While the sisters had been occupied, Tweedie had made a friend. Lady Ponsby, a woman of about her same age, stood by Tweedie offering advice. Lady Royston had introduced them, and now Lady Ponsby helped Tweedie navigate the intricacies of chaperoning.
Poor Tweedie. She was more comfortable sitting in the matron’s corner with a glass and some gossip instead of playing gatekeeper. Dara was more suitable for that task, but Dara was nowhere to be found.
Gwendolyn wondered where her sister had gone off to—and hoped it wasn’t with Mr. Steele—even as she placed her hand on Viscount Morley’s arm and let him lead her to the dance floor.
Chapter Seven
Never be indecorous or indiscreet.
The Rules (according to Dara)
But slap men with fans and bat eyelashes—that’sdiscreet.
Tweedie’s amazement
Miss Dara Lanscarr had bowled over her sister to dance with him, only to act disinterested, cold even, through the set. Michael wasn’t one to stand on manners, but something was amiss, and he wondered what. Certainly he wasn’t at fault. Nor was he accustomed to women taking a dislike to him.
When the dance ended, he gratefully offered his arm to escort her back to her aunt—except when he would have led her to the right, she tugged at him to go left. He frowned, confused.
“Escort me into the Supper Room,” she said. It was not a request.
“I don’t believe it has been opened yet.”
“I’m certain it hasn’t.” Her blue eyes turned imploring. “I only ask a moment of your time. You will grant me that, will you not?” Her voice had gone low, husky, and for the first time, he noticed her hair carried the scent of clover and wildflowers. The fragrance of Ireland. A siren’s call for him if there ever was one.
Steele’s letter to him earlier in the day had warned him to be wary of Dara.Never take your eye off her.And yet Dara was a debutante, a naïf. Granted, she was a lovely slice of Irish womanhood but nothing Michael couldn’t handle. “No, I believe I need to return you to Dame—”
She let go of his arm and took off in the direction of the Supper Room as if she expected him to follow, and God help him, he did. He couldn’t stop himself. Curiosity alone propelled him forward.
The door to the Supper Room was closed. That didn’t stop Dara from opening it a crack and slipping inside as if on a clandestine mission.
Michael frowned. This was ridiculous. He opened the door outright. He was a man. He didn’t skulk around.
A footman setting linens on the buffet table looked up. “I beg your pardon, sir. We are not prepared to serve. We will shortly.”
Dara answered before Michael could speak. “That is not a problem. We are not here to eat. I desire a moment alone with this gentleman.”
The footman looked taken aback, and then his smile turned knowing. He ducked his head and left through a door on his side of the room. He even stopped a maid who had started to go by him, pulling her back into the passageway with him and giving Michael and Dara privacy.
She marched over to a corner table for two and sat. With the air of a queen, she folded her gloved hands on the table and nodded for him to join her.
Michael took the other chair. “What game are we playing, Miss Lanscarr?”
“You appreciate plain speaking?”
“I don’t believe you know any other kind.”
“I regret not. However, I had to ask. Men like to believe they are open-minded. They rarely are.”
“I am not like most men,” he coolly informed her.
“Oh, I know all about you. You are highly respected.”
He leaned back. “Are you plying me with compliments?”
“I am saying I know how important you are, especially to Ireland.”
“Thank you?”
