Meeting Lillian’s troubled gaze, Clarissa dredged up a brittle smile. She hated it when her friends fussed over her. It made her feel resentful, and that resentment made her feel guilty and ungrateful.
“You’re right, Lillian,” she replied in an apologetic voice. “I’m sorry for being so petulant. Jeremy would be upset to see me sulking in a corner, pouring out my troubles to you. And I’m sure you’re longing to dance with Richard. I see him mooning at you from the other side of the ballroom.”
Lillian scoffed. “He always looks like that. He does it to keep me from flirting with other men.”
Clarissa smiled. “But it never works, does it?”
“Heavens, no!” Lillian said, giving her husband a cheerful wave. “What’s the good of being married if you can’t flirt? It’s just a bit of harmless fun, and Richard knows it.”
Suddenly, Lillian switched her assessing gaze to Clarissa’s face.
“No, Lillian,” Clarissa said firmly, recognizing that look. “Whatever it is, I’m not interested.”
Lillian gave her a sly grin. “You will be, once I’m through with you. I’m agreeing with you, Clarissa. You don’t need a husband—you need a flirtation.”
Clarissa gaped at her, rendered speechless. “Have you lost your senses?” she finally choked out. “I haven’t the faintest idea how to flirt! I never did.”
“For someone who never flirted, you always had a long line of suitors. It practically snaked round the block of your house in St. James’s Square,” Lillian replied dryly.
“It wasn’t because I flirted with them. It was because of Papa’s wealth.”
Lillian batted aside that objection with a wave of the hand. “There were a great many rich girls when you were out, but none held a candle to you. What’s more, you’re the sweetest woman in London.”
Clarissa grimaced. “Sweet, meaning boring.”
“Absolutely not. There are dozens of men in this room who would kill for your notice.”
“But I have no conversation,” Clarissa protested. “Truly, I don’t think I could flirt to save my life.”
“You’ve forgotten how, but it’s like riding a horse,” Lillian replied, scanning the room for likely prospects. “It will come back as soon as you climb into the saddle.”
Clarissa resisted the urge to drop her head into her hands and groan. “Lillian—”
“Oh, look,” her friend exclaimed, jumping up. “Christian’s finally arrived.”
Casting a silent prayer heavenward for the timely interruption, Clarissa rose and shook out her skirts. “Rather late, isn’t he? After all, this ball is in his honor.”
“I know. He’s a dreadful boy. But he was staying with friends in Kent and sent word he would be late. Apparently, he had a bit of an accident with his curricle.”
“Why does that not surprise me?”
Lillian wrinkled her nose at her. “Don’t be like that, darling. The only reason Christian agreed to this ball was to lure you out of that tomb of a house. He knew you couldn’t refuse to see him. Not after all these years. And especially since he’ll be returning to the Peninsula in just a few weeks.”
Clarissa frowned, finding it hard to believe that Lillian’s brother would spend any time thinking of her. Though she had known him all her life, she hadn’t spoken to him in years. Not since he’d joined the army at the age of nineteen. He had returned to England on and off over the years, but she and Jeremy had spent most of their time in Devon, more than happy to avoid the social rigors of the London Season. Their occasional visits to town had never coincided with Christian’s.
“I’m sure Christian rarely thinks of me,” she said.
“You’re wrong.” Her friend seized her hand in a firm clasp. “Chris specifically said to make sure you came. He’s always been very fond of you.”
Clarissa allowed Lillian to tow her through the press of bodies until they reached the edge of the dance floor. “I can’t imagine why. All we ever did was snipe at each other. He was the most rag-mannered boy I ever met. You said it yourself a thousand times.”
“That was years ago. Just look at him—he’s grown into such a handsome man. Doesn’t he look splendid in his uniform? He’s now an aide-de-camp to General Pakenham, you know. One of the youngest ever appointed.” Lillian leaned over, continuing in a confidential voice, “He’s up for a promotion—to Wellington’s command, no less. But don’t say anything. No one’s supposed to know. He expects to find out before he returns to Portugal.”
Clarissa could readily agree to Lillian’s request. The last thing she wanted to do was talk to a soldier about his military career, even if that soldier was Christian Archer. The scarlet-coated officers swirling about the ballroom reminded her far too much of Jeremy, lost forever to the random cruelty of a French bullet. But she bit her tongue and went up on tiptoe, trying to see over the dancers and the cheerful, gabbing mob on the perimeter of the room.
After a few moments of craning her neck, she gave up. Her short stature prevented her from seeing anyone but the guests in front of her. Papa had always called her a sad dab of a female, too small to catch the notice of any man worth his salt. That hadn’t proved to be the case, but the stinging memory of his words retained the power to make her cheeks burn with humiliation.
Lillian voiced a pleased exclamation and waved. The crowd parted in front of them, and a broad-shouldered man in an officer’s uniform appeared in the gap.
Clarissa’s eyes widened and her mouth dropped open as she gazed up into eyes the color of sapphires, so striking in a tanned, lean face. She would recognize those eyes anywhere—the eyes of the scrappy hellion five years her junior who had teased her mercilessly when she was a young miss. But the powerful, hard-looking man who loomed over her now was no boy, even though his eyes still glittered with devilment.
Her breath died in her throat as Christian’s gaze roamedleisurely downward, pausing to linger on her low-cut bodice before moving back to her face. His eyes caught and held hers, and her heart kicked into a racing gallop. She watched, dumbfounded, as his sensual mouth curved up in a roguish, devastating grin.
Clarissa had seen the same look on Christian’s face so many times before in the past—a look of unbridled mischief. But now he was a man, and a battle-hardened soldier at that. Whatever his game was, she instinctively knew it would involve a great deal more than pulling on her braids or putting a frog in her jewelry box.
That knowledge made her nervous, indeed.
