this she headed hastily into the throng, leaving them alone.
Lily, resisting the urge to roll her eyes at such an obvious exeunt, turned back to Major Westhaven and—just for a moment—there fell an awkward silence the like of which was unfamiliar for her in such a situation. She refreshed her smile.
‘Tell me, my lord, have you recently become acquainted with Lady Stanton, or are you old friends from when last you were in society? She said her mother knew your parents?’
‘Indeed. And her husband is a member of my club.’ His tone was dismissive, his manner somewhat changed now, darker, more subdued. ‘Miss Pevensey, I wonder if I could call upon you tomorrow?’
‘Oh!’ Surprised, Lily blinked. ‘I thought you wished us to visit you, my lord?’
‘In time,’ he said shortly. ‘But I have something I need to discuss with you. Would that be acceptable?’
Taken by surprise, she was unable to think quickly enough to fabricate a reason why she would not be at home, so she could only nod dumbly. ‘Why, of course…Well…shall we say mid-day, then?’
He nodded, expressionless.
‘I…shall look forward to it.’ Lily could not entirely mask her bewilderment. What could he possibly have to say to her? For such a handsome man, he was disconcertingly lacking in social graces. Perhaps all he needed was to relax a little. If she was to entertain him tomorrow she supposed she should give him another chance.
‘I must confess to noticing you earlier tonight, my lord,’ she told him, wondering if she could broach the subject of his blatant staring.
‘Indeed?’
She nodded. ‘You did not look as if you were enjoying yourself.’
He threw her a measured look. ‘How could I not, in such company?’
His ironic tone caused her teeth to grit instinctively. Carefully rearranging her features into one of polite disinterest, she smiled coolly. ‘You do not care for Lord Langley’s brandy? I am told it is of the finest quality.’
For an instant confusion clouded his face, then he followed her gaze to his glass, still half-full. He raised an eyebrow. ‘I see you have taken careful note, Miss Pevensey.’
‘As you appeared to be doing with me, my lord,’ she replied sweetly.
‘You are not used to gentlemen watching you?’ It was said low, almost a growl, and it reached Lily deep in her stomach. Startled by the sudden hot lurch within, she raised her eyes to his. What she saw in their stormy depths was uncharted, dangerous—and suddenly she knew that this cool exterior, this frosty disdain, was not the real man at all. He was capable of much more than this…much more passion, hinted at in the curve of that generous mouth. The mouth that was, in truth, not so far from hers…
Lily dragged her gaze away from his lips, unaware that her own were parted sensuously. Everything seemed very far away suddenly, everything but him—he stood close enough to touch, looking at her so differently all of a sudden.
What was happening to her?
Lily stepped back slightly. ‘People usually seek an introduction if they wish to speak to someone,’ was all she could think of to say, lashes covering her confusion.
‘As did I.’
‘You did.’ She looked away for a moment, gathering her wits about her. ‘Eventually. I suppose manners recovered are better than manners lost for good.’
There was a short, surprised pause. Then he drew himself up. ‘Miss Pevensey, I am not sure—’
But she was too far along to care for politeness now. ‘You do not dance, either, it appears, Major?’
He did not reply.
Looking up at him, Lily was surprised to see that his expression had become stony, as if she had taken some unimaginable liberty. She raised her eyebrows and smiled pleasantly, encouraging an answer. He regarded her for a long moment, jaw tight, as though he did not know quite what to make of this performance.
‘Regrettably not,’ he said curtly. ‘But I am sure there are plentiful supplies of younger men available to assist you.’
She blinked. ‘You think this is my way of asking you to stand up with me?’
‘Is it not?’
‘Why would I ask you when you have made it clear you find such things distasteful? Although,’ she added, because she could not resist seeing his response, ‘I will never refuse a dance if asked nicely.’
‘I can only offer my apologies.’ He did not sound remotely regretful.
‘My lord!’ Lily said, an acidly teasing tone in her voice. ‘Surely you are not suggesting that your years are too advanced to allow you to dance? Why, there is old Mr Georgestone on the dance floor now, sixty if he is a day! See how he can still turn a pretty step, even with his old bones? I think you would have little trouble, if you did decide to—’
‘I have given you my answer.’
His tone was so cold that it stopped Lily immediately, her eyes widening and darting to his. Again she felt her colour rise as she realised he did not take kindly to being baited, however lightly. This man had no intention of dancing with her—worse, he looked at her as if he could think of nothing more repugnant. She lowered her gaze again.
‘Forgive me, my lord,’ she managed, ‘I had not intended—’
‘Miss Pevensey.’
She turned as a handsome blond-haired man came up beside them and bowed deeply, looking absurdly young in his fashionably striped waistcoat and formal jacket. ‘Can it be that you are becoming more lovely?’
‘Lord Denham!’ Lily smiled with all the pleasure she could feign under such straitened circumstances. First the cold Major Westhaven, and now this popinjay also?
A dandy and a flirt, with a reputation for his love of gambling and frivolous attitude to the opposite sex, Lord Denham often sought her out to flatter and tease. She knew he could have no interest in her, penniless as she was—but that did not prevent him playing with her, amusing himself, she suspected, until a more serious prospect presented itself. He was everything she disliked in a man: bored, spoilt and idle. Perhaps, she thought caustically, she could introduce him to Lord Westhaven; they would probably become firm friends. At least then they would leave her alone.
‘Can it be that you are becoming more insincere, my lord?’ she said, a teasing note in her voice, because she knew that was what he expected. It would not do to get a reputation for churlishness—and she knew Lord Denham could scupper her prospects with barely a word to his fashionable friends if she fell out of favour with him.
Sighing inwardly, she turned back to her sullen companion. ‘Major Westhaven, I trust you know Charles Denham? His father is Lord Ashburton.’
‘We are acquainted.’ Major Westhaven bowed slightly to the newcomer, still stony faced.
Lily gritted her teeth. Why was he so unpleasant? Stung, she turned to Lord Denham and beamed at him, slipping back into the role she was supposed to be playing, that of carefree socialite. This was, at the very least, her chance of escape.
‘Lord Denham—I wonder if you would do me a favour?’
He bowed extravagantly.
‘Certainly. Whatever I can do to be of service.’
‘You are so kind.’ She dropped her lashes in the time-honoured way and, out of the corner of her eye, she was sure she saw the Major clench his jaw in obvious displeasure. Spurred on by an unexpected delight in annoying him, she simpered, ‘You see, I have the most delightful new dancing shoes…’ Withdrawing her gown just enough to allow the pointed tip of one shoe to peek out—blue to match her dress, embroidered with dark