A spray of gooseflesh rose on his arms. She was looking straight at him. The weight of the velvety brown eyes he remembered so well felt like a caress, as if her fingertips had drifted across his cheek.
As soon as she realized she’d caught his eye, her lips curved in a half-smile.
This time when Vale took his arm to move him forward, Ciaran didn’t resist. He did his best not to stare at Lucy, but as they made their way across the ballroom toward her party, he couldn’t tear his gaze away from her.
Afriendlygaze, that is. Not a lustful one.
“Well, Mr. Ramsey. I’d quite given up on you this evening. The ball began an hour ago,” Lady Felicia scolded, even as she greeted him with a smile. “May I introduce my friend to you? This is—”
“Lady Lucinda Sutcliffe.” Ciaran bowed to both ladies, but it was Lucy’s hand he took and raised to his lips.
Lady Felicia looked from one to the other of them, a blonde eyebrow arched in surprise. “You already know each other?”
“Doesn’t every lady in London know the gallant Mr. Ramsey, the darling of London’s wallflowers?” Lucy’s smile widened, and her dark eyes twinkled as she looked up at him. “Tell me, will you dance with the wallflowers this evening, or are you planning some other sort of daring rescue?”
Lucy brushed her gloved fingers discreetly against the side of her nose, and a laugh rose in Ciaran’s throat. She was teasing him about his heroic plunge into the ocean to save a lady who knew perfectly well how to swim.
How had he forgotten she’d nearly broken his nose?
“No daring rescues this evening, Lady Lucinda. Just a dance with Lady Felicia, if she’ll have me.” It took an effort for Ciaran to smother his wild impulse to snatch Lucy up and carry her off to some private corner, but he’d promised Vale he’d dance twice with Lady Felicia. Once he’d done so, he could devote the rest of the evening to Lucy.
“Daring enough, I think, given I haven’t left this chair the entire evening.” Lady Felicia took his hand with a smile and let him lead her to the dance floor.
When Ciaran glanced back, he saw Vale bow to Lucy. Her eyes widened with alarm and she shook her head, but then Vale said something that made her laugh. After another hesitation she took his hand and let him lead her to a quiet corner of the dance floor. They were on the other side of the ballroom, so Ciaran had to content himself with catching fleeting glimpses of Lucy’s burnished head as she moved through the dance.
The dance, which seemed to go on and on and on…
It was a reel, for God’s sake. How long could a reel last? Forever, it seemed.
“Your brother tells me you’re taking lessons at Thomas Wilson’s Dancing Academy,” Ciaran managed at last, wrenching his attention back to Lady Felicia. He’d hardly spoken a word to her the entire dance. “I don’t remember you having any trouble with the dances last season.”
By every rule of birth, fortune, and beauty, Lady Felicia should have had a triumphant first season, but she’d discouraged the attentions of her numerous suitors. Ciaran knew of more than one gentleman who’d sighed after her, but she’d rebuffed them all. She’d gone home to Lewes before the season ended, after refusing two advantageous marriage offers.
“No, no trouble at all, but Sebastian insisted. He thought it might ease my anxiety about returning to London after last season. I was quite put out with him over it, but I’m ever so glad he did, or else I wouldn’t have met Lady Lucinda and Miss Jarvis.”
“Miss Jarvis?” Ciaran frowned. The name Jarvis sounded familiar, but he couldn’t recall why.
“Yes. She’s Lady Lucinda’s cousin.” Lady Felicia titled her head toward the opposite corner of the ballroom. “The young lady who’s dancing with Lord Markham.”
Ciaran glanced over and saw the pretty, dark-haired girl he’d seen with Lucy at the musical evening in Brighton. “Yes, I remember her, though we were never introduced.” Lucy had also mentioned an uncle, but as far as Ciaran knew, he’d never laid eyes on the man the entire time he’d been in Brighton. “I believe Lady Lucinda’s aunt is in London, too?”
“Yes, she’s just there.” Lady Felicia nodded toward the thin, nervous-looking matron Ciaran remembered from Brighton.
The music ended then, but Ciaran kept Lady Felicia on the floor for their second dance. Vale led Lucy back to her aunt, then bore Miss Jarvis off for another dance as soon as Markham returned her to her mother. Markham lingered beside Lucy’s chair, chatting amiably with her while Mrs. Jarvis looked on, flushed with pleasure at the compliments being paid to her niece and daughter.
“There’s an uncle, too,” Lady Felicia went on, “But I haven’t met him…oh, but that must be him, mustn’t it? The man who’s just seated himself on the other side of Mrs. Jarvis?”
Ciaran’s gaze slid from Lucy’s face to her left, where a rotund little man with greasy dark hair and a petulant twist to his lips had just joined the party.
Ciaran stiffened.Hewas Jarvis?
He recognized the man at once. Had they been introduced? It seemed they must have been, given the number of hours they’d spent across from each other at the card table, but if they had been, Ciaran didn’t remember it. Maybe he’d overheard Jarvis’s name mentioned once or twice. He’d thought the name was Jarndyce, but he’d never bothered to find out for certain.
Despite the hours they’d spent together at the table, they’d never spoken. Ciaran had disliked Jarvis on sight, and his dislike had quickly turned to scorn when he discovered the man drank to excess, played deep, and wagered recklessly. Of all the men in the world Mr. Jarndyce, or Jarvis, or whatever the devil his name was, was the last man Ciaran would have chosen to turn out to be Lucy’s uncle.
“My goodness,” Lady Felicia murmured. “I can’t say I much care for the look of Lady Lucinda’s uncle. He’s got a vulgar air about him.”
Jarviswasvulgar, and it was the best one could say of him. Ciaran studied the man, his eyes narrowed. Mrs. Jarvis didn’t seem at all pleased her husband had joined the party. She kept flinching away from him, almost as if she were afraid of him.
