Читать книгу The Reluctant Viscount - Lara Temple, Lara Temple - Страница 14

Chapter Six

‘What a reception,’ Nicholas murmured appreciatively as they surveyed the Assembly Room and the Assembly Room surveyed them. ‘Reminds me of the time we stumbled into a secret meeting of Thuggees, except that this is perhaps marginally more terrifying. Are you quite certain you didn’t do anything other than try to elope with one of their fair virgins ten years ago? No buried bodies? Alchemy? Necromancy?’

Adam shot him a sardonic look. The ballroom was a slightly smaller copy of the room at the Ship in Brighton. It stood some seventy feet long and was lit by four massive glass chandeliers balancing hundreds of candles. Ten years ago Adam had thought it the epitome of splendour. After years of attending the most sophisticated ballrooms around the world he thought it still held a certain charm and certainly took itself very seriously. He knew Nicholas would milk this for all it was worth.

‘Enjoying yourself, aren’t you?’

‘Of course. Who is that alarming dowager holding court in the corner? She either has a squint or she is giving you the evil eye.’

Adam turned in the direction of Nicholas’s nod.

‘Lady Nesbit. Alarming is right. She is Rowena’s grandmother and the undisputed leader of Mowbray society and the Pump Rooms. I used to think she was the driving force behind the snaring of Lord Moresby, but then I realised it was a joint effort with Rowena.’

‘Ah, I surmise that is the beauty next to her, then. My, she is a delectable piece, matron or not. And I see what you mean—she looks very used to leading the dance. Ah, she’s spotted you, man,’ Nicholas whispered. ‘She’s heading straight towards us!’

Adam frowned. He didn’t really want to deal with Rowena now. He had other fish to fry.

‘Lord Delacort. How nice you could come.’

There was such a wealth of innuendo in Rowena’s proper greeting that Adam smiled grudgingly. He bowed.

‘Lady Moresby. May I introduce Mr Nicholas Beauvoir? Nicholas, this is Lady Moresby.’

‘An old friend of Adam’s,’ she clarified, extending her hand. Nicholas bent over her hand formally, his mouth clearly held firmly against a threatening grin.

‘What a coincidence. So am I,’ he replied. ‘It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.’

Her whole being seemed to convey her conviction that it was indeed a pleasure to make her acquaintance.

‘Are you going to invite me to dance?’ she asked Adam archly as the first notes of a cotillion strained to be heard above the murmur of voices that had increased in intensity as Rowena had intercepted Adam and Nicholas.

But Adam was watching a new couple entering the ballroom. Mr Figgs, the Master of the Pump Rooms, was short and round, with an amiable smile and an impressive head of springy white hair. He was walking proudly beside a woman whose entrance was causing quite as much of a sensation as Rowena’s audacious waylaying of Adam. The new arrival glanced around the room insouciantly, and when her eyes skimmed past Adam and Nicholas, the hint of a smile played about her generous mouth, but her eyes did not linger.

‘I don’t think that is a good idea, Rowena,’ Adam said casually. ‘It was nice to see you again, though.’ He smiled down at her, bowed and moved on. The buzzing around them increased.

Adam found a good vantage point midway through the Assembly Room and he and Nicholas stopped to watch. Ginnie was easy to spot in her dramatic red gown and the diamonds he had provided shimmered as much as the extravagant chandeliers above them. Mr Figgs had introduced her to a serious-looking man Adam vaguely remembered as one of the landowners out by Cumnor. The man looked surprised but not displeased to find himself leading such a dazzling stranger on to the dance floor.

Nicholas glanced over at Adam.

‘You’ve set the fox amongst the hens now, man,’ he said, shaking his head ruefully, and Adam smiled but didn’t answer.

‘Here, isn’t that your pretty tree-climber? What was her name again?’ Nicholas indicated another dancing couple that had come into view and Adam turned.

‘Miss Drake.’

‘She is a pretty thing. And the best dancer here. Introduce me later, will you? I wouldn’t mind seeing those eyes up close.’

‘Don’t be a fool, Nick. I told you she’s not flirtation material. She’s as proper as they come.’

‘Devil a bit. That just ups the stakes. Where’s Percy?’

‘What? Oh. Over to the right, talking with Mr Figgs.’

‘Well, he hasn’t changed much. Still the dandy. Now he’s giving you the evil eye.’

‘He’s furious with me for closing the Delacort purse. He seems to think that as my heir he is entitled to an allowance beyond his own income. I disabused him of that notion.’

‘A kind of advance on your demise? How touching of him. I suppose it must have been a disappointment that you survived. There is a certain irony to that—the last two Lord Delacorts succumb to the most mundane of illnesses and accidents and you endure environments which should by all rights have shaken you free of your mortal coils.’

Adam grinned. ‘That’s the second time you’ve abused Shakespeare in the past few days. Have you been brushing up on your reading behind my back?’

‘Not much else to do while you’re out repairing your predecessors’ damage to the estate. Now that we are making a foray into society I might find something or someone else to occupy me. Wait, look, Percy is on the move and has Mr Figgs in tow. This is almost too easy.’

They watched as the two men moved down the side of the hall, intercepting Ginnie and her dance partner as they stepped off the dance floor. Mr Figgs made the introductions, Percy bowed, smiled angelically and led Ginnie on to the floor to join the set forming for a country dance. Adam scanned the room. Miss Drake was standing by a rosewood sofa where Mrs Aldridge and Miss Aldridge were seated, the latter watching dismally as Percy took his place with the stunning stranger. Miss Drake herself was also watching the pair, her head slightly tilted to one side. Then she glanced down at Miss Aldridge and moved into her line of vision, blocking the dance floor from view.

Adam shook his head. He should have sent her a coin of Artemis, protectress of the vulnerable, rather than Clementia. Miss Drake persisted in trying to shield everyone around her. She took life far too seriously. Someone should teach her how to relax and enjoy herself. With Mr Figgs’s Rules of Conduct at the Assembly Room in mind, he headed leisurely in her direction.

* * *

Alyssa wished she was anywhere but where she was. The whole neighbourhood had been awash with talk once Mr Figgs had disclosed that the new Lord Delacort would be attending Thursday’s ball with his guest, Mr Beauvoir. Between that and talk of his accident, which everyone had bloodthirstily attributed to his notorious recklessness, Adam’s name had come up so often at each of the neighbourhood teas or visits Alyssa had attended with her aunt and cousin that she’d begun to wonder what they’d all spoken of before his return.

The worst had been at Lady Nesbit’s on Tuesday. Rowena had sat with a calculatedly pained look upon her beautiful face and hinted mournfully that Adam had clearly not recovered from his tendre for her, even after all these years. Alyssa had sat and fumed and wished again that he had never returned to Mowbray.

All this excitement reached fever pitch the moment he entered the Assembly Room. Alyssa waited with a sense of impending doom for something terrible to happen. When she saw Rowena approach him she held her breath along with the rest of those present. What followed was so anticlimactic Alyssa almost felt sorry for Rowena. It was worse than if he had snubbed her altogether. But to converse with her with apparent amicability and then move on to stand appreciatively viewing the dazzling widow who had arrived was possibly the worst combination he could have chosen as far as Rowena was concerned.

Alyssa tried to focus on her own concern, Mary, who was now gazing miserably at Percy as he talked animatedly with the lovely widow while leading her through the country dance. Alyssa sighed in frustration. She had still not come up with a plan to detach Mary from Percy. She knew her father would likely consent to any offer not overtly unsuitable. And as Adam had pointed out, Percy was suitable, at least on the surface.

Ever since Ivor had come into the Delacort title, Percy had acted as if he, and not Adam, was next in line. It had been clear that he had assumed, like many others, that Adam was unlikely to survive his exploits. It had not been an outlandish assumption. Even if one discounted many of the accounts of Adam’s escapades as exaggerated, there were protracted periods of silence which gave as much or more food for speculation. Certainly Percy could not be completely blamed for his presumptions. But however disappointed Percy might be, it didn’t mean he had any right to solve his problems by targeting Mary, not while Alyssa had a say in it, and furthermore...

‘Do you waltz?’

She blinked and turned. She had been so intent on the problem she hadn’t even noticed Adam had come to stand beside her.

‘Waltz?’

‘Waltz. The dance. Do you?’

‘I... Yes. But why?’

‘Mr Figgs’s Assembly Room rules state I have to try to make myself agreeable to the company present, by which I gathered he means squire wallflowers and converse with dowagers. So, I suppose if I am to be allowed to attend another dance I must do the pretty and invite some unfortunate maiden to dance. From the list he so helpfully provided I see the next dance is a waltz. Hence the invitation.’

She couldn’t help smiling. She was beginning to realise this man enjoyed being deliberately provoking.

‘How can I resist such a flattering invitation? Wait, I can. Go and find another wallflower. I am busy.’

‘I know, glaring at Percy is hard work. Take a rest. Ah, they are just about to start.’

He grasped her elbow firmly and gave her a little push in the direction of the dance floor, attracting the attention of her aunt and the group of matrons to her right. She caught the alarmed look on her aunt’s face and sighed inwardly. To break free now would attract more attention than to proceed.

‘Fine,’ she said grudgingly and saw the corners of his mouth quirk up in a smile. But he did not reply, just led her on to the dance floor and then, when they were in position, clasped her hand and placed his hand at her waist.

She loved dancing and over her many years at the Assemblies she had danced with most of the men of Mowbray who cared to indulge in the pastime. With some she flirted mildly and with most she stoically endured their total lack of skill while still enjoying the music. But even the most skilled or audacious of her dancing partners had never allowed their hand to sit quite so low on her waist and they certainly maintained a much more decorous distance.

Dancing with Adam was different. She could not point to anything conclusive other than that he employed the Continental rather than English style of the dance, holding her more closely than she was used to. Instead of a light, impersonal pressure his hand was insistent, slightly splayed along her waist, below the line of her stays, so she could feel each finger where it angled her towards him. And his other hand was contrarily so light against hers that his fingers kept shifting against the palm of her glove, only pressing in when he needed to guide her in the dance, so that her whole arm became sensitised. She was accustomed to talking while dancing, but somehow it was hard to focus on anything other than his hands.

She glanced up and met Adam’s dark grey eyes. He wasn’t smiling outright, but a shadow of amusement glinted in his eyes, the same look that she was becoming used to in her encounters with him. As if he knew what she was thinking and found her predicable but mildly entertaining. A wave of annoyance mixed with determination tingled through her.

‘Your hand,’ she said and his brows rose, the picture of innocence.

‘My hand?’

‘A bit lower, please.’

The heads of the dancers next to them turned as he burst out laughing. He slid his hand upwards slightly, very gently, and her body arched away momentarily from the contact before she could call herself to order.