Lucy took another sip of sugarless tea and winced.Meg eyed the sugar bowl. If the duchess didn’t use the stuff, perhaps they could return it and get their money back.
Lucy cleared her throat. “I mean him showing an interest in you has already helped, has it not? After your dance with him last night, did you or didn’t you receive two other offers to dance from other gentlemen?”
“It’s true, but—”
“But what, dear? This is what you’ve been waiting for after all these years. Didn’t I tell you your circumstances would change if you did things differently? You’re finally getting the attention you deserve.” Lucy set down her teacup and rubbed her hands together with obvious glee. “At some point, I must get permission from your parents to act as your chaperone, but for now it sounds as if we need to get you another gown… or three.”
CHAPTER TEN
By God, Hart actually found himself looking forward to the next ball, a turn of events he never would have guessed a short twenty-four hours ago. After the Hodges’ ball last night, he’d gone home, dismissed his valet who could barely stand, climbed into bed, and tossed and turned. He couldn’t sleep, thinking about Meg Timmons of all people. He’d even had an entirely indecent dream about her, her petal-pink lips, her gorgeous thick blond hair, and her sparkling bright-green eyes. In the span of one day, she’d gone from his sister’s friend to a woman he couldn’t stop thinking about. How the devil hadthathappened?
She was funny and unexpected. The first time he’d kissed her he’d half expected her to demand marriage. The second time he’d seen her struggle with her confusion and do her best to shrug it off. She wasn’t one for histrionics or drama. He’d learned that about her that night in the park. Unlike his mother, Meg hadn’t shriekedor carried on. She hadn’t called for smelling salts or raised her voice in an attempt to convince him she was right.
Meg was intelligent and perceptive, quietly explaining why she thought Sarah should not marry the marquess. Even when Hart had disagreed with her on how to oppose the match, she’d evenly accepted his position. He liked a woman who was calm and reasonable. He wassurprisedby a woman who was calm and reasonable.
For a moment last night after their kiss, he’d seen her cool reserve slip. She had been not just surprised, butaffected, and that’s when he’d realized he’d been a cad. Hence his offer to help her tonight, and perhaps the reason why he waslooking forwardto attending atonball. Not only that, but he’d gone to his favorite gaming hell last night to rouse his most respectable friends. First he beat them all soundly at faro, then demanded they help him as payment. Besides, they all owed him a favor or three and he bloody well would call in the favors for Meg’s sake.
It was only becausetonevents were so exceedingly dull. Since he had to be there in his own quest for a wife, concentrating on helping Meg was something to pass the time. That was all it was.
Truly.
And so it was that the popular and charming Duke of Harlborough, Earl of Norcross, and Viscount Wenterley all danced with Meg Timmons at the second ball of the Season. She was already a smashing success before Hart even had a chance to ask her to dance, himself.
“Is your dance card too full for an old friend, then?” he asked, coming to stand next to her near the back of the room. Her cheeks were pink and she was breathless from the reel she’d just finished with Wenterley. She wore a bright-turquoise gown with matching pearls at her neck and ears. Her hair was straightened once more and she looked like a goddess again. She still smelled like strawberries. He’d always liked strawberries.
She turned to him, a smile on her face. It was nice to see her smile. Where was she getting these gowns? Her father was penniless, everyone knew that. He suspected the Duchess of Claringdon and his sister had a hand in it. Apparently, they were doing their best to help Miss Timmons find a husband. Why did that thought make him uncomfortable?
“Never too full for you, my lord,” Meg answered brightly, her small white teeth flashing.
Hart straightened his cravat. “I take it you approve of the chaps I sent your way, then.”
She folded her gloved hands together in front of her. “I cannot tell you how grateful I am. I—”
“No.” He put up a hand. “No thanks are necessary. I owe you a favor.”
Her gaze shifted to the floor. “One you’ve repaid with interest. I’ll be indebted to you forever.”
She lifted her head and their gazes met. Hart didn’t want to look away. The kiss they’d shared burned in his memory. Both kisses, actually. His confounded body hardened in response.
Their gazes swung away from each other when Lucy Hunt marched up with a man hovering at her side. “Meg,dear, allow me to introduce you to Sir Michael Winford.”
Ah, his suspicion about the duchess helping Meg had been correct. Hart narrowed his eyes on the man. Tall but still nearly two inches shorter than Hart, Sir Winford was a decent-looking chap, he supposed, if one preferred thin, pale, blond sorts.
Meg curtsied to Sir Winford. “A pleasure.”
“No, Miss Timmons, the pleasure is all mine,” the knight replied with an overly familiar smile that made Hart narrow his eyes further.
Lucy glanced at Hart as if she’d only just noticed him standing there. “Oh, Lord Highgate, do you know Sir Winford?”
“No,” Hart replied tightly. “We’ve not met.”
The two men exchanged pleasantries before Lucy interjected, “I believe Sir Winford was about to ask Miss Timmons to dance.”
“Iwas about to ask Miss Timmons to dance,” Hart replied, his jaw clenched.
Lucy’s smile was full of teeth and obviously fake. “Will you excuse us for one moment, Sir Winford?”
“By all means, Your Grace.” Winford bowed to the duchess.
