Page 34

“Melinda,” the first scolded on a high-pitched titter while swatting her friend on her arm with her fan. “You are so naughty.”

She didn’t seem nearly as scandalized as titillated. Her too-bright eyes and flushed skin betrayed her.

“As I do not count traitorous colonials amongst my acquaintances, I would not know,” the third, a haughty and skeletally thin lady, sniffed. “It seems the Wimpletons are inviting all manner of riffraff these days. Americans, shop girls, merchants, illegitimate…”

She stuttered to a stop when Jason bent into an exaggerated bow and, elevating an eyebrow, trailed a leisurely gaze over the three.

Assuming a lazy drawl, he murmured, “Don’t forget bigoted, bumptious, critical harpies.”

As one and so synchronized as to have been practiced, the three sucked in affronted gasps. Presenting their backs, they stalked away, a stream of invectives trailing behind them.

The Wimpletons’ butler had also known Jason was an American. Looking down his bulbous nose, the servant had announced Jason and Grandmother in a practiced, monotone drone.

How did one keep any inflection from their tenor?

“Adalia Glenister, the Dowager Countess of Darlington-Pope…” The majordomo’s superior tone had taken on an arrogant, disapproving air. “And Captain Jason Steele.”

Rather than seek Lenora out straightaway and run the risk of her brother’s wrath ruining her evening, Jason had bided his time. He’d scarcely been able to tear his attention away from her since arriving.

Her gown was an otherworldly confection of green and gold. Her red hair shone like an evening star, and her alabaster skin looked carved from the finest marble. An ethereal glow radiated from her.

Time and time again, Jason had stopped himself from striding to Lenora, sweeping her into his arms, and carrying her away to claim her as his. Such brashness guaranteed an appointment on the field of honor the next day, even if he married her first. Which would be deuced tricky to do without a special license and her consent.

A coin slipped to a frazzled servant provided Jason with the information he sought upon arrival—which dances were waltzes and was supper to be served at midnight?

Four of the scheduled dances were indeed waltzes. And yes, supper would be served at midnight directly after the supper dance, which happened most fortunately to be a waltz. Jason intended to be Lenora’s partner for both.

He’d asked her to save the supper dance for him when they’d last met at the Serpentine in Hyde Park.

Delight creasing the corners of her eyes, she’d agreed.

“Landry will be vexed,” she’d admitted frankly. “Though I don’t know why he is so set against you.”

“It’s because I’m a sea captain.” Since they were speaking candidly, he might as well be forthright too. “He doesn’t believe I can put down roots.”

Her nose red from the cold, Lenora had cocked her head and studied him like a curious bird. A little red-nosed bird. “Can you? Put down roots, that is?”

Jason had been saved from answering when a dog ran past, and a frazzled footman had given chase.

In truth, he hadn’t believed he could settle down until a red-headed spitfire had taken on two thieves with no thought to her own safety. Now, however, he was convinced he could. With her. The matter of where they’d live—America or England—was significantly more than a pebble in his shoe.

If he could convince Lenora to be his. And if her brother didn’t call Jason out.

He frowned as a fawning milksop guided Lenora back to Lady Keyworth’s side. Jason didn’t miss the way the pup’s hand rested low on her delicate back, just above her nicely rounded bottom.

If the swain dared trail his fingers any lower, he’d be nursing a broken hand, by God.

Jason straightened, and after pulling his waistcoat back into place and adjusting the cuffs of his coat, he wended through the guests with one purpose. To reach Lenora’s side and request the supper dance.

Thank goodness Keyworth wasn’t still hovering about his wife. He was across the room near the punch bowl. Hopefully, he didn’t intend to give his increasing duchess a cup. Jason had seen Mr. Pew empty a full flask into the concoction, not more than a quarter of an hour ago.

As he approached, Lenora glanced up, and a radiant smile lit her beautiful face. Again, his heart squeezed as it was wont to do when she graced him with a smile. Or a glance from beneath her lashes. Or when she laughed.

Lord, he’d never known a woman’s laugh could light up a room or send his pulse to singing. Her laughter bubbled forth as a contagious, musical melody, unfettered and joyous.

“Captain Steele. I’d given up hope of seeing you this evening,” Lenora said, running her fingers along her fan’s delicate handle.

Had she truly?