"There you are."
Amanda knew Luc was perfectly aware of Amelia and herself, yet his hooded gaze was all for his sisters. They blossomed-unfurled like buds in the sun-under its impact. Rakishly elegant, he bowed, then raised them from their answering curtsies, twirling first Emily, then Anne, his razor-sharp gaze taking stock of their new dresses, approval writ large in his face.
"I suspect you'll do very well, mes enfants, so I'd better get in quick. I'll dance the first dance with you"-he solemnly inclined his dark head to Emily-"and the second dance with you." He smiled at Anne.
Both girls were delighted; their glowing expression transformed them from pretty to bewitching. Amanda bit back the caustic observation that Luc would now have to remain in a ballroom for at least two dances, something he rarely did. The fact he'd committed to do so contrasted strongly with Edward's contribution to his sisters' success.
Although the brothers were similar in height and build, Luc was blessed with a frankly sensual beauty, and the character and aptitude to match. That fact had for years place the brothers at odds, forming the touchstone of Edward's frequent carping over his older brother's rakehell ways.
Glancing at Edward, Amanda noted the ill-concealed sullenness in his eyes as they rested on Luc. There was anger there, too, as if Edward resented the affection that flowed so easily Luc's way. Amanda suppressed a humph; there was an easy solution if only Edward would take a page from Luc's book. Luc could be supercilious and odiously patronizing and he had a fiendishly sharp tongue, but he never pontificated, sermonized or lectured-Edward's favorite pastimes. Moreover, Luc also possessed a genuine kindliness any female worthy of the name recognized, appreciated and responded to.
Amanda watched as Amelia joined forces with Luc, bantering, bolstering the younger girls' confidence. Her twin was a good foil for Luc's dark, Byronic beauty. Her gaze lingered on his profile. It was familiar; she'd known Luc for years… she blinked, glanced at Edward, also presently presenting her with his profile. Both were exceedingly like one even more familiar.
She swung her gaze back to Luc. Are you related to Dexter? She only just bit back the words. The certain response had she been fool enough to utter them flashed across her brain; Luc would slowly turn, an intense, unnervingly acute look in his eye, and softly ask, How do you know Dexter?
She couldn't ask, but now she thought of it, she'd heard of a connection between the Ashfords and the Fulbridges. She studied Luc afresh, then looked again at Edward; compared to Luc, he cut a less visually compelling figure. Luc was a fraction more lean, more rangy, and had black hair and dark blue eyes. Brown haired, hazel eyed, Edward more closely resembled Dexter, yet with his disdainful, pompous hauteur and that underlying sullenness, he seemed somehow less than-less than either Dexter or Luc. In features and form, they'd all been struck from the same mold, but in Edward's case, something had gone awry and flaws had crept in, rendering him less attractive, physically and otherwise.
"And now, my dears, I must leave you." Luc's voice cut across her thoughts. "Nevertheless, at the first screech, I'll be back."
He tugged one of Emily's ringlets, bent a fond smile on
Anne, then bowed to Amelia, and with an inclination of his head extended the courtesy to Amanda. Then he straightened and looked at his brother. "Edward, if I might have a word…" With a crooking of one long finger, Luc strolled away, forcing Edward to stalk after him.
Leaving his sisters in peace. Amanda inwardly nodded approvingly, and saw her approbation mirrored in Amelia's eyes. She looked around. "Now…"
Five minutes later, she viewed the circle of admirers she and Amelia had gathered about Emily and Anne. Most gratifying. In its own way, satisfying. She caught Amelia's eye. "I'm going to look for Reggie. If I'm not here when you leave, will you tell Mama?"
Smiling, Amelia nodded; her gaze was more somber. 'Take care."
Amanda smiled reassuringly. "I always do."
She slipped into the crowd. The first dance could not be far off. Reggie would be somewhere in the room; her mother had been expecting to meet his here, and Reggie would attend in her train given they'd made no other arrangements.
She hadn't made any because she hadn't been sure. Not over what she wanted; that was engraved on her heart. Her uncertainty stemmed from something more nebulous. Something about that kiss in the moonlight-perhaps the ease with which Dexter had drawn her into the heat, made her yearn for more. Or was it simply some lingering missish reaction? Whatever, caution had unexpectedly reared its head. A wary sort of caution she'd never felt before-a playing-with-fire, tempting-a-wild-beast-unwisely sort of edginess, purely instinctive.
But wariness, edginess and caution could not stand against that other emotion born in the moonlight.
Impatience.
It was an itch under her skin, a need insisting on fulfillment as its only cure. Every time she recalled the sensations she'd felt while locked in Dexter's arms, feeling his strength surrounding her, his lips on hers, his tongue-
"Well, my dear Miss Cynster-well met, indeed!"
She blinked twice before she managed to focus on the gentleman bowing before her. Hiding her frown behind a weak smile, she bobbed a curtsy and gave him her hand. "Mr. Lytton-Smythe."
Blond, brown eyed, Percival Lytton-Symthe clasped her fingers and smiled his usual superior smile. "Lady Carmichael assured me you'd be attending tonight. I had wondered whether I could be bothered with such gadding thus early in the Season, but the thought of you drifting alone through the crowd, starved of suitable companionship, stiffened my spine. So here I am, come once more to lend you my arm."
He offered it with a flourish.
She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Knowing there would be no easy escape, she laid her hand on the proffered sleeve. "I've just left some friends."
"Indeed, indeed."
He didn't believe her. Amanda gritted her teeth, a frequent reaction in Percival's presence. She scanned the crowd. Percival was a half-head taller but good manners forbade her asking him to find Reggie so she could escape him.
Good manners, let alone wisdom, did not raise their heads when Percival, considering her gown with a growing frown, cleared his throat. "Ahem! Miss Cynster-I fear I must comment, given the understanding between us, that your gown strikes me as somewhat… well, fast."
Understanding? Fast?