Still, she gave Lady Crosby’s hand a grateful squeeze. If she’d had a grandmother, Emma liked to think she would have been just like Lady Crosby. “Who is the lady on LordLovell’s arm?”
Lady Crosby’s mouth turned down in a frown. “That, my dear, is Adelaide Banning, the Viscountess of Lovell. She’s Lord Lovell’s mother, and a dreadful, cross old thing. That expression, my dear! She looks as if she’s had too much of Almack’s sour lemonade. Mean-spirited and overbearing, without a kind word to say for anyone other than her son, whomshe dotes on.”
Emma cocked her head to the side, studying Lady Lovell. The woman had a proud, unpleasant air about her, as if she thought herself very much above her company.
“Ah, now there’s a bit of luck,” Lady Crosby murmured as Lord Lovell and his mother paused to chat with Lord Townsley, who was standing nearby with his daughter. “Shall I introduce you to them?”
Lady Crosby came from one of England’s oldest and most distinguished families, she knew everyone, and she was wealthy enough that thetoncourted her attentions. She was one of Lady Clifford’s most stalwart benefactors, and could introduce Emma to anyone here. It made her the ideal chaperone.
“Thereissomething to be said for striking quickly.” Emma toyed with the tassels on her fan, her gaze on Lord Lovell as she pondered her options. “But not justyet, my lady.”
In Lovell’s case, instinct urged her to hold off for now. Every marriage-minded mama in the ballroom was already racing toward him with their giggling daughters in tow. Emma didn’t choose to be one among the crowd of his frenzied admirers.
So she bided her time, her gaze moving between Lord Lovell and the growing constellation of ladies orbiting him as if he were the sun. One could tell a great deal about a gentleman by the way he behaved when he was surrounded by beautiful debutantes, all of them right at his fingertips, ripe forthe plucking.
He seemed to be making an effort to offer a polite word to each of them, and smile at their eager mamas. He bowed at the appropriate times and brushed his pretty red lips over more than one set of gloved knuckles.
He appeared, in short, to be every inch an amiable, proper gentleman.
But that was the tricky thing about appearances, wasn’t it? Whichever Greek poet had said appearances were deceptive had the right of it, and never was it truer than in Lord Lovell’s case. Even if he proved not to be the cold, callous murderer Caroline Francis claimed he was, he was still the sort of gentleman a lady should be wary of.
Drinking, wagering, brawling, mistresses—Lord Lovell had earned quite a reputation for himself as one of London’s most appalling rakes. He was a rogue, indeed, with dozens of scandals to his name. His family was said to be at their wits’ end with his antics, and eager to see him safely married off this season.
Emma smothered a snort. She wished them well withthat. Lord Lovell’s attention was already wandering, his sultry, dark eyes roving over the company as if he were searching for someone. He paused here and there when he found a particularly alluring face, but his restless gaze never lingered for long on any one lady.
Until he spiedEmma, that is.
No doubt he would have spared her only the same passing glance he had the others, but Madame Marchand had taught Emma well. For better or worse—mostlyworse, if the truth were told—she knew how to hold a man’s gaze.
Emma’s eyes met his for an instant only. Lord Lovell’s velvety brown eyes widened, and a slow smile that likely scattered the wits of every young lady on the receiving end of it driftedover his lips.
Emma’s wits remained firmly intact. She didn’t simper or blush, but met his gaze directly before deliberately glancing away again, without returning his smile.
There, that would do, for a start.
Emma had no faith in beauty—her own face had brought her far more tragedy than happiness—but there was no denying it might prove useful in prying the family secrets from LordLovell’s lips.
Such pretty lips, too. Rather too pretty for his own good.
Emma and Lady Crosby remained tucked into their corner until just after nine o’clock, two hours before the supper would be served. “I believe I fancy a dance now.” Emma turned to Lady Crosby. “Not with Lord Lovell just yet, but with some other gentleman, if the thing can be managed.”
“I daresay it can be. Which gentleman would you like?”
Emma gave Lady Crosby a blank look. What did it matter? One gentleman was very much like another. “Er, perhaps you’d better choose for me, my lady.”
“Hmmm.” Lady Crosby pursed her lips as she scanned the ballroom. “Let me see. It must be someone who displays to advantage while dancing…ah, I have justthe gentleman.”
Emma followed Lady Crosby’s gaze to a tall, dark-haired man on the opposite side of the ballroom. “Who is he?”
“That, my dear, is Lord Dunn. Handsome, isn’t he?”
“He is.” In truth Emma didn’t care a whit about the man’s face, aside from whether or not she’d seen it at the Pink Pearl. She didn’t recognize Lord Dunn, which was a promising start. “What’s he like?”
Lady Crosby shrugged. “Oh, he’s your typical, solid English gentleman. You know the sort—good to his sister, fond of a hearty port, never shirks his duty in the Lords. He’s keen on hunting, is Lord Dunn. He’s friendly with Lord Lovell, and has just purchased a hunting box near Lymington House. There’s not much more to say, really.Come, my dear.”
Emma allowed herself to be led across the ballroom, a demure smile on her lips. She was aware of Lord Lovell turning to follow their progress, but she kept her face averted, and avoided meeting hisadmiring gaze.
“Lord Dunn!” Lady Crosby waved gaily. “How do you do? Why, it’s been an age, has it not?”
