Bowing sharply,he departed, pretending he couldn’t feel her gaze between hisshoulder blades as he left. The refreshment room held nothingstronger than an orgeat lemonade, and he grimaced as he drank. He’dnever liked the flavour, and it was especially bad when watereddown in this manner. Handing his cup to a footman, he blanched ashe was accosted by a whirl of ruffles and lace.
“Lord Stephen!” Lady Asterd cried.
He winced. “LadyAsterd.”
A matronly womanloosely acquainted with Lady Demartine, Lady Asterd had in seasonspast introduced him to numerous eligible debutantes in an attemptto match-make. She had been decidedly unsuccessful.
“Thank goodness I found you before that vile girl did,” sheexclaimed.
His brows shotup. Lady Asterd was not known for her subtlety, but even that was abit much.
“Iwould never forgive myself if I allowed you to fall in herclutches. It would cause my dear friend such distress, and LadyDemartine has had too many tragedies in her life. Why, there waspoor, lost Maxim, of course.” Producing a handkerchief from hergown, she held it to her eye.
“Ofcourse.” Because the death of his younger brother eleven years agodid not affect him, Stephen, in any way at all.
“Andyour dear mother. Such friends we were, though I was a little olderthan them. Bosom companions, always together at each ball. Theyeven married within months of each other and then, for your poormother to pass bringing your poor brother into the world, and thenhe departing not a dozen years later—”
“Maxim was fifteen,” he interrupted.
Her ladyshipblinked. “Pardon?”
Lady Asterd hadno notion what she said could be upsetting to him, and he couldn’tbe bothered explaining it to her. “Nothing, Lady Asterd. You weresaying something about a girl?”
“Yes! Lady Seraphina Waller-Mitchell! Do not fall for herwicked wiles, Lord Stephen.”
Never, in allhis life, had he fallen prey to a woman’s wiles. When he wasyounger, he knew the game and he played it well. Now…it all seemsso false, and he had no time for falsity. Except when it came tohis brother. He would prevaricate and obfuscate until the cows camehome for Oliver. “I shall be sure not to do so, mylady.”
“Good. Good. She is a wicked sort, that one.”
A spark ofinterest flared; Lady Asterd’s vehemence almost made him want toseek the woman out to see what was so very wicked about her.Almost. “Thank you, I shall take your words underadvisement.”
She noddedimportantly. “Good. Good. I could not bear it if something happenedand I did not warn you.”
“Ofcourse,” he said ironically.
Her gaze flittedpast him. “Oh, I must—Lady Walpole! My apologies, Lord Stephen,but— Lady Walpole!”
Rolling hisshoulders, he watched as she rushed away to accost Lady Walpole.Thank Christ that was over. Lady Asterd was tolerable in smalldoses—very small doses.
From across theballroom, the woman smiled at him archly. Lady SeraphinaWaller-Mitchell. Wickedness personified, apparently.
Behind her,staring at Lydia Torrence like the obvious clodpole he was, stoodOliver. Christ, he had no desire to be forced to converse with hisbrother. Turning on his heel, Stephen departed theballroom.
The balcony wasfairly deserted for such a crowded ball. A few gentlemen smoked,and some ladies gathered to take in the night air. Stephen found adeserted corner and leant against the balustrade, inhaling eveningblossoms, perfume, and cheroot smoke. A hint of rain threaded theair, speaking of summer storms.
He rubbed a handacross his face. He didn’t know if he had it in him to take anotherpass around the ballroom. He was not used to society and, it wasplain, society was not used to him.
Someone stumbledinto him, a whirl of pale blue. Automatically he caught her, darkhair bobbing at his chin as she gripped his forearms.
“Thank you, my lord,” she said breathily. Still gripping him,she looked up.
He drew in abreath. It was the woman from the ballroom. The wickedone.
Tilted grey eyesframed with thick dark lashes stared up at him from a heart-shapedface. A pale blue gown clothed her, the square neckline framingtruly magnificent breasts…though he questioned how much was her andhow much clever undergarments. Interestingly, though, she was nomore than a head shorter than him, and he was accounted a tallman
Expression coy,she gazed at him through her lashes. “However can I thank you, sir?You have saved me from a dire fate.”
“Aslight stumble is a dire fate?”
