“Manningham?”
Geoffrey looked up from his pursuit of the lovely Adriana. The rivalry that in their youth had never been far beneath their surfaces instantly leapt to his eyes.
Tony smiled. “Allow me to present Mrs. Carrington— Miss Pevensey’s sister and guardian.”
Geoffrey’s gaze deflected, then he threw Tony a speaking glance and made haste to bow and shake Alicia’s hand. Others made hay of his distraction and reclaimed Adriana’s attention. Tony noted that while she showed no partiality to those anxious to gain her approbation, she did sneak swift glances at Geoffrey, engaged by her sister in the customary social niceties.
Content to observe, he made no attempt to extricate Geoffrey. Instead, he listened to Alicia Carrington craftily confirm all he’d told her, and elicit a few details more. Her protectiveness toward her younger sister, her determination to ensure she was in no way taken advantage of, rang true and clear. Not one of the men gathered about Adriana could doubt it; her sister would always stand as her protector.
With her single-minded focus, she reminded him of a lioness watching over her cubs; woe betide any who dared threaten them. She was calm, determined, sensible, and strong-willed, mature yet not old; she was as chalk to cheese to the young misses he’d been exposed to over the past weeks—the contrast was a blessed relief.
Via the groom he’d sent to chat in the mews near Waverton Street, he’d learned that Mrs. Carrington hired her carriage from the nearby stables, and also that, as was her habit, she’d sent her evening’s instructions to the coachman at midday. Armed with the information, he’d arrived early, much to Lady Mott’s delight; he’d been in the ballroom waiting when Alicia Carrington had walked in.
He’d watched her for an hour before he’d approached; in that time, he’d seen her dismiss without a blink three perfectly eligible gentlemen who, as he did, found her quieter beauty, with its suggestion of maturity and a more subtle allure, more attractive than her sister’s undeniable charms.
As with all else she’d revealed in response to his probing, her dismissal of marriage rang true. She was truly disinterested, at least at present. She was focused on her task… the temptation to distract her, to see if he could…
He refocused on her; she was still interrogating Geoffrey who, to Tony’s educated eye, was finding the going increasingly grim.
He’d done his duty. He’d convinced himself that his first impression of Mrs. Carrington had been accurate; she hadn’t slid a stiletto between Ruskin’s ribs, and he could see no reason to doubt her assertion that she had known Ruskin only socially. There was nothing there to interest Dalziel.
Mission accomplished, there was no reason he couldn’t retire and leave Geoffrey to his fate. No reason at all to remain by Alicia Carrington’s side.
The distant scrape of bow on string heralded the return of the musicians and an impending waltz. Geoffrey straightened, stiffened, then threw him an unmistakable look of entreaty. Man-to-man. Ex-boyhood-rival-to-rival.
Tony reached for Alicia’s hand. “If you would do me the honor, Mrs. Carrington?” He bowed.
Alicia blinked, startled by the sudden clasp of Torrington’s hard fingers on hers. As he straightened, she glanced at Lord Manningham only to discover his lordship had grasped her single moment of distraction to turn to Adriana, who, from her smile, had been waiting, having already granted him this dance.
She opened her lips—on what words she didn’t know—only to find herself whisked about. “Wait!”
“The dance floor’s this way.”
“I know, but I wasn’t going to accept your offer.”
He threw her a black glance, not irritated but curious.
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want to waltz.”
“Why not? You’re passably good at it.”
“It’s got nothing to do with… I’m a chaperone. Chaperones don’t waltz. We’re supposed to keep an eye on our charges even while they’re waltzing.”
He glanced over her head. “Your sister’s with Manningham. Unless he’s changed beyond belief in the last ten years, he’s no cad—she’s as safe as she can be, and you don’t need to watch.”
They’d reached the floor; the musicians had launched into their theme. He swung her into his arms, then they were whirling down the room.
As before, she found breathing difficult, but was determined not to let it show. “Are you always this dictatorial?”
He met her gaze, then smiled, an easy, warming, simple gesture. “I don’t know. I’ve never been questioned on the subject before.”
She threw him a look she hoped conveyed total disbelief.
“But educate me—I’ve been away from the ton for more than ten years—should your sister be waltzing at all? Wasn’t there some rule or other about permission from the hostesses?”
“She had to get permission from one of the patronesses of Almack’s. I spoke to Lady Cowper, and she was kind enough to give her approval.” Alicia frowned. “But why have you been away from the ton for ten years—and more? Where were you?”