With a final flourish, the musicians lowered their instruments and the heated dancers promenaded from the floor, seeking refreshment. A young woman on Sir Charles Stuart’s arm glanced his way. She smiled, but he noticed sadness in her eyes. Their gazes caught, and for a startling moment, held.
Dash it all, it was the lady who had been constantly in his thoughts since their meeting when the highwaymen had attacked his coach. Damian bowed to the men in his company. “Please excuse me, gentlemen.”
“Ballantine has spied his next conquest,” a fellow said behind him, followed by group laughter.
Damian turned with a wink. “Give me time, gentlemen.”
“An hour, at least.” Castlereagh laughed.
“Who is the lady?” Scovell asked, a glimmer of a smile in his intelligent, blue eyes.
“I have yet to learn her full name,” Damian said, unwilling to reveal more. “She has escaped me thus far.”
Heads shook disbelievingly. “What a sorry tale,” Liverpool observed with a grin. “Let us hope your fickle reputation with the ladies does not precede you.”
With a chuckle, Damian left them. Wellesley’s right-hand man, the diplomat Sir Charles Stuart, led the tall, slim young woman over to the sofa, where an older lady sat waiting. Damian crossed the floor for a closer view of Miss Diana. The young woman, who remarkably had scared away the robbers with her dueling pistol. Miss Diana. She was no squire’s daughter. If she’d been fetching in breeches, tonight, she was beautiful in the delicate net gown, the candlelight picking out golden streaksin her honey-brown hair. Unlike most debutantes, who seemed to favor dainty, gold jewelry and pearls to complement the pale gowns they wore these days, a fine diamond-and-emerald jewel nestled against her milky skin in the low-cut gown. But Miss Diana—if that was her correct title—was unlike most debutantes and cast even the prettiest of them into the shade.
Needing to be sure his suspicions were correct, Damian followed her dance partner, Sir Charles, as he threaded his way through the crowd. On reaching him, Damian tapped him on the shoulder. “Charles, the lady with whom you just partnered for the cotillion. Her name?”
Charles cocked an amused eyebrow. “Lady Diana Stafford, the Duke of Ashburnham’s daughter.”
Damian nodded. So he had been right. As extraordinary as it might have been, the lady in men’s breeches brandishing a dueling pistol had been the duke’s daughter.
“She’s a pretty woman, but beware, Ashburnham is determined to see her engaged this year and is on the lookout for the right man,” Charles said, a twinkle of mischief in his eyes. “Since he is unlikely to have been informed about your covert activities, he might view you favorably.”
“I shan’t give him a reason to consider me. But I confess to being surprised Lady Diana hasn’t married.”
Charles smiled. “She appears averse to the idea of matrimony. The Staffords are a rare breed. They care little for society’s doctrines. But tread carefully. Your dangerous work for Scovell places you in a similar position as me. A wife would make you vulnerable. When you become worried and distracted by loved ones left at home, you can make dangerous mistakes. I shall not consider marriage until the war is over.”
Damian nodded. Lady Diana was unusual and utterly fascinating. But marriage was not on his mind. “Thanks for thewarning, Charles.” He had been about to ask him to introduce him to Lady Diana but considered it unwise.
“Best avoid her, lest she draw you in.” Charles laughed. “She is the lady to do so.”
While Damian silently agreed, the temptation to know more about her still tugged at him. It was his nature to sail close to the wind. His father had been a cautious, conservative man who’d warned Damian to be careful.“Never ride in the rain and subject yourself to a lung complaint.” “Never take a horse over a high jump, or you might break your neck.” “Never venture into those parts of London where it is unsafe. You risk contracting a disease that could carry you off.”
But his younger sister, Mary, had died at eight years old, after she’d fallen from a pony, having sneaked out to ride it behind their father’s back. Without the aid of a groom, she’d tried to take the pony over a fence. He and Luke had been heartbroken. Father had carried on in that stiff-upper-lip fashion expected of aristocrats, but he’d sickened and died before he’d turned forty-five, having seldom ventured farther than his estate. In Damian’s opinion, life was precarious whatever one chose to do. Their premature deaths had made him determined not to live as his father had, letting life slip by while he worried about what might carry him off.
Damian found himself attracted to Lady Diana’s unaffected honesty. She hadn’t flirted with him like other women, although he sensed there was something beneath her bravado. The shadow in her eyes made him suspect she’d been badly hurt, and it drew him to her. But he wasn’t a fool. He was cautious—had to be in his line of work, which he had no intention of giving up until England won the war. As his gaze rested on her, remembering her riding astride with those long legs, he weighed up the intriguing possibility of discovering if she would be as passionate and as vitally alive as he suspected, against landinghimself deep in hot water. And not to be dismissed was Scovell’s order to unearth the French spy ring still operating somewhere in London.
Lady Diana talked to their hostess, Lady Forester. A word in that lady’s ear, and Damian and Lady Diana would dance before the night was over. Dash it all, why not? He took steps toward where she chatted to her hostess, then stopped. What was he doing? A duke’s daughter. No matter if she was everything he hoped for, he could not bed her. Her father would have him banished to the New Hebrides. And Damian wouldn’t want her reputation to suffer.
Before he could retreat, Lady Forester, smiling, advanced toward him over the ballroom floor, with Lady Diana’s arm tucked into hers. Lady Diana must have requested it. His eager response brought a soft moan to his lips.
Chapter Two
When Lord Ballantineled Diana onto the dance floor for the waltz, she noticed the pause in conversation among the ladies who sat watching them. She glanced up at his attractive profile. Did they make more of it than there was? He didn’t flirt with her, and he had actually said little beyond the usual pleasantries, even after Lady Forester had left them and they were alone on the dance floor.
Her hand rested on his forearm, and even through her gloves and his silk coat, she felt a steely strength in him.
As the musicians took up their instruments, Diana’s confidence in her ability to take Ballantine as her lover wavered slightly. His big hand was in hers, and the other warm at her waist. He seemed so large, and so male. He was so unlike the pampered gentlemen who usually partnered with her at balls. The spoiled sons of lords whose sense of superiority and confidence came from their wealth and birth. Ballantine seemed different. It was as if he had personally faced danger and been tested to the utmost. It wouldn’t surprise her to learn he’d been a soldier. There was always something gritty and resolute about men who fought for their country. But surely, if that were the case, he would still have been fighting in Spain, not here dancing with her. A small sigh escaped. How handsome he would look in uniform. She tried to calm herself before he realized she was nervous, and wondered at it. She was behaving like a goose over a man. Like all flirtatious women whose behavior she hadinitially frowned upon but now understood.Keep your head!Diana frowned. But might it be her heart that was in danger?
Ballantine’s mouth quirked, and a wicked sparkle lit his brown eyes.
“A penny for your thoughts, Lady Diana?”
Diana struggled to come up with a witty reply and, in the end, shrugged. “Nothing of interest, my lord. I heard the Prince of Wales might come tonight.” It was an outright lie, but he’d caught her off guard and she could think of nothing else.
“You are eager to see His Highness?”
