Meg took the vial but blinked at Lucy. “You heard me and you’re not concerned?”
“Should I be?” Lucy blinked back.
Meg groaned and let her forehead drop onto her free hand. Lucy could be positively maddening.
“It does make our plans a bit more pressing, dear, I’ll give you that, but it hardly changes anything,” Lucy said. “Sir Winford appears to be on the verge of an offer. Now dab some passionflower behind your ears and let’s get to work.”
“But I don’twantto marry Sir Winford,” Meg moaned, glaring at the small vial of perfume.
“Of course you don’t, dear, but you do want his offer.” Lucy gestured to the vial and Meg reluctantly pulled off her gloves, plucked off the stopper, and dabbed a bit of the perfume behind both ears as directed.
“Why do I want his offer?” Meg asked. The passionflower smelled lovely. It filled the coach with its rich scent.
“Because an offer will force Hart’s hand.”
“What? How?” Meg placed the stopper on the vial and handed it back to Lucy, who dropped it unceremoniously into her reticule.
“I’ve seen the way he’s spoken to you over the last few nights, dear. He’s undeniably attracted to you. He’s just so annoyingly determined to stick to conventions. You saw his face when I mentioned that Sir Winford was bringing the coach around.”
“That hardly means—”
“Allow me to finish, dear. Once Hart realizes you’re off the market, or could be, he’ll have to take a long hard look at himself.”
“You truly think an offer from Sir Winford will wring an offer from Hart?” Meg tugged on her glove once more. “It seems like a dangerous gamble.”
Lucy’s different-colored eyes sparkled. “I think there is only one way to find out. Remember, I’ve seen this sort of thing play out once or twice before.”
“But this is the last night. The last ball Hart agreed to come to and dance with me.”
“Yes,” Lucy agreed. “The three nights of balls are over, and with your father’s ridiculous pronouncementwe have even less time than before. We must make our next move immediately.”
“What is our next move?” Meg asked, shifting to sit on the edge of her seat, half frightened to hear the answer.
“I shall host a small dinner party tomorrow night, with featured guests, you, Sir Winford, and Hart.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The Morgans’ ballroom was crowded with guests, but Meg had little trouble finding Hart. His height made him stand out. He wore his black superfine evening attire with a sapphire waistcoat and startlingly white cravat. His hair brushed his collar, his breeches clearly defined his, ahem, assets, and as always his eyes glowed like emeralds. Lucy had made it clear that Meg was to wait from him to come to her, and so she tapped her silver slipper against the marble floor while pretending not to notice the most handsome man in the room was heading her way.
Hart strolled up to Meg and bowed to her. “Care to dance, my lady?”
Meg’s heart did a little flip. It would never get old, hearing him ask her to dance. Themy ladypart was especially swoon-worthy, and yet this might be the last time—ever—that she danced with him. She must enjoy and remember every moment of it.
“You seem sad,” Hart said as a waltz began to play.
Meg nodded slowly. There was no use denying it. “The truth is… I am sad.”
“Sad? Why? You look beautiful, you seem to have your choice of gentlemen to dance with, and you happen to be dancing with the most handsome of the lot.” He gave her a devilish grin. “What possible reason do you have to be sad?”
He leaned down to catch her eye. She’d been staring into his cravat, trying not to cry. He sounded so caring. She wanted to ask him to love her, right then and there. Wanted to beg him, really. The thought of Lucy having her own attack of the nerves over it put a stop to that. Furthermore, Meg didn’t think a needy plea would be particularly effective. No. She must remain subtle. Sophisticated. No matter how much she disliked pretending.
She took a long, deep breath. Could she tell him this news without tears springing to her eyes? Could she tell him she was leaving? She bit the inside of her cheek. She was being such a ninny. “I’m—”
Sir Winford tapped Hart upon the shoulder. “The duchess sent me,” the knight announced with a broad smile.
“Of course she did,” Hart ground out.
Meg quickly swiped away her tears and plastered a fake smile on her face for Sir Winford while Hart stepped aside and allowed the knight to take Meg’s hands.
