bowl.” Turning to Ciara,
she flashed a warm smile. “How delightful to finally meet you, Lady Sheffield. I have heard so much about your scientific
accomplishments.”
“Y-you are too kind, Lady Saybrook,” stammered Ciara.
“I fear you will find me a complete scatterbrain when it comes to scholarship, but I do love gardening.” The countess had
raised her voice so that those nearby could hear every word. “So I do hope you will tell me about your latest work with medicinal
herbs.”
“Gladly,” she replied.
“Excellent. Come sit with me at supper, if you please.” Lady Saybrook waved Lucas toward the dance floor with a flick of her
fan. “Don’t keep her all to yourself, you naughty rogue.”
“I—I cannot believe the countess’s kindness to a total stranger—a stranger with a sordid reputation,” mused Ciara as they
made their way through the crowd. In her experience, the ladies of the
ton
could be even more ruthless than the gentlemen. Too often their satin smiles and velvet voices cloaked a killer instinct
worthy of Attila the Hun. “Perhaps she has me confused with someone else?”
“Alison owes me a small favor or two, the details of which I won’t go into,” said Lucas. “And besides, she’s led a rather
interesting life herself and thinks that rigid respectability is vastly overrated.”
So far, so good.
She breathed a sigh of relief at having made it through the receiving line without suffering a direct cut. However, the respite
didn’t last more than a step.
“The musicians are striking up a waltz.” Turning smoothly, Lucas took up a position on the polished parquet.
“Lord Hadley, must we—” she began.
“Yes. We must.” His gloved hand pressed lightly against the small of her back. “This will be an exercise in futility if we
don’t appear to be enjoying ourselves.”
“But—”
“Don’t look so apprehensive. I won’t tread on your toes.”
Ciara pressed her eyes shut for an instant. “It’s not
my
toes I am worried about, sir,” she said in a low voice. “You forget that I have been out of Society for some time. I don’t
know the steps of this new dance.”
Lucas drew her a touch closer. “Just follow my lead.”
To her surprise, it proved rather simple to do. The earl had an easy, elegant grace, and after the first few spins Ciara relaxed
into his rhythm, matching his moves without conscious thought.
“You see, it’s not so hard to unlace your corset,” he murmured.
Ciara was acutely aware of his overpowering closeness—his hand holding hers, his palm pressed to the small of her back, radiating
heat through the layers of soft glove leather and silk. Already her skin felt a little singed.
“When you allow yourself a little freedom, your movements have a lovely, liquid flow to them,” he went on.
The heat flooded to her face. “Why is it that you always make sexual innuendos, sir?”
“Why is it that references to your beautiful body always bother you?” he countered.
“I—I’m not beautiful,” she stammered.
“Then why is every man in the room staring at you?” said Lucas with a spinning twirl that set her skirts to flaring.
Ciara slanted a peek around. Oh, Lud—people
were
watching them. She drew in a gulp of air.
“You see? Their eyes are drawn to you, like moths to a flame,” said Lucas.
“Fire is dangerous,” she whispered.
“Ah, but danger adds to the allure.” His eyes glittered in the brilliant light of the chandeliers. “As I well know.”
Another glance showed that men were not the only ones watching them dance. For an instant she felt a little giddy. Why, the
belles of Town were envious of
her
. Here she was, the Wicked Widow of Pont Street, dancing with the most desirable rake in London.
“Your cheeks are a very luscious shade of pink,” murmured Lucas. “It’s the same shade as… another hot spot of the feminine
form.” He looked at her through his dark lashes. “Can you
she flashed a warm smile. “How delightful to finally meet you, Lady Sheffield. I have heard so much about your scientific
accomplishments.”
“Y-you are too kind, Lady Saybrook,” stammered Ciara.
“I fear you will find me a complete scatterbrain when it comes to scholarship, but I do love gardening.” The countess had
raised her voice so that those nearby could hear every word. “So I do hope you will tell me about your latest work with medicinal
herbs.”
“Gladly,” she replied.
“Excellent. Come sit with me at supper, if you please.” Lady Saybrook waved Lucas toward the dance floor with a flick of her
fan. “Don’t keep her all to yourself, you naughty rogue.”
“I—I cannot believe the countess’s kindness to a total stranger—a stranger with a sordid reputation,” mused Ciara as they
made their way through the crowd. In her experience, the ladies of the
ton
could be even more ruthless than the gentlemen. Too often their satin smiles and velvet voices cloaked a killer instinct
worthy of Attila the Hun. “Perhaps she has me confused with someone else?”
“Alison owes me a small favor or two, the details of which I won’t go into,” said Lucas. “And besides, she’s led a rather
interesting life herself and thinks that rigid respectability is vastly overrated.”
So far, so good.
She breathed a sigh of relief at having made it through the receiving line without suffering a direct cut. However, the respite
didn’t last more than a step.
“The musicians are striking up a waltz.” Turning smoothly, Lucas took up a position on the polished parquet.
“Lord Hadley, must we—” she began.
“Yes. We must.” His gloved hand pressed lightly against the small of her back. “This will be an exercise in futility if we
don’t appear to be enjoying ourselves.”
“But—”
“Don’t look so apprehensive. I won’t tread on your toes.”
Ciara pressed her eyes shut for an instant. “It’s not
my
toes I am worried about, sir,” she said in a low voice. “You forget that I have been out of Society for some time. I don’t
know the steps of this new dance.”
Lucas drew her a touch closer. “Just follow my lead.”
To her surprise, it proved rather simple to do. The earl had an easy, elegant grace, and after the first few spins Ciara relaxed
into his rhythm, matching his moves without conscious thought.
“You see, it’s not so hard to unlace your corset,” he murmured.
Ciara was acutely aware of his overpowering closeness—his hand holding hers, his palm pressed to the small of her back, radiating
heat through the layers of soft glove leather and silk. Already her skin felt a little singed.
“When you allow yourself a little freedom, your movements have a lovely, liquid flow to them,” he went on.
The heat flooded to her face. “Why is it that you always make sexual innuendos, sir?”
“Why is it that references to your beautiful body always bother you?” he countered.
“I—I’m not beautiful,” she stammered.
“Then why is every man in the room staring at you?” said Lucas with a spinning twirl that set her skirts to flaring.
Ciara slanted a peek around. Oh, Lud—people
were
watching them. She drew in a gulp of air.
“You see? Their eyes are drawn to you, like moths to a flame,” said Lucas.
“Fire is dangerous,” she whispered.
“Ah, but danger adds to the allure.” His eyes glittered in the brilliant light of the chandeliers. “As I well know.”
Another glance showed that men were not the only ones watching them dance. For an instant she felt a little giddy. Why, the
belles of Town were envious of
her
. Here she was, the Wicked Widow of Pont Street, dancing with the most desirable rake in London.
“Your cheeks are a very luscious shade of pink,” murmured Lucas. “It’s the same shade as… another hot spot of the feminine
form.” He looked at her through his dark lashes. “Can you
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