The rest of the ball hadn’t gone as Lovell had hoped. Lady Flora had been claimed by one eager gentleman after another, and had hardly spared Lovell a glance all evening. That alone had been enough to put Lovell into a mood, but then he’d also never gotten his two dances with Lady Emma, who’d left Almack’s with her grandmother soon after the supper was finished.
For his part, Samuel was relieved at their abrupt departure, as it seemed to indicate his warning to Lady Emma had had the desired effect. Yes, he was certainly relieved at it—ofcoursehe was—except now he’d succeeded in chasing her off, just the merest sliver of doubt over his behavior had begunto plague him.
Perhaps he hadn’t needed to bequiteso blunt with her. It wasn’t as if she’d done anything wrong. Hers hadn’t been the only pair of blue eyes that looked upon Lovell with admiration.
Just theprettiest pair.
Still, she certainly had been the lady he’d overhead at the Pink Pearl the other night. He couldn’t think of a single innocent explanation for her presence at an infamous brothel, but he also couldn’t banish the memory of her wide eyes gazing up at him. For a lady engaged in some sort of mischief, Lady Emma contrived to look as guileless asa newborn fawn.
That, more than anything else, made him wonder about her.
Samuel paused, frowning at the Countess of Warwick in her monstrous hat. Lady Emma was…intriguing. Of all the young ladies he’d danced with last night, she was the only one of them who hadn’t scurried away after their dance as if rabid hounds were nipping at her heels.
Which was curious indeed, given she was the only one whohad reason to.
She hadn’t appeared alarmed by him at all. He’d caught her watching him more than once throughout the remainder of the evening, her expression speculative rather than terrified. He couldn’t make sense of the girl, but then he couldn’t make senseof most ladies.
Why Lady Emma’s reaction mattered to him one way or the other, Samuel couldn’t say. All thatshouldmatter was that she stay away from Lovell for the rest of the season, so he could get on with the business of capturing LadyFlora’s heart.
Really, there was no reason for Samuel to spare Lady Emma another thought. He drew in a calming breath, and vowed for the fourth time since he’d woken this morning to forget about Lady Emma.
The trouble was, he’d kissed her hand.
He shouldn’t have kissed her hand. Why had he kissed her hand? He’d lain awake half the night trying to explain it to himself, but he couldn’t come up with anythingsatisfactory.
He was only certain of one thing.
It would be madness to touch her again. Whatever else he did, he had toremember that.
Don’t bloody touch her again.
The kiss had been an impulse, a momentary lapse in logical reasoning. He wasn’t a reckless man, or a spontaneous one, but one moment he’d been warning her away from Lovell, and the next thing he knew he’d been kissing her hand. If he’d managed to show even the slightest hint of restraint last night, he wouldn’t be cursed with the memory of the warmth of her fingers under her smooth kid gloves—
“If you’ve quite finished with Lady Warwick, Lymington, might we move along? It makes perfect sense that you’d find a portrait of a lady lounging in a chair beside a window fascinating, but since we’re here, I’d like to see the rest of the military portraits, if we may.”
“Yes, do move on, Lymington,” Lady Lovell echoed, with an indulgent look at her son. “You can hardly blame Lovell for finding it tedious. Don’t you agree,Mr. Humphries?”
“Of course.” Felix Humphries, his aunt’s new favorite companion, patted her hand. “I always agree withyou, my lady.”
Samuel resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Humphries had been a friend of his Uncle Lovell’s, and had been hanging about since his death to comfort Lady Lovell. Samuel didn’t know Humphries well, but he seemed a sluggish, dull-witted creature. As for his Aunt Adelaide, she appeared to be perfectly reconciled to her husband’s death, and not in much needof comforting.
Together, they were the greatest pair of fools Samuel had ever encountered. He’d never been fond of his Aunt Adelaide, and he did his best to pretend Humphries wasn’t there.
Lovell made an impatient noise, and Samuel turned back to him with an irritable sigh. “For God’s sake, Lovell. What have you got against the Countess of Warwick?”
“She’s the dullest countess imaginable, that’s what. Who wants to look at a fusty portrait of a countess half smothered in blue ribbons? You may as well stop pretending you find it engrossing, Lymington. You’re not fooling anyone.”
Another retort threatened, but a light touch on Samuel’s arm caught his attention, and he looked down to find his mother gazing up at him with an anxious expression. “Why not let Lancelot move on as he chooses? I’ll remain here with you as long as you like.”
Samuel managed a smile for his mother. “Never mind. I’m perfectly willing to move on.”
They wandered through the exhibit, pausing here and there as Lady Lovell and Humphries held forth on the merits of one painting or another, without having the faintest idea what they were talking about. Lady Lymington ventured a hesitant question or two about Reynolds’s naval heroes, but despite Lovell’s insistence on seeing them, he hardly spared the paintings a glance.
“Might we go see the portrait of the Duchess of Devonshire and Lady Georgiana?” Lady Sophronia asked, once they’d made their way through the military paintings. “I haven’t had the pleasure of viewing it before.”
“Of course, ifyou wish it.”
Samuel turned to tell Lovell, but Lady Adelaide had stopped to chat with an acquaintance, and Humphries was snoozing on a benchin the corner.
