Her ladyship paused; bright eyes fixed on Alicia’s face, she surreptitiously pressed her fingers. “Tony tells me you spoke with Mr. Ruskin, but it was purely an exchange about mutual acquaintances in the country.”
In the corridor just before they’d reentered the ballroom, he’d primed her with that tale. Alicia longed to turn her head and glare at him; he hadn’t mentioned this little encounter he’d arranged for her.
“Indeed.” To her relief, the glamor she’d perfected over the last weeks didn’t waver; she smiled with easy assurance tempered with just the right touch of innocent bewilderment. “We hail from the same area. Although we only met recently, here in town, we shared a number of mutual acquaintances. It was they we discussed in your drawing room that evening.”
Lady Osbaldestone humphed, drawing Alicia’s attention. The old black eyes assessing her were a great deal sharper and harder than Tony’s ever were. “In that case, you’ll have to excuse those with nothing better to do than wag their tongues and make mischief. For my money, they’ve hay for brains.
“I ask you,” she continued, “even if Ruskin was blackmailing some widow, what has that to say to anything?” She gave a dismissive snort. “The idea of some lady in evening dress pulling a stiletto from her reticule and stabbing him to death is ludicrous. Aside from the fact he was no weakling, and would hardly have obligingly stood still while she poked him, where would she have carried the blade?” The black eyes flashed, at Tony as well as Alicia.
“That’s what I’d like to know. Have you ever seen one of those things? Pshaw! It’s not possible.”
Apparently entertained, Tony inclined his head. “As you say. I heard the authorities are looking for a man at least as tall as Ruskin.”
“Indeed?” Lady Osbaldestone brightened at the news.
“Not perhaps revealing, but interesting nevertheless.” She rose; although she carried a cane, she rarely used it.
She was a tall woman, taller than Alicia; her face had never been pretty, but not even age could dim the strength of its aristocratic lines. Her piercing black eyes rested on Alicia, then her lips lifted, and she looked at Tony. “Send my regards to your mother when next you bestir yourself to write. Tell her Helena sends her fondest wishes, too.” Lifting her cane, she jabbed it at him. “Don’t forget!”
“Naturally not.” Eyes on the cane, Tony bowed with a flourish. “I wouldn’t dare.”
With a glint in her eye, Lady Osbaldestone regally acknowledged Alicia’s bobbed curtsy and Lady Amery’s salute, then glided away.
“Well, there you are!” Lady Amery beamed at Tony and Alicia. “It is done, and Therese will do the rest, you may be sure.” She lifted a hand, waved it at Tony; he took it and helped her to her feet.
“Bien! So now I am going to enjoy myself, too, and see what a stir I can cause.” She glanced at Alicia, and patted her arm. “And you must go and dance, and pretend not to notice, and it will all blow over, my dear. You’ll see.”
Alicia looked into Lady Amery’s button-bright eyes, then implusively squeezed her hand. “Thank you.”
Her ladyship’s eyes glowed brighter. “No, no, chérie. That is not necessary—indeed, it is I who must thank you.” Her gaze shifted to Tony. “I am an old woman, and I have been waiting an age to be asked to help. At last it has happened, and you are the cause. It is good.” She patted Alicia’s hand and released it. “Now go and da
nce, and I will go and make mischief.”
The first strains of a waltz were percolating through the room; Tony offered his arm. “I suspect your sister will be located most easily on the dance floor.”
Alicia narrowed her eyes at him, but consented to place her hand on his arm. He steered her to the floor; seconds later they were whirling.
She took a few minutes to adjust, to regain her breath, realign her wits and subdue her clamorous senses. The physical power with which he so effortlessly swept her along, the shift and sway of their bodies, the subtle repetitive temptation of their limbs brushing, touching, then moving away—the waltz was a seduction in itself, at least the way he danced it.
Surreptitiously clearing her throat, she looked up; she studied his expression, arrogant, latent charm lurking, yet difficult to read. “Why did you ask Lady Amery to help?”
He glanced down at her. “She’s my godmother. You heard her—she’s been waiting for the bugle call for years.” He looked ahead, then added, “It seemed appropriate.”
“It’s you she wanted to help, not me.”
His lips quirked. “Actually, no—it’s you she’s been waiting all my life to aid.”
She frowned and would have pursued the odd point, but a flash of dark curls caught her eye. Turning, she saw Adriana whirling down the room in Geoffrey Manningham’s arms. Her sister was… the only fitting word was scintillating. She drew eye after male eye, and a good many female ones, too. Her delight seemed to fill her and overflow.
Alicia looked at Tony, caught his eye. “Please tell me your friend is entirely trustworthy.”
He grinned; after whirling her through the turns at the end of the room, he dutifully parroted, “Geoffrey is entirely trustworthy.” He paused, then added, “At least where your sister’s concerned.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means he won’t do anything you would disapprove of.”
She blinked at him. “Why not?”