Page 7

“Just keep your eyes and mind where they belong.” Brandon pressed his lips together; he’d been standing next to Harry too long and they both knew it. “May I fetch you anything else, my lord?”

Harry made a dismissive gesture. He’d got the message. “No, no, leave me in peace.” He raised his glass and turned his back on Brandon, shuffling away. Brandon spoke cold hard sense. A woman—any woman, let alone that woman—was not for him, not now. He was supposed to be guarding Lord Doncaster’s life, not goggling at the man’s daughter. Over the rim of the glass he looked out into the crowd, in any direction but hers.

Lord, but she was a beauty, he thought, giving in to temptation within a few minutes. He sipped his wine again, in case Brandon or anyone else was watching. From the corner of his eyes he watched her leave the dancers, escorted by her partner. The officer bowed over her hand, but Harry could see her face and knew the fellow didn’t have a chance. She was smiling politely, but her eyes conveyed something else entirely. Harry was quite good at reading expressions. Her feelings were as clear to him as if she had whispered it in his ear: stop talking and go away...

Harry drank some more wine to hide a smirk. Poor fool, that captain. The officer lingered a moment while Lady Mariah turned away and spoke to someone else, then awkwardly took his leave. Harry might have felt sorry for the man, except that the captain had danced with her, held her in his arms, and basked in her smile, even if it had been merely perfunctory. And Harry, who would be doing none of those things, couldn’t pity that.

Of course, he was leaping to conclusions, which was precisely what he was not supposed to do.

He moved through the crowd, studying the guests from all angles without appearing to do so, always keeping one eye on his two principal marks. Brandon was correct that he would be entirely beneath Lady Mariah’s notice no matter what he wore or called himself. Even if not, she was just a beautiful young woman, nothing more, nothing less, no doubt as fickle and vain as any of the species. He had enough experience of them to know how women were, and there was no reason to think this beautiful, wealthy, well-born lady would be any different.

And yet... He caught sight of her speaking to her mother, the countess. Glossy dark braids were pinned high on her head, with little white flowers here and there. She was upset, her cheeks rosy but her mouth downturned. There wasn’t much of frail delicacy about her that he could see. There was a passion and vitality in her every movement that commanded his attention.

Oh yes, there was something different about her, at least to him.

He drifted around the room twice over the next hour, like a comet in orbit, always keeping his gaze scrupulously away from her. A few people he’d become loosely acquainted with stopped to greet him, and Harry chatted with them as long as he must. Lord Wroth couldn’t move about society without knowing anyone, after all. But when they moved away, he breathed a sigh of relief. It was much easier to do his job if he didn’t have to attend to any conversation, and the conversation at these affairs was invariably pointless and dull.

Satisfied everything was secure inside the ballroom, Harry strolled toward a draped doorway he knew led to a balcony overlooking the garden. Alec Brandon had supplied him with detailed drawings of the house and grounds, and he wanted to see for himself. As he had already noted, there were more than enough places someone could sneak in and cause mischief, and it was his job to prevent anything like that. He waited until Brandon caught his eye from across the room, then gave the slightest of nods. Dabbing his face with the handkerchief again, he slipped out into the darkness of the night.

* * *

There must be something wrong with her.

It was humiliating to think so, but there didn’t seem to be another explanation. Instead of enjoying the ball, her first in London, Mariah Dunmore was simply impatient for it to be over. That had rarely happened to her before, and she didn’t know what to make of it.

She was hardly unused to gatherings like this. For the last five years her father, the Earl of Doncaster, had been an emissary of the crown to various European capitals, and his wife and daughter had gone with him. Mariah had attended royal levees in Vienna, had tea with the czarina of Russia, and danced with a Spanish prince. With few exceptions, she had loved it. Even the dull people she met were interesting on some level, as they were so different to her, and she’d been almost sorry when her parents decided to return home.

But returning home meant she must have a Season, since she’d been too young to come out before they embarked on their travels. Her parents had made it clear they considered this ball her presentation to the ton. The very best of English society had been invited, the most powerful, the most influential, the most fashionable. It was, without a doubt, one of the most coveted invitations in town... and Mariah was bored almost to tears.

Her mother had assured her the gentlemen in London would be eager to meet her, and Mariah had to admit that she was curious to meet them. A mild flirtation with an Italian count could not lead to anything; a flirtation with an English earl might.

Unfortunately, the Englishmen were terribly disappointing. Every man she’d met tonight had fallen over himself to flatter her and charm her. Mariah had expected that, for her mother had warned her against it. Unfortunately she had also expected that at least some of them would intrigue her, and so far not a one had even come close.

“Well, my dear, are you enjoying the evening?” Her mother smiled fondly, catching her in a rare moment of quiet.

Mariah tried to smile back. “I suppose.”

Her mother’s smile faded in surprise. “What is the matter? Have you a headache?”

“No, Mama.” Mariah shook her head, tapping her fan on her wrist in frustration. “But all the gentlemen are so... so... dull!” She whispered the last, almost embarrassed. She could see other young ladies smiling and chatting with the same gentlemen she found unbearably dull, and wondered again what she was missing about them.

The countess laughed and laid her hand on Mariah’s arm. “We’ve spoiled you, I fear. One cannot always have the excitement of foreign capitals and political intrigue.”

“I know, Mama. But plenty of gentlemen here are interested in political intrigue. Most especially they are interested in the Aldhampton borough, and whom Papa might have in mind for it.”

Her mother gave her a sideways, thoughtful look. “You cannot expect them to see you independently of your family, Mariah. You might find it objectionable, but there are practical concerns to finding a wife, just as there are practical concerns to finding a husband.”

“Well, I’m not ready to be found, then, not that way and not by them.” She looked into her mother’s sympathetic face and smiled contritely. “I’m sorry, Mama. I just wasn’t prepared to be appraised so bluntly. I can almost hear them totting up my value, as if I were a horse or a sheep at market.”

Her mother smiled in sympathy. “I know. It is hard. I, too, had a prominent father. But remember, you don’t have to marry until you are ready.”

“Thank you, Mama.” Mariah breathed a sigh of relief. Of course Mama would understand.

“There.” Lady Doncaster clasped her hand. “Perhaps you need a breath of fresh air. I’ll make an excuse to the young man promised your next dance.”

Mariah sighed. “Sir Charles Fitzroy.” Even the man’s name sounded dull. Why had she agreed to dance with him in the first place? And how horrible was she, for wanting to avoid him just because of his name?

Her mother squeezed her hand and released her. “I shall see you in a few minutes.”