He’d rather thought it might be. Which meant he’d have to find out by himself. And how those damned letters were connected—if they were. And there was another question he hadn’t even bothered to ask—why did Aberfield think Dunhaven an acceptable match for his daughter?
Thea gazed about the rooms Lady Montacute had hired for the evening with a growing sense of confidence. The heavy perfume of hothouse flowers mingled with melting wax, noise and heat. It should have panicked her, and yet it did not.
Madame Monique had sent an exquisite ball gown in a brilliant shade of poppy muslin, trimmed with tiny sprigs of gold and gold lace. ‘A bold colour per’aps,’ madame had said. ‘But you are a leetle older. There is not the need to dress à la jeune fille …’
She had not been convinced at the time, but now she began to understand what Lady Arnsworth had meant about feeling different with a new wardrobe. Somehow the bright gown was like armour. The young girl might be gone, but gone also was the acquiescent creature who had slowly taken her place. In her poppy-bright gown and matching headdress, she felt secure in a fortress. Of course, she thought with a spurt of amusement, the new, perfectly fitted stays might have something to do with that!
And the dainty fan of peacock feathers was the ultimate weapon in a lady’s arsenal … with it one could hold the world safely at bay. And, buoying her courage was the fact that Richard had asked her to save him two dances. Not that he danced very much, Almeria told her. He preferred to sit out and chat to his partners, which suited her perfectly. It meant that she wouldn’t have to waltz. She thought she could manage all the other dances, but the waltz terrified her, the thought of being held in a close embrace brushing ice down her spine.
Waving her fan negligently, she smiled at Mr Fielding. She could do this. She just hoped Richard would appear in time for the first waltz.
‘No, sir, I fear that I am already engaged for both waltzes.’
Richard, entering the ballroom with Winslow, saw Thea at once and his breath jerked in. Standing beside a potted palm, with Almeria seated on a chaise beside her, Thea was the centre of a small group of men, all jostling and vying for position.
‘Damn!’ muttered Winslow. He started forward.
‘Winslow! Might I have word, if you please?’
Sir Francis Fox-Heaton, tall, elegant and frowning slightly, stood just ahead of them. ‘I intended to call tomorrow, but since you are here …’ He cast a faint smile at Richard. ‘Mr Blakehurst. You will excuse us?’
Winslow turned to Richard, his mouth a hard line. ‘I’ll find you later. Would you mind …?’
‘You asked already, if you recall,’ said Richard.
A slight relaxation of the jaw that might have been a smile. ‘So I did. Thank you.’ He turned. ‘At your service, Fox-Heaton.’
Richard made his bow to Almeria and to Thea, exchanging friendly greetings with the various gentlemen attempting to capture Thea’s attention. Most of them harmless, he forcibly reminded himself, and it occurred to him that she was not paying them a great deal of attention. He had the oddest notion that she was, in some way, not really there. That for all her smiles, and polite responses to her admirers, she was otherwhere, and that gently waving peacock fan had something to do with it.
He saw Dunhaven approach and the growling creature within stirred restlessly. Dunhaven was not harmless, in any way, shape or form.
‘Oh, I say, Miss Winslow,’ Tom Fielding was protesting. ‘It’s a great deal too bad! Both the waltzes, and you won’t say who has been granted them, so we can—’
‘Miss Winslow,’ cut in Lord Dunhaven, ‘will be dancing the waltz with myself, Fielding. A prior arrangement, you understand.’
The air of assured ownership had the beast sitting up snarling.
‘Oh?’ Thea’s eyes narrowed and the fan stilled. ‘A prior arrangement with whom, my lord? I fear it was not with me.’
The beast subsided very slightly. Polite, gentle Thea had just delivered a snub one of the Patronesses of Almack’s might have envied.
A smile, and the resumed gentle movement of the fan, served only to hone the edge in her dulcet tones.
Almeria, chatting to Lady Hornfleet, turned her head slightly, clearly listening.
Lord Dunhaven cleared his throat and frowned at her. ‘I felt that under the circumstances—I was speaking to your father this afternoon—’
‘Were you, my lord?’ The cutting edge glittered with frost. ‘And how was he?’
‘Very well, Miss Winslow.’ Dunhaven bestowed an indulgent and proprietorial smile on Thea that had Richard grinding his teeth. Almeria’s head snapped around and she stared at him.
Richard clenched his jaw into silence as Dunhaven continued. ‘He assured me that you would be most happy—’
‘How times change, my lord,’ said Richard, his jaw escaping his control. ‘Nowadays, whatever customs may have pertained in Lord Aberfield’s youth, one solicits the lady, not her father, for a dance.’ With a slight bow, he added, ‘As I did earlier.’ Earlier could mean a great many things, not necessarily that he had been alone with Thea in Arnsworth House that afternoon.
And not for anything would he employ Dunhaven’s strategy of forcing Thea into a position where she must either dance or deal him a set-down. They had not agreed on which dances, but if she wished it …
Over the top of that lethal fan, blue eyes questioned him.
He smiled.
‘Perhaps another time, my lord,’ she said, stepping away from Dunhaven. ‘I have indeed promised this dance to Mr Blakehurst.’
Dunhaven’s eyes narrowed in dislike as he swung to look at Richard. ‘Oh? I didn’t realise you danced, Blakehurst. How very singular!’
The indrawn hiss of Thea’s breath was balm to his cold fury.
‘Of course my nephew dances, sir!’ snapped Almeria.
‘No, my lord?’ Richard looked his lordship up and down with mild curiosity, and the earl reddened with annoyance. ‘Ah, well, there’s plenty of time yet for you to acquaint yourself with all manner of things you don’t know. I do dance. Upon occasion. When I consider the effort worthwhile.’ He flicked a glance at Thea. ‘It’s a little like culping wafers at Manton’s, you know. I only bother to engage in matches with those I know can give me a halfway decent match.’
Over the peacock feather fan Thea’s blue eyes glimmered with silent laughter.
She turned, saying coolly to Dunhaven, ‘Perhaps a country dance, my lord. I have promised both waltzes to Mr Blakehurst.’
Richard uttered a mental malediction. He doubted that his leg would survive two waltzes in one evening.
Dunhaven nodded curtly. ‘Servant, Miss Winslow.’ He nodded even more curtly to Richard, turned on his heel and stalked away. Thea knew a moment’s fear. Richard might be the son, and brother, of earls, but Dunhaven was a powerful man—what if he—?
‘Shall we, my dear?’ said Richard, offering his arm. As she permitted him to steer her through the crowd, he gave a deep laugh. ‘Pompous ass,’ he said.
‘Richard! It’s not funny!’ she whispered fiercely. ‘What if he—?’
‘If he tries anything with you,’ said Richard, in deadly quiet tones, ‘I will take great pleasure in dealing with him.’ All vestiges of amusement had vanished.
‘I’m not worried about me!’ she snapped. ‘I’m worried about you!’
He blinked, patently surprised. And then a quite different sort of smile crept across his face. A tender smile, a smile that spoke of things