Lady Vengeance by Melinda Hammond

face of such blatant curiosity, and she hung back slightly behind her escort, but with a smile of encouragement Rowsell led her forward into the room, where the candlelight gleamed upon the green and gold of her robe a la française . There was a murmur of appreciation from the gentlemen present as they gazed upon the lady. She was as tall as her escort, her glowing chestnut hair unpowdered and arranged in thick curls about her head, with one glossy ringlet falling across a white shoulder. Emeralds gleamed at her throat and wrist, matching the green sparkle of her eyes. Rowsell laughed in delight at their admiration.
     ‘No, no gentlemen! Carry on with your game. This is not the time for formal introductions, Madame would never remember you all, would you, my dear?’
     Elinor lowered her eyes and murmured a reply: she had recognized James Boreland at the table and was only too pleased to avoid closer acquaintance, at least for the moment.
     Lord Davenham stepped forward with the smallest of bows. ‘Madame de Sange and I have met before, in Paris.’
     ‘Paris?’ remarked Mr Rowsell, helping himself to a glass of wine from a convenient tray. ‘You’ve been there recently, Davenham?’
     The viscount inclined his head. ‘I have not been back in London above a sennight.’
     ‘Then ‘tis most likely you saw poor Julian there.’
     ‘Yes I did. I talked to him shortly before his death.’ Lord Davenham turned to Elinor. ‘I believe you were acquainted with Julian Poyntz, Madame de Sange?’
     ‘I? No – that is – I believe we were introduced at some time…’
     ‘Did I not hear you were there when he died, Davenham?’ enquired Boreland, overhearing their conversation.
     ‘I was one of the first upon the scene, yes.’
     ‘There was a woman involved, was there not?’
     ‘I believe there was,’ said Davenham, ‘but I cannot applaud the lady’s choice.’
     For a brief moment Elinor thought she might faint. The viscount’s eyes seemed to accuse her, although common sense told her he could not possibly know of her involvement with Poyntz. She steadied her nerves and forced herself to parry his uncomfortable gaze with a haughty stare. The conversation continued to flow around them, but she heard none of it until Mr Rowsell asked her if she would care to join in the next game of loo. Elinor shook her head.
     ‘I have little sense for card games,’ she smiled. ‘I am afraid I should disappoint you. However, I have no objection to watching, sir, while you are at play.’
     Lord Davenham stepped forward. ‘Perhaps, Madame, you would permit me to lead you back to the ballroom.’ He observed Rowsell’s sudden frown and added smoothly, ‘There is little likelihood that Rowsell will be finished here for a least an hour. It would be very dull work for you to stay and watch for such a time.’
     Rowsell nodded. ‘It’s a good notion, Davenham. Yes, you go on and enjoy yourself, my dear. I know how you love to dance.’
     ‘Really, I would as lief stay and watch you –’ put in Elinor, but Rowsell grasped her fingers and held them to his lips.
     ‘Bless you, you are an angel. But Davenham is right, you will find me tedious company when I am at play. Off you go now, but one dance and no more – I shall expect you at my side after that!’
     The viscount offered his arm, and realizing that argument would only draw unwanted attention, Elinor placed her fingers upon the velvet sleeve and walked with him out of the small salon.
     ‘I seem to recall, ma’am, that when we last spoke you told me you never came to London.’
     ‘At that time, my lord, I had no desire to do so.’
     ‘May I enquire what has changed your mind?’
     The blunt question caught Elinor off her guard.
     ‘I cannot think that my motives concern you, sir,’ she retorted at last, and was surprised to observe the tightening of his jaw, as if he was curbing his temper.
     ‘No, thank God, they do not!’ he