lemonade,” Owen protested, prepared to mention how her health came ahead of another waltz.
Only then did her newest partner, an eager young man in his first Season, hold out a glass to her. “I anticipated by this time of the evening you might be thirsty,” he said, gazing intently at her. “By having it ready, my lady, I knew we wouldn’t miss a second of our dance.”
Lady Adelia took the offered drink, lifted her shoulder in the smallest of shrugs directed at Owen, and walked away with the man and his damned lemonade. Owen fumed. Yet, after all, what could she do?
It continued thusly for the remainder of the ball, with Owen unable to secure a place on her card or even speak with her. Why, if he’d known matchmaking was so easy, he could have made a fortune at these things, charging a fee for his assistance in procuring partners for lovelorn men and women.
Luckily, he already had a fortune. What he didn’t have were the handkerchiefs!
Hours later, he watched as Lord Smythe approached Adelia. The musicians had stopped playing, and the crowd had thinned.
Now what?Owen could do nothing but watch them leave. Before disappearing, Adelia looked around, and her gaze settled upon him. She tilted her head. Obviously, she wondered why he hadn’t managed to speak with her over the course of the night.
Then, she nodded, and he took it as permission for him to call on her the next day to retrieve what she had collected. This woman could say more with absolutely no words than most could with ceaseless babbling.
Owen felt encouraged for the first time in many days. He would go to the Smythe townhouse at the decent hour of eleven o’clock in the morning, and, hopefully, the handkerchief he sought would be there, along with the identity of the killer.
Chapter Ten
It had beenan unusual evening, the busiest ball Adelia had ever attended, and she hoped never to repeat the same again. Entirely too taxing—not the dancing but the listening, trying to catch what was being said and to summon the will to respond as necessary.
And now, the following morning, instead of being able to relax and recover, she was expecting Owen at any time. She had no idea when he would show up, only that he would, indeed, come to recover his requested handkerchiefs. Thus, she sat in the parlor, unable to concentrate on anything except reading the papers. And to her amazement, her name was in the society pages at last.
