Page 31 of To Dare the Devil

She made a gesture towards the doors and began to walk away, thought better of it, turned and dipped an awkward curtsey and then fled.

Max let out a ragged laugh, wondering how it was possible to go from the depths of despair to experiencing something that felt very much like it might be happiness, in such a short space of time.

Chapter 10

Dearest Ozzie,

I’m so sorry not to be at the St Clair ball with you, though I am certain you will have a splendid time without me. You’ll have Kathy with you after all, though, do keep an eye on her. You promised to keep the toads away, remember, and don’t let her forget to ask Pip to dance with you. Don’t pretend you don’t want him to, either.

I am having a wonderful time here in Scotland for everyone has been so very kind and welcoming, but I do miss you all, and the season. It feels like being on the other side of the world, like I’ve stepped out of my own life for a time, and it is an odd sensation. Though it has given me time to think. The trouble is, the more I think, the more confused I get.

Why is life so complicated?

Tell me everything that happens at the ball, what everyone is wearing and all the scandal. Was Monsieur Le Comte there with all the ladies swooning about him? Has he a new mistress yet? Please, give me all the latest gossip.

―Excerpt of a letter from Miss Evie Knight (daughter of Lady Helena and Mr Gabriel Knight) to Lady Rosamund Adolphus (daughter of Their Graces, Robert and Prunella Adolphus, the Duke and Duchess of Bedwin).

3rd June 1842, The Countess St Clair’s Spring Ball, St James’s, London.

Rosamund felt her heart flutter as she saw a familiar ice-blond head of hair. He was here.

Surreptitiously, she bit her lips and pinched her cheeks, hoping The Earl of Ashburton might look her way. Kathy had promised to ask him to dance with her this evening, for Ashburton—or Pip, as his close friends knew him—was protective of Kathy. He always danced with her, treating her with the same fond impatience he bestowed on his little sister, Cat. Rosamund always found herself torn between envy and relief. She wished he would give her more attention, but she certainly did not wish to be regarded as his sister. He hardly noticed her at all, though. She was his friend’s little sister no more. Just another one of Jules’ many siblings. Kathy had disappeared whilst Rosamund was dancing with Ashton Anson, though, and she’d not seen her since.

She stood on her tiptoes, craning her neck to get a better view and for a moment, she thought he was coming towards her. Yes. Yes, he was! Rosamund smiled, her heart thudding uncomfortably as she wished she’d not pinched her cheeks so hard for now it felt as though they were glowing. Except then Pip walked past her, and she realised he’d not been looking at her at all. He’d not noticed her. Mortified, she spun away and walked directly into a solid mass.

She gasped and then gave a little squeal as chilled champagne splashed her chest and funnelled into her décolletage.

“My lady!” said a deep voice, sounding utterly horrified. “I beg your pardon.”

“Oh!” she exclaimed, wondering if the evening could possibly get any worse. She looked up, and then up rather more, and stared into eyes the colour of gingerbread, flecked with cinnamon. “Oh,” she said again, shivering against the sensation of champagne trickling between her breasts and the way the man’s eyes darkened as they lingered on her neckline. He tore his eyes back to hers.

“Forgive me. I’m not usually such a clumsy oaf,” he said.

“It wasn’t your fault,” she managed, realising that if he’d been standing that close, he may well have witnessed her humiliation. “It was entirely m-mine, and I suspect you know it.”

His expression softened, which was somehow worse. Just what she needed, a handsome man’s pity. “He’s a fool not to have noticed you.”

Rosamund let out a little groan of misery. Kill me now, she begged no one in particular.

“Let me introduce myself, at least, Lady Rosamund,” the fellow said. “I’m Hargreaves.”

“Viscount Hargreaves?” she asked, staring at him in surprise. He gave a crooked smile and nodded. “Yes, that one. So you’ve no need to feel the least bit embarrassed, you see.”

There was a wealth of meaning in his tone and the smile and she felt a rush of sympathy for him. His beautiful wife had caused a dreadful scandal by having a very public affair with an artist. She had made something of a spectacle of herself and her husband, and Hargreaves had taken her to France with him to let the dust settle. Though Rosamund did not know all the details, she knew her father had sympathised with the viscount.

“You know who I am?” Rosamund asked in surprise, and then blushed, wishing she hadn’t.

“Of course,” he said with a warm smile. “A fellow always knows the names of the prettiest girls even if he hasn’t the opportunity to speak with them.”

She stared at him curiously but found only friendly admiration in his gaze and a little twinkle of amusement. Rosamund relaxed, recognising a good-natured soul who was endeavouring to put her at ease.

“Why, Lord Hargreaves, you are trying to charm me,” she said, finding his attempt had worked, and she did not feel so dreadfully foolish after all.

“I am. I’m hoping you’ll forgive me for throwing champagne at you. Is it working?” he added in an undertone.

“It might be,” she replied.

“Would you do me the honour of taking a turn about the room with me then? I promise not to spill anything else on you.” He made a great show of setting his champagne glass down and taking a step away from it, holding his hands up in a defenceless gesture.