dropped her voice to a whisper. “I heard about the wagers. Should I be concerned?”
Glancing around to gauge the distance of the other couples, he adjusted the volume of his voice accordingly. “No. It’s nonsense men participate in to amuse themselves. No one is ever going to learn the real identity of the woman I was with at Lockwood House.”
She’d told him only retainers had seen her face, and he was nearly certain he’d been the first to see her in the drawing room. Because he was only nearly certain, he was concerned. But he wouldn’t worry her.
They touched and stepped away and touched again. Each brush of her fingertips sent a wave of desire racing through his long-deprived body.
When they came together again, she said, “My friend, Lady Lydia Prewitt, is determined to discover your mystery woman’s identity. I wish I possessed your confidence, but you don’t know Lydia.” She peered up at him inquisitively, as if she were assessing his worth. He hated to disappoint her, but he surely would. “If only you weren’t so interesting to people. You’ve created quite a stir just by coming tonight.”
Yes, and he was stoking the fire into a full-blown blaze by dancing with her. “I’m quite boring, actually.”
She arched a slender brow. “Somehow I doubt that. What with your fighting skill, visits to Lockwood House, and scandalous background. Pity you don’t have any normal hobbies, such as riding.” She blinked. “Do you ride? I’ve never seen you in the park, but surely you must.”
Ambrose inwardly flinched. She’d asked a benign question, completely unaware of the unwanted memories it provoked. But then people often asked probing, intrusive questions—did he ride (he didn’t), where did he live (over a tavern), and why didn’t he marry the girl he’d ruined (because he hadn’t wanted to)—which he chose to ignore. Indeed, he rarely answered anything at all. Though he liked Philippa better than most, he didn’t plan to answer her either.
“Who told you about the wagers?” he asked.
If she was bothered by him ignoring her question, she didn’t show it. Likely because returning to the topic of the wagers had caused her forehead to crease with concern. “Lady Lydia told me,” she said. “She knows everything.”
He heard the anxiety in her voice. “She doesn’t, and she’ll never know about that night.”
He danced away from her. He’d keep an eye on Lady Lydia and somehow ensure she discovered nothing. He knew precisely how rabid a gossip on the hunt could be. It was just such a scandalmonger who’d eagerly shared news of his past transgressions when he’d come to London. How much about that did Philippa know? Surely she wouldn’t be dancing with him if she knew the truth.
Dancing with her reminded him of the life he’d forfeited. The life he could never return to. The life he didn’t deserve. Christ, he despised such maudlin thoughts. He fought to push them away, annoyed they’d even intruded.
They came together again and he asked, “How are things at Herrick House? I couldn’t help but notice your father and Lady von Egmont seem close.”
Philippa’s eyebrows drew together but she forced her features into a serene smile. “Soon all of Society will be well aware of my parents’ affairs.” Her smile faded and a bit of the scowl crept back. “And they expect me to find a husband in such an environment.”
“Is that what you’ve been doing with your dance partners tonight? Husband hunting?” The notion filled him with a disturbing sense of nausea.
“Yes.”
They danced apart again, and Ambrose took the opportunity to mentally review the men he’d watched her with. When they came together, he said, “That foreign boy, you danced with him out of obligation, not because you’re considering his suit?”
She smiled up at him, her ale-colored eyes sparkling beneath the glow of hundreds of candles. “Oh, stop. I’m not considering his suit, but he’s
Glancing around to gauge the distance of the other couples, he adjusted the volume of his voice accordingly. “No. It’s nonsense men participate in to amuse themselves. No one is ever going to learn the real identity of the woman I was with at Lockwood House.”
She’d told him only retainers had seen her face, and he was nearly certain he’d been the first to see her in the drawing room. Because he was only nearly certain, he was concerned. But he wouldn’t worry her.
They touched and stepped away and touched again. Each brush of her fingertips sent a wave of desire racing through his long-deprived body.
When they came together again, she said, “My friend, Lady Lydia Prewitt, is determined to discover your mystery woman’s identity. I wish I possessed your confidence, but you don’t know Lydia.” She peered up at him inquisitively, as if she were assessing his worth. He hated to disappoint her, but he surely would. “If only you weren’t so interesting to people. You’ve created quite a stir just by coming tonight.”
Yes, and he was stoking the fire into a full-blown blaze by dancing with her. “I’m quite boring, actually.”
She arched a slender brow. “Somehow I doubt that. What with your fighting skill, visits to Lockwood House, and scandalous background. Pity you don’t have any normal hobbies, such as riding.” She blinked. “Do you ride? I’ve never seen you in the park, but surely you must.”
Ambrose inwardly flinched. She’d asked a benign question, completely unaware of the unwanted memories it provoked. But then people often asked probing, intrusive questions—did he ride (he didn’t), where did he live (over a tavern), and why didn’t he marry the girl he’d ruined (because he hadn’t wanted to)—which he chose to ignore. Indeed, he rarely answered anything at all. Though he liked Philippa better than most, he didn’t plan to answer her either.
“Who told you about the wagers?” he asked.
If she was bothered by him ignoring her question, she didn’t show it. Likely because returning to the topic of the wagers had caused her forehead to crease with concern. “Lady Lydia told me,” she said. “She knows everything.”
He heard the anxiety in her voice. “She doesn’t, and she’ll never know about that night.”
He danced away from her. He’d keep an eye on Lady Lydia and somehow ensure she discovered nothing. He knew precisely how rabid a gossip on the hunt could be. It was just such a scandalmonger who’d eagerly shared news of his past transgressions when he’d come to London. How much about that did Philippa know? Surely she wouldn’t be dancing with him if she knew the truth.
Dancing with her reminded him of the life he’d forfeited. The life he could never return to. The life he didn’t deserve. Christ, he despised such maudlin thoughts. He fought to push them away, annoyed they’d even intruded.
They came together again and he asked, “How are things at Herrick House? I couldn’t help but notice your father and Lady von Egmont seem close.”
Philippa’s eyebrows drew together but she forced her features into a serene smile. “Soon all of Society will be well aware of my parents’ affairs.” Her smile faded and a bit of the scowl crept back. “And they expect me to find a husband in such an environment.”
“Is that what you’ve been doing with your dance partners tonight? Husband hunting?” The notion filled him with a disturbing sense of nausea.
“Yes.”
They danced apart again, and Ambrose took the opportunity to mentally review the men he’d watched her with. When they came together, he said, “That foreign boy, you danced with him out of obligation, not because you’re considering his suit?”
She smiled up at him, her ale-colored eyes sparkling beneath the glow of hundreds of candles. “Oh, stop. I’m not considering his suit, but he’s
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