An Unwilling Conquest Part 26

Lucinda smiled across the room at the cheery Misses Morley.

"Certainly. But look for us when you've done."

Heather flashed her an excited smile.

Em snorted.

"We'll be over there." Wielding a lorgnette, she pointed to a chaise by the wall.

With a bob, Heather, slipped away, a vision in palest turquoise muslin, her golden curls dressed high.

"A most fetching gown--even if 'twas I who chose it," Em declared.

She led the way to the chaise.

Lucinda followed. She was about to copy Em's descent onto the brocaded seat when young Mr Hollingsworth appeared by her elbow, an older, infinitely more elegant gentleman beside him.

"I say, Mrs Babbacombe--delighted to see you again." Mr Hollingsworth all but jigged with excitement.

Lucinda murmured a polite greeting; they had met Mr Hollingsworth at Hatchard's the day before.

"Beg you'll allow me to present my cousin, Lord Ruthven."

The elegant gentleman, dark-haired and handsome, bowed gracefully.

"I.

am indeed honoured to make your acquaintance, Mrs Babbacombe. "

Curtsying, Lucinda glanced up and met his eye; she suppressed a grimace as she recognised the speculative glint therein.

"A rose amongst so many peonies, my dear." With a languid wave, Ruthven dismissed the youthful beauties about them.

"Indeed?" Lucinda raised her brows sceptic ally Lord Ruthven was undeterred. And, as she quickly discovered, his lords.h.i.+p was not the only gentleman desirous of more mature company. Others, largely of similar ilk, . strolled up, unhesitatingly claiming Ruthven's good offices to perform the introductions.

His lords.h.i.+p, indolently amused, obliged. Remembering her duties, Lucinda tried to retreat, only to have Em snort- indulgently amused and wave her away.

"I'll keep an eye on Heather. You go and enjoy yourself--that's what ton b.a.l.l.s are for." Thus adjured, and reflecting that Em knew rather more about watching over young girls at ton b.a.l.l.s than she did, Lucinda inwardly shrugged and smiled on her would-be court. In a very short time, she found herself surrounded--by a collection of gentlemen she mentally categorised as Harry Lester's contemporaries. They were, one and all, ineffably charming; she could see no harm in enjoying their company.

Then the music started, lilting strains wafting over the bright heads.

"Dare I claim your first cotillion in the capital, my dear?"

Lucinda turned to find Lord Ruthven's arm before her.

"Indeed, sir. I would be delighted."

A smile curved his lips.

"No, my dear--it is I who am delighted. You will have to find another adjective."

Lucinda met his eyes. She raised her brows.

"My mind is a blank, sir.

What would you suggest? "

His lords.h.i.+p was perfectly prepared to oblige.

"Devastated with joy?

In alt? Over the moon with happiness? "

Lucinda laughed. As they took their places in the set, she arched a brow at him.

"How about" --so impressed I am unable to find words to express it"?"

Lord Ruthyen grimaced.

As the evening progressed, Lucinda found herself much in demand. As she was ranked among the matrons, she did not have a dance-card but was free to bestow her hand on whomever she chose from amongst her a.s.siduous court.

Indeed, their a.s.siduousness triggered her innate caution; while Ruthyen appeared too good-humoured and indolent to be dangerous, there were others whose eyes held a more intent gleam.

One such was Lord Craven, who strolled into the ballroom late, surveyed the field from the top of the steps, then beat a disguised but determined path to her side.

Dragooning Mr Satterly into providing an introduction, his lords.h.i.+p was bowing over Lucinda's hand when the unmistakable strains of a waltz filled the room.

"My dear Mrs Babbacombe, dare I hope you'll take pity on a latecomer and grant me the honour of this waltz?"

Lucinda met Lord (~rfiven's dark hooded eyes--and decided her pity would be more wisely bestowed elsewhere.

She let her eyes widen and swept a questioning glance at the gentlemen surrounding her.

They instantly came to her rescue, dismissing Lord Craven's claim as outrageous, presumptuous and unfair and plying her with any number of alternatives. Laughing lightly, Lucinda withdrew her fingers from Lord Craven's clasp.

"I fear you must take your chance amongst the compet.i.tion, my lord."

His lords.h.i.+p's expression turned distinctly stiff. "Now, let's see."

Lucinda smiled at her cavaliers and was about to bestow her favour upon Mr Amberly, who, despite the appreciation in his eyes, was another more inclined to amus.e.m.e.nt than seduction, when she felt a stir beside her.

Long, strong fingers encircled her arm, sliding over the bare skin just above her glove.

"My waltz, I believe, Mrs Babbacombe." Lucinda's breath caught. She swung to face Harry; their eyes met--his were very green, his gaze sharp, oddly intent.

Elation swept Lucinda. She struggled to hide it.

Harry's lips curved, their ends lifting in a smile, which turned to a grimace, hidden as he bowed.

When he straightened, his features were impa.s.sive.