She had been amusing herself with other men ever since. It was common knowledge her third child, a daughter, was the product of her liaison with Mr. Addingly.
Lord Motton removed his arm. “Not from London, but I’m afraid I must leave this little group. I was just about to ask Miss Parker-Roth to stand up with me for the next set.” He turned to Jane. “Would you care to dance, Miss Parker-Roth?”
Jane grinned at him. She had lov—admired him for years, but he’d just risen even higher in her estimation. “Why, thank you, yes, my lord. That would be very pleasant.”
“Miss Parker-Roth?” Lady Lenden laughed. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you standing there among the palm fronds.”
Was the woman blind? Jane nodded and smiled politely. She could afford to be gracious—she was going to be dancing with Viscount Motton in a moment.
“Yes, Miss Parker-Roth, how nice to see you.” Lady Tarkington had a slight edge to her overly sweet voice. “We made our come-out together, didn’t we? Seven—no, I suppose it’s going on eight Seasons ago, isn’t it?” She laughed. “Dear me, and I’ve been married to Tarkington six years already—how time does fly!” She paused, adopting a vaguely pitying look. “You never did marry, did you?”
A host of replies occurred to Jane, but she realized they would all make her sound like a harridan. She had sisters, though. She knew how to play this game. She smiled as pleasantly as she could. “I haven’t sworn off the wedded state, Lady Tarkington. I just have not been as fortunate as you in finding true love.”
Ha. Tarkington was a fat, old, ugly spider of a man, whose only redeeming feature was his title.
Lady Tarkington’s smile turned brittle. She was clearly trying to think of a suitably caustic rejoinder she could sugarcoat sufficiently so the men wouldn’t notice its acidity. Lady Lenden came to her assistance.
“Time marches on, Miss Parker-Roth, as I’m sure your looking glass has told you. Not all of us can wait for love.”
Jane raised her eyebrows and looked Lady Lenden in the eye. “I know, but I do admire how you’re making the best of things.”
Lady Lenden and Lady Tarkington both sucked in their breath; Stephen turned his sudden bark of laughter into a cough.
Lord Motton smiled briefly. “If you’ll excuse us? I believe the next set is forming.” He took Jane’s hand, placed it on his arm, and directed her toward the dance floor before the ladies could recover from her effrontery.
“Are we actually going to dance?” Miss Parker-Roth looked surprised when they did, indeed, join the couples gathered on the ballroom floor.
“I think it advisable, don’t you? We did tell the ladies that was our intention. No need to further ruffle their feathers.” Ah, excellent. A waltz. He put his hand on her back. She blushed and dropped her eyes to his cravat.
She was such an intriguing mix of fearlessness and timidity. She’d stood up to those two harpies just now without any apparent hesitation, and she’d certainly been brave—and bold—last night. He grinned as they moved through the opening steps. Definitely bold. Could he persuade her to be even bolder?
He glanced over the room—and happened to meet Aunt Winifred’s eye. Damn and blast. He looked away immediately, but the damage had already been done. Winifred was sure to have noted his expression, which, given his thoughts at that particular moment, must have been markedly lascivious.
“I don’t like either of those women,” Jane was saying. “I never have.”
He directed their steps so fat Mr. Clifton and his partner were between them and Aunt Winifred. Were the other aunts lurking about the room somewhere? He’d thought one of their ancient beaus had escorted them to Miss Welton’s musical evening. “They are not especially popular.”
Miss Parker-Roth snorted at his cravat. “Oh, yes they are.”
“Excuse me?”
She finally looked up at him. “Admit it. They are quite popular with the male members of the ton.”
He choked back a laugh at Jane’s innocent double entendre. Yes, those particular ladies had had frequent intimate contact with many of the ton’s male members, though not his. “Why do you say that?”
She shrugged. “I’ve watched men watch them. As Lady Tarkington so kindly pointed out, I’ve endured more than a few Seasons. You must have noticed Lady Lenden, in particular, has two exceedingly large—”
Miss Parker-Roth’s sense of decorum finally caught up with her tongue. She flushed violently.
He couldn’t resist the temptation. “Yes? Two exceedingly large…?”
She frowned fiercely. “You know.”
“I do?” He’d danced them into a less crowded spot where they were less likely to be overheard.
“Yes. You are male.”
“Ah.” He was suddenly feeling exceedingly male—almost painfully male—and the sensation had nothing to do with Lady Lenden or Lady Tarkington. “But I confess I’m not entirely certain what you’re getting at. Two arms? Eyes? Br—”
“Yes!”
“—ows?”
“No!” She blew out a sharp, short breath. “You are being purposefully obtuse.”
“I am?” Miss Parker-Roth was just about emitting sparks.
He had a sudden overwhelming desire to see what kind of sparks the lady could emit in his bedchamber…in his bed…
Oh, Zeus. Aunt Winifred was arguing with Aunt Gertrude and gesturing in his direction. He swung Miss Parker-Roth through a turn that put them behind a sturdy pillar.
“Yes, you are,” Miss Parker-Roth was saying. “I have brothers, Lord Motton. I am familiar with the male thought processes. John may not show much interest in females unless one is speaking of botany, but Stephen…” She rolled her eyes. “You know Stephen is called the King of Hearts.”
“He is a very accomplished card player.” And his skill with cards was one reason he’d got that nickname. Motton was not going to discuss any other possible reasons for the moniker with Stephen’s sister.
Miss Parker-Roth gave him a very long, skeptical look. He smiled blandly back at her. It was past time to redirect the conversation.
“Miss Parker-Roth, I assure you I am not an admirer of either lady—nor is Stephen, for that matter.”
“Then why did they come rushing up to you like that?”
“Hmm. That is an interesting question.” Why had the women sought him out? He could understand them looking for Stephen, even though Stephen had long ago made it clear he did not dally with married women. Stephen was the King of Hearts. Women found him devilishly attractive for some reason. But women, as a rule, did not flock to Viscount Motton. Oh, he’d had the occasional pleasant liaison, but he’d never had Stephen’s success. And he’d never been interested in furthering his acquaintance with ladies of the ton.
A young cub and his giggling partner galloped toward them, and he pulled Jane close to avoid a collision. Her breasts brushed his waistcoat; he breathed in a light scent of lemons. His unruly cock responded immediately.
The music had better not end soon. Aunt Winifred’s eagle eye would be sure to note the bulge in his breeches.
Apparently, too apparently at the moment, he was now interested—very interested—in furthering his acquaintance with one particular lady of the ton.
“I don’t know why they accosted us.” Perhaps he was wrong; perhaps it was only Stephen they’d been seeking. He glanced over at the palms. Stephen had left—probably to lighten some peers’ pockets in the card room—but the women were still there, talking furiously to each