At Last the Rogue Returns (Avenging Lords 1)

Perhaps sensing her perusal, Lord Randall turned to face her and their eyes met.

Lydia waited to feel something other than bland disinterest. Bland disinterest was the only thing she felt.

Randall’s mouth curled up, whether in pleasure or mocking amusement she did not know, and he inclined his head.

It was rude not to acknowledge him, but she turned away, feigning interest in Arabella’s mindless chatter.

“You know, Cecil should go shopping with Rudolph next time he visits his tailor.” Arabella looked at the dandy as if he’d descended in a shower of gold. “One can learn a lot from spending time with a gentleman like that.”

Cecil joined his friend, and both gentlemen sauntered over. Well, Lord Randall sauntered. Cecil stumbled and almost tripped. Her brother wore a poorly fitted dark-green coat. Green being his preferred choice ever since Arabella told him the colour enhanced the hazel hue of his eyes—although that was before they married.

“Miss Lovell.” Lord Randall captured Lydia’s hand and raised it to within an inch of his thin lips. “May I say how splendid you look this evening?”

Splendid?

The word lacked warmth, lacked sincerity, lacked the power to make her heart flutter.

“And may I compliment you on your choice of wardrobe, my lord? It really is rather … unique.”

Lord Randall raised a brow. “At least my efforts have not gone unnoticed. I fear my tastes may be too refined for the good people of Cuckfield.” He spat out the last word as if it were a piece of gristle ruining a tasty morsel of beef.

“The good people of Cuckfield have no need for extravagance,” Lydia said, brushing her hand down her plain white gown. They left that to self-absorbed prigs. “They focus on the simple things one needs to survive.”

Lord Randall snorted. “I see we are of a similar mind, Miss Lovell. Simple is indeed the right word in this scenario.” He flapped a limp hand at the throng. “Simple if not a little backwards.”

Lydia bristled. “And yet I cannot help but feel a kinship with these people. One I could never share with those who parade about in London society.” Or with a devil who let his tenants starve so he could spend another month sailing the Indian Ocean—even if he was exceedingly handsome.

Arabella tittered nervously. “What Miss Lovell means is that she has spent so long in the country she has forgotten what it means to be an aristocrat.”

Randall’s green eyes fixed on Lydia though they lacked the power to unnerve her like Lord Greystone’s bewitching gems. Indeed, Lord Randall’s lustful gaze brought the sickly taste of lemonade bubbling back up to her throat.

“There is no need to explain,” Randall said. “I am a master at reading the unspoken.”

Cecil brushed his hair over his balding pate and chuckled. “Yes, I can think of a few times you’ve stopped me from making a faux pas, and often before I’ve even opened my mouth.”

“Miss Lovell simply seeks to express her opinion.” Randall flicked his straw-blond hair off his brow. “In my experience ladies rarely mean what they say. I’m certain Miss Lovell is merely trying to impress me with her charitable accomplishments.”

How on earth had he drawn that conclusion?

The brief respite from Mr Jethro’s mistimed screeches ended. Now Lord Randall had arrived, those who wished to dance gathered for the minuet. A few matchmaking mamas circled them, flapping their fans and pushing their shy daughters forward in the hope of gaining the lord’s attention.

“You shall dance with me, Miss Lovell,” Lord Randall demanded, seemingly oblivious to the fact there was anyone else in the room. “Let us show these simple-minded heathens true elegance of form.”

“Oh, my sister would love to dance.” Arabella’s arm snaked around Lydia’s back and she gave a gentle push. “Wouldn’t you, my dear?”

Lydia stumbled forward. She would rather dance with a man who made her knees weak than with one who made her nauseous.

Lord Randall caught her in his slippery hands, hands that ventured beyond the bounds of propriety at any given opportunity. Only a fool would encourage Rudolph Randall in his affections.

Thankfully, Lydia noticed Mr Gilligan ambling towards them. She was surprised to see the steward considering his master’s recent return, and so seized the moment to offer a few words of reassurance.

Extricating herself from Lord Randall’s hold, Lydia brushed the essence of the man from her being. “I’m afraid I must speak to Mr Gilligan as a matter of urgency. I’m sure Lady Lovell will dance with you, my lord.”

Cecil groaned. “I was hoping you would dance with me, Arabella.”

“Dance with you?” Arabella looked horrified. “Not while you’re wearing those shoes. They make a loud clip every time your foot hits the floor.”

Cecil tried to offer a witty retort, but it fell flat.