Lady Crosby turned, and sucked in a breath. “Oh, my.That, my dear Emma, is the Marquess of Lymington, Lady Lymington’s son, and Lord Lovell’s cousin. Rather a lot to take in at once, isn’t he?”
Emma’s mouth dropped open. “That scowling giant is that tiny, dainty lady’sson?”
“Indeed. Rather a mystery, but it’s said the marquess resembles his late father.”
He was the tallest man Emma had ever seen, and the wide, powerful breadth of his shoulders exaggerated the effect of his height, making him look positively massive. It wasn’t his size that arrested Emma’s attention, though.
It was everything else.
He had none of his cousin’s fashionable prettiness. Everything about him was hard, dark, forbidding, and excessively masculine. His clothing was impeccably tailored, yet somehow every seam appeared on the edge of bursting with the effort to contain him.
Like Lady Lovell, Lord Lymington appeared displeased with the company on offer at Almack’s, or perhaps he was just displeased in general. One might be forgiven for assuming so, given that scowl on his face.
It took another moment before Emma noticed it wasn’t just a random scowl intended for the company in general, but seemed to be directedright ather.
No, surely not.
She glanced over her shoulder, expecting to find someone looming behind her with a matching glare forLord Lymington.
But there was no one. Emma turned around to face him again, eyes wide.
Itwasdirected at her.
It wasn’t a passing glance, nor was it a friendly one. The Marquess of Lymington was glowering at her as if he’d like to leap across the space between themand devour her.
For a single instant Emma’s gaze met a pair of cool gray eyes. She stared back at him, her own eyes narrowing before she recalled she was meant to be a shy debutante. She dropped her gaze and gave a mental shrug, doing her bestto dismiss him.
Let him glower all he liked.
The Marquess of Lymington was not, thankfully, her problem.
Chapter Three
The fair-haired, blue-eyed chit was going to be a problem.
Soft, silky gold hair gleaming under the chandeliers, creamy skin, and a slender, graceful form displayed to distracting advantage in a blue silk gown—a shade of blue too bright to be strictly proper for a debutante, but just shy of unseemly. If all that wasn’t tempting enough, she also happened to be graced with eyes the startling blue of perfect summer skies, or sparkling sapphires, or sunlit oceans, or some other similar nonsense.
Lovell was already flirting with the girl, and carefully ignoring Lady Flora. She was dancing with a slack-jawed Lord Barrett, who was gazing down into her pretty face and looking as if he’d been struck by lightning.
Samuel muttered a curse under his breath. Dear God, what a fool Lovell was—
“That scowl doesn’t become you, Lymington.”
Samuel turned at the deep rumble beside him, and found Lord Dunn at his elbow. “That fair-haired chit. Who is she?”
“Ah. That bewitching creature, Lymington, is Lady Emma Crosby, Lady Crosby’s granddaughter. This is her first visit to Almack’s, and her first time in London.”
Samuel’s eyes narrowed on her, his brow creasing. No bashful smile graced those lips, nor were those blue eyes opened wide in awe at the splendor of the rooms and the company. For a young lady who’d never set foot in London, Lady Emma Crosby appeared remarkably self-possessed. “She doesn’t behave like a debutante.”
“No? How is a debutante meant tobehave, then?”
“Terrified, and trying to hide it.”
Dunn chuckled. “Well, don’t despair yet, Lymington. There’s every chance she’ll find your scowl terrifying. Not that it will damage her prospects much. That girl is well on her way to becoming the undisputed belleof the season.”
“My cousin seems to think so.” Lovell looked as if he were already composing odes to the girl’s beauty in his head.
“Yes, well, Lovell has a gift for finding the loveliest lady in every ballroom.”
