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“I was hoping I would see you. You look well. When did you arrive in town?”
“Only a couple of days ago,” Annis smiled. “The children all had measles in February so we had to wait until the last spot had vanished before we could come. Poor Emrys got it too and was horribly ill for a fortnight. But he is perfectly recovered now,” she said with a loving look at her spouse. As if sensing her regard, Ashford turned toward her and smiled. The look of love that passed between them stabbed Ava with a deep bite of envy. How I wish . . .
Her gaze traveled to Ravenshaw, who was deep in conversation with the Earl of Pendrell. The great redhaired giant had scared her witless as a small child, but as she got older she learned he was nowhere near as fearsome as he looked. Just inarticulate—around females. The two men appeared to be discussing horseflesh, Jerome’s favorite topic.
Insensibly, she drifted in their direction, pulled on the thread of ambient attraction that Ravenshaw exerted on her whenever he was near. Becoming aware of her presence, the men broke off their conversation to bow to her, and Ravenshaw went so far as to kiss her gloved hand. Which always gave her a little thrill.
She curtsied and wafted her fan playfully, smiling at him; and just to demonstrate that she understood exactly what they had been talking about, she said, “Tickle My Fancy is odds on to win the Guinea Stakes at Newmarket, or so I’ve been told.”
“Have you been studying the form, Ava?” asked Ravenshaw, amused.
“No. It’s Creighton, he puts the bets on for me, but don’t tell Robert. I don’t want to get him into trouble!” Creighton, the Layne’s butler, had long been Ava’s friend.
A waiter wandered past with a tray of drinks and Ravenshaw snagged one for her which she accepted gracefully, wondering how she was going to get him to ask her to dance. Another set was about to form. Pendrell transferred his attention to the Ashfords, leaving them in a bubble of their own.
“If you want advice on the turf, Ava, I’ll be happy to provide it.”
“Even if Rob doesn’t approve?” she asked, playfully.
He grinned, which made his impossibly deep-blue eyes even more alluring, and she stifled a little sigh. “What His Grace doesn’t know won’t hurt him.” He glanced around at the dance floor where couples were beginning to assemble. “Where is you next partner?”
Aware that her next partner was standing by her mother’s side scanning the room for her, she put up her fan to shield her face and said lightly, “Oh I don’t have one. It’s the waltz and I was saving it for you.”
He gave her a measuring stare, and said “Really? Then why is poor Haldane staring around the room like a shepherd who’s lost a sheep?”
Color stained her cheeks, but she refused to be cowed and said, “I’ve no idea. I’m certainly not a sheep!”
“What you are, is a minx!” he said darkly and offered her his arm.
She smiled and slipped her hand into it, allowing him to lead her onto the dance floor.
When he took her hand and slipped his arm round her waist, bringing her body closer to his perfectly proportioned form, she stifled another little sigh, gazing up at him through a haze of adoration, as he gracefully led her into the first movements of the dance.
At the age of fourteen, she had declared that she was going to marry this perfect ideal of a man. At the time she hadn’t any real idea of what that meant. But she had nursed her adolescent crush for four long years and in her first season she’d had high hopes of bringing her long-held dream to fruition. But the season and the little season passed with no sign of her feelings being reciprocated. Ravenshaw had persistently and consistently treated her much as he always had, as a sister or a niece.
This season she was determined to prosecute her campaign mercilessly. She knew he liked her, that there was more than a degree of affection between them, that they shared many common interests, and had a personal accord she felt with no one else. And surely she wasn’t the only one to feel that tingling rush of desire and longing that the touch of his hand induced in her?
Since her debut she had learned a lot more about men and their—appetites. And she was thoroughly convinced Ravenshaw was no passionless creature. His reputation was quite shocking. Not that she saw any hint of that side of him—much to her frustration. But she had a plan to winkle the rake from his protective shell.
As he guided her around the floor with effortless grace, she smiled and asked after his greys, Aphrodite and Demeter. Demeter had suffered a strained hock after Christmas when his carriage ran into a snow drift on his way back to London. A piece of intelligence conveyed to her by Robert who received regular correspondence from his friend.
“Perfectly recovered, fortunately. I was very concerned for her, but she is moving quite freely now. Have you collected any more strays?”
“Well, Rob refused to let me house old Bill McKay’s donkey in the Castle stables, but Hastings was able to find alternative lodgings for Daisy with the Carrigans, who had need of a replacement for their donkey, Old Ned, who had passed on, so all’s well that ends well.”
“A happy tale.”
He said it with a smile that made her say accusingly, “You’re laughing at me!”
“No, I’m not, I swear,” he said spinning her elegantly. “I’m admiring your resourcefulness.”
“Well, in this case it was Hastings who was resourceful. I was at quite a stand when Rob refused my plan to put Daisy in the end stall that never gets used and is only full of rubbish and broken bits. But Rob said Daisy would upset the horses with her braying. He was probably right.” She grinned. “I do hate it when Robert is right. But he often is. And when he’s not, Sarah is very good at getting him to see reason. He has been much more mellow since he got married. I do adore Sarah.”
“Everyone adores Sarah,” he agreed.
“And I am very glad to see Annis again. She seems so happy every time I see her. And Emrys too. Between the four of them, they are excellent advertisements for a happy marriage.”
“Indeed they are,” he said warmly. “Our next task is to find a wife for Deo.”
