Page 68 of A Figure of Love

A half dozen male heads swung toward him at her words. Gareth nodded vaguely, without making eye contact with any but her. He positively despised meeting people in clumps.

“Good evening Mrs. Lombard. I would like to apologize for abandoning you to a solitary carriage ride.”

Her smile was as carefree as ever. “No harm done. I hope everything is all right?”

“Oh yes.”

She waited with an expectant look, as if he might say more. As if it were his practice to broadcast his personal business like a town crier.

She gestured to the man nearest him, the strapping man without a neck. “I’m sure you recall Mr. Paget.”

He looked at the neckless stranger, who smiled broadly, and then back at her. Was she being sarcastic? Laying a trap? Gareth had never seen this man in his life.

“No doubt you’ve seen the lovely walkway he’s been laying out for the past week.” She paused and then added helpfully, “In the east courtyard. At Rushton Park.” Her carefree smile had become strained.

Gareth had never seen the man, of that he was certain. Yet there was nothing to be gained by belaboring the point.

“I was very impressed with the walkway,” he told Mr. Paget, who beamed at him. He turned back to the woman. “Would you like to dance, Mrs. Lombard?”

She looked behind him. “Oh, the next set, you mean?”

Gareth glanced over his shoulder and realized all those females he’d pushed past were engaged in a dance and not just milling about.

He turned around and caught her biting her lip, her eyes once again sparkling.

“Yes, perhaps the next set would be best.”

∞∞∞

Serena hadn’t realized how socially awkward Gareth was until tonight, which was the first time she’d seen him interact with strangers. After all, a dinner with her and his best friend hardly qualified as a social event.

He gave her the same fixed, discomfiting stare in a crowded room that he gave her at home. They might as well be alone for all the notice he took of the hundred or so people milling about, most of them staring at him, waiting to be noticed, wanting to be introduced.

And his blank reaction to Mr. Paget? The man had been working at his house for weeks. His obvious lack of recognition had been mortifying. Serena suddenly recalled a comment—one of thousands—Mr. McElroy had made during his stay: “Gareth is not like regular men.”

She’d thought he might have meant his looks, which were certainly well above the herd. Or perhaps his intellect, which was keener than any she’d ever encountered. Now she realized McElroy had meant this. This . . . imperviousness.

The way he was standing beside her, for example, staring at the dancers in rapt fascination and ignoring the conversation. Why, he was looking at them as if he’d never even seen a dancefloor before.

A horrifying thought struck her. She leaned closer to him. “Mr. Lockheart?”

“Hmm?” He could not seem to pull his gaze from the dancers.

“I do not wish to be impertinent, but have you ever danced before?”

That got his attention. He arched his brows in a manner that made him appear lordly and haughty. “Not as such.”

“Not as such?” she hissed between smiling lips. “What does that mean?”

He shrugged. “I’ve been watching them. It doesn’t look difficult.”

She couldn’t help laughing. “It is unfortunate that the next one will be quite different.”

“Yoo-hoo, Mr. Lockheart!” Coming toward them, and trilling her fingers, was Mrs. Pillsbury.

Serena laughed at his horrified expression and he cut her a wounded glare.

“Tell her you have a sore ankle,” Serena said out of the corner of her mouth.