Just then, Harry turned to walk toward the musicians and indeed there she was, in his way. This time, she succeeded engaging him in conversation.
Brentworth shrugged. “I’d say she is a Cyprian.”
“For all her forwardness, she is not acting like one. Perhaps she is an unhappy wife looking for adventure. Or even a shop girl hoping for a rich lover.”
Gabriel got a sense of determination behind that white mask, while the young woman leaned in to lure Harry. Dark curls piled high on her head and cascaded in thick ringlets on one side. A frilly white cap perched on her crown, and more frills framed the rounded tops of breasts visible with that décolleté. Give her a staff and she would appear a porcelain shepherdess come to life.
“I suppose they will find common ground without us.” Brentworth stepped around so he blocked the view. “Impressive speech last week, Langford. I regret that I was called out of town and unable to express my admiration before this. Rarely is a lord’s first speech worth hearing. Who knew you possessed such oratorical skills?”
“I did win that award at school.”
“Ah, yes. What high expectations everyone had then, that finally a Duke of Langford would speak well, and hopefully often. What possessed you to fulfill that hope now, after years of indifferent silence?”
Brentworth, who exercised his power with discretion, good effect, and well-regarded speeches, could be damned superior at times.
“I had something to say, so I said it. The impulse overcame me.”
“I am not such a fool as to believe you are that skilled. You can admit to me that the essay by Lady Farnsworth in that ladies’ journal last autumn embarrassed you into taking up your duties more seriously. No one has missed how you have attended sessions this past year far more often than ever in the past.”
He’d be damned if he admitted to anyone that the damned essay had found its mark. Insulting enough that eccentric Lady Farnsworth had all but named him in her scold. Worse that she’d titled her essaySlothful Decadence Among the Nobility. Hellishly bad luck that the essay appeared in the same issue of the journal that contained all the details about a huge scandal, which meant that the journal had enjoyed an unusually high level of circulation and reading. It had been published almost a year ago, but still men needled him about it, especially when they were drunk.
“As I have told you before, Lady Farnsworth’s essay has never been of interest to me except that I sometimes wonder to which duke she referred.”
“Whatever the reason, it is good to have you at sessions even if when you finally speak you sound a bit radical.”
“Radical? Is that what is being said?”
“A few say it. The rest merely wait to see.”
“What asses. Radical, hell.”
Brentworth shifted just enough for Gabriel to spy his brother, still engaged with that woman. Harry’s face had turned red. The vixen must be getting very bold indeed.
Harry turned his head and his gaze connected with Gabriel’s across the ballroom. The message sent by Harry could not be mistaken.
Save me.
Chapter Three
Amanda had never imagined that throwing herself at a man could be such hard work. Unfortunately, her quarry, Lord Harold, was of the distinctly shy variety. He barely spoke two words at a time and he avoided looking at her. But she was sure she could turn this to advantage.
She had used precious little subtlety, but it was time to discard what remnants remained. Perhaps if she appealed to his protective nature . . . Even the shyest of men wanted to be a knight saving the lady fair.
“Is it quite warm in here, do you think?” She batted her fan beside her face to capture his attention and direct it to her adorably demure smile.
“Passing warm, I would say.” Lord Harold’s gaze darted left and right, arcing over her head in the transition.
“I fear I am feeling a bit faint from it.” She held the open fan to her face so her eyes could plead for rescue over its edge.
His face remained blank.
She faked a little dizzy stagger in his direction for full effect. “Oh, my,” she said breathlessly, “I fear I am about to fall to the floor in a swoon from the heat.” She used the excuse of a deep breath to put a hand to her throat, bringing his attention to the swells of her breasts above her indecent décolleté.
That got his attention. He flushed deeply. He showed . . . not surprise—no, that was the wrong word. Shock would not do either, nor would saying he was aghast. Amanda could not escape the sense that Lord Harold revealed nothing less than terror.
She widened her eyes and feigned helpless vulnerability. “If only I could have some fresh air out on the terrace . . . but it is not proper for a woman to go out there alone.”
He gazed past her desperately, as if seeking the path for a fast retreat. Suddenly he calmed. “We cannot have you fainting, or assaulted by some fellow too far into his cups.”
