She glanced at him, the frown in her eyes more definite, then looked ahead as he steered her toward a line of chairs. When he paused to allow her to precede him into the row, she leaned closer and murmured, “I thought…?”
She looked up and caught his eyes.
He suppressed an urge to smile wolfishly. “Not now. After the intermission.”
Her eyes opened wider, her lips parted on an “Oh.” Then she nodded and consented to sit.
Settling beside her, he fixed his gaze on the Italian soprano who had joined the musicians at the front of the room, listened to Lady Griswald’s gushing introduction, then gave his mind not to the music but to the vexed question of how he was going to manage, at a musicale of all events, to live up to Phoebe’s expectations.
Beside him, Phoebe stared unseeing at the buxom Italian diva and fought to keep a frown from her face.
If Deverell had noticed enough to question her presence at such events, what more had he seen? Had his watchers reported something she’d assumed they hadn’t noticed? More importantly, had he deduced anything from whatever observations had prompted his question—she was quite sure it hadn’t been idle.
Until now, she’d only considered him, the potential danger of his presence in ballrooms, from the moment he hove into her view. What if before approaching her, he’d been watching her?
She knew what he would have seen—her interviewing various gentlemen, and tonight two ladies. The older ladies she met at morning and afternoon teas weren’t her sole source of information on the families of the ton. The younger generation were in many ways easier to elicit relevant information from; they spoke more readily, more openly and with far less discretion of the shortcomings of others, especially their relatives.
Since the age of twenty-one, she’d attended balls and parties and all the other varied gatherings of the ton with only one aim in mind—to identify the suitable, acceptable households and learn of any potential vacancies therein that the girls and women her agency represented might fill.
She slanted a sideways glance at Deverell; his expression impassive, he was watching the singer with an unwavering regard. Returning her own gaze to the woman, she wondered if she dared simply continue as she had been, and trust to luck that he wouldn’t—couldn’t—guess the truth. Or anything even close.
This time of year was the busiest for the agency in terms of rescued females they needed to resettle; with the prospect of summer looming ever nearer, heralding long months spent in close quarters with their employers on country estates, girls under pressure started looking for escape.
Once she and the agency had helped them “disappear,” they had to then find them somewhere else to go. That had from its inception been the primary purpose behind the agency.
During these months, her own contribution was crucial; while they had other avenues for learning of vacancies, she was the prime gatherer of information on the relative safety of households. Without her input, the agency wouldn’t be able to function properly.
But now she’d encouraged Deverell to join her in the ton’s ballrooms, and unfortunately he saw too much. Worse, with his watch on the house and her movements, he’d reduced her ability to assist in other ways, such as coaching Jessica for her interview with Lady Pelham.
She frowned, unseeing, at the singer.
Matters were getting complicated. When she’d instigated a liaison in order to distract him from the rest of her life, she’d assumed, naïvely it now seemed, that their interaction would quickly progress to intimacy, which, after a few interludes, would be enough for them both—he would lose interest, and she would have learned enough—and then they would part.
Initially, she’d thought a week would be enough, maybe two.
She stifled a humph. At their current rate of progress—the rate he was holding them to—it would take at least that long to reach their first intimate interlude. And it was already clear that she had much more to learn, that there was much more he could teach her than she’d supposed.
Regardless of any fond hopes on her part, she wasn’t going to be able to bid him farewell and cut all ties with him anytime soon.
Bad enough. But now it seemed as if her two separate pursuits—to distract him and seize the opportunity he offered to educate herself about passion on the one hand, and her indispensable role in vetting suitable households for the agency on the other—were getting tangled.
She sat and stared at the singer, hearing not a note. Her natural habit was to plan carefully and avoid potential pitfalls; unfortunately, no matter how she racked her brain, there was nothing she could think of that would result in the disappearance of the gentleman beside her.
“I take it you disapproved of the performance?”
His languid drawl jolted her back to the present, back to Lady Griswald’s music room, and him. Head turned her way, his green gaze was on her face; his lips were lightly curved.
Seeing her bemusement, he added, “You looked like you’d swallowed something disagreeable. I assumed it was your reaction to the music.”
Blinking, she sat straighter and looked around. The singer had finished; the audience was still applauding. She quickly put her hands together and clapped, too, ignoring his cynically arching brow.
Lady Griswald stood and informed her guests that Madame Grimaldi would return after supper to regale them with a further demonstration of her talents.
“Come.” His hand at her elbow, Deverell drew her to her feet. “Let’s head for the supper room.”
Phoebe hesitated, wondering if she should join Edith and help her through supper to lend credence to her role as companion—then rejected the notion as laughable. She wouldn’t fool him, but she’d certainly confuse Edith.
Deverell led her to join the stream of other guests exiting the room. According to Lady Griswald, supper had been laid out in a salon down the hall to the left. When they cleared the music room doors, he drew Phoebe out of the throng, moving to the right as if politely allowing the many older guests, or those with young ladies in tow, to precede them into supper.