Talk of the Ton (Free Fellows League 5)

“I would not smile if you were the last man on earth,” she said evenly, her eyes narrowing even more as the waltz drew to a close.

Darien chuckled and squeezed her hand before he let her go. “Before you stick your foot completely in your mouth, Kate, remember what I said. There is no one but you.” And with that, he dropped her hand, stepped back, and bowed deep.

Kate gave him a skeptical look, then turned and walked away from him on the dance floor.

Darien smiled at her departing back and strolled away in the opposite direction, in search of Emily.

He found her sitting with Miss Townsend on chairs that lined one wall. She tried to be coy as he approached, tried to pretend she didn’t see him, and very poorly pretended to be surprised when he clicked his heels before her and bowed low. “Miss Forsythe, how do you do.”

“Oh! You startled me sir!” she cried with a false laugh. “I do very well, indeed.”

“Will you do me the honor of giving me thi

s dance?” he asked, extending his hand. “Unless, of course, you are already spoken for?”

Miss Forsythe looked at her friend, who was still staring at Darien as if she couldn’t quite believe he’d asked. “I’d be delighted,” Miss Forsythe said, and nudged her friend before rising to her feet and accompanying him to the dance floor, smiling broadly for everyone to see.

The dance was a quadrille, and Darien took his place across from her, bowing low. As the music started, he took his steps toward her and around her. “You look resplendent.”

She blushed.

“You must be expecting an extraordinary evening.”

The girl blushed again, looked a little nonplussed, as if she didn’t quite know how to respond.

“I know that I am,” he said, smiling. “An extraordinary evening.”

Now she beamed at him. “Oh dear, my lord, you are making me quite nervous! When will you do it? At the auction? Lady Southbridge said these sorts of things were always done at the auction in the past.”

“What sort of things?” he asked nonchalantly, and had to keep from laughing when the girl stumbled in her effort to retract what she’d said.

“I, ah . . . I’m not really certain what she meant.”

“I was rather surprised to know that Lady Southbridge knew of my intentions, frankly,” he said evenly, watching her closely.

The girl averted her gaze. “Were you?”

“Or your father, for that matter. How do you suppose your father knew?”

“Oh! I, ah . . . I suppose he, ah heard my mother speak of it.”

“Hmm . . . and do you suppose Lady Southbridge heard your mother speak of it?”

He could almost hear the conniving little wheels turning in her head as she tried to sort her way through this mess. Her color was high—a casual observer might think he was whispering decadent things in her ear as they danced. At any other dance, under any other circumstance, he might have done so.

“I suppose she did, my lord,” Miss Forsythe said, and nervously cleared her throat as she twirled around, then back again.

“How odd. I had not mentioned it to your mother.”

Miss Forsythe shrugged and in doing so, missed another step.

“Lady Southbridge surely heard it from someone else. I shall have to inquire, I suppose, for I cannot let our personal affairs be fodder for the ton’s appetite, can I?”

“Of course not,” she said weakly.

A thin sheen of perspiration had appeared on her forehead. Pity, that, what with the worst yet to come. Poor girl. He stepped toward her and asked, “Do you suppose Lady Southbridge heard something untoward about Mrs. Becket from the same source?”

The color rapidly bled from her cheeks. She struggled to look serene, but any confidence she had was melting away. “I ah . . . I suppose it’s possible, my lord,” she said in all but a whisper.