Maria turned back to him, pulling a slight face, grateful that she hadn’t revealed a touch of wistfulness. “They’re young.”
“Indeed. My eldest is not much younger, and he and the rest can destroy tranquility in a moment.”
She sipped her wine to hide another reaction.
If she married Lord Warren, she would become stepmother to sons not a great deal younger than Lord Vandeimen. Only eight years divided them, but the way the world worked they were almost different generations.
She conversed with Lord Warren and the other older people at her table, trying to block the sounds of lively chatter and bursts of laughter from across the room.
It was a relief to rise to return to the ballroom. As she strolled out with Lord Warren she decided she would leave the ball soon. She’d done enough for one night. Vandeimen could come up with other modes of pursuit tomorrow.
Then he rose fluidly from his table to put himself in her way, smiling, seemingly relaxed. Gorgeous.
“Mrs. Celestin, you expressed an interest in exploring the gardens. Miss Harrowby had just suggested a stroll out there. Would you care to come?” He gestured to the French doors that stood open to the warm night.
She froze for a moment. It was bold. It was almost impolite, though Warren would expect to hand her over to a new partner soon. If she accepted, it would be a clear sign to all that she was encouraging him.
Everyone was watching.
She smiled at her escort. “If you don’t mind, my lord...” then moved her hand from his arm to Vandeimen’s.
Glances shot around the young people carrying many messages, and whispering began behind her in the room, but in moments she and a number of other couples were heading into the lamplit dark.
Chapter Four
“Am I a chaperone?” she asked as they walked outside and a breeze touched her skin. That surely explained the slight shiver.
“I do hope not.”
The next shiver was not due to the breeze.
The other couples melted into the shadows, so only the ghostly pale of the ladies’ dresses, soft talk, and laughter revealed their presence.
“I feel like a chaperone,” she said, trying to remind him of her advanced age. “Who is partnered with whom, and are the pairings acceptable?”
“Don’t fuss. I doubt anyone is going to be ravished.” He turned to her and added, “Who doesn’t want to be, that is.”
“Who would want to be?”
“All the men.”
It startled a laugh from her, and he grinned, looking much younger.Oh, Maria, do you know what you’re doing?When he guided her farther from the house, however, she did not resist.
Though the garden was not large, paths wound around bushes and trellises, creating illusions of privacy. Illusions only, as giggles, conversation, and the occasional squeal could be heard all around.
It was a sleeping garden, but someone had planted nicotiana and stock that perfumed the air, and the paths were studdedwith creeping herbs that released scents as they walked. The sultry air increased her awareness of folly. This was not necessary for her plan, though it fit neatly with his.
He was going to try to kiss her, perhaps even to ravish her, to prove that he was master. One of these matters of male pride that she recognized without understanding them at all.
The question was, what was she going to permit, and why?
He paused beneath a tree. “Would this be too early for me to beg for your hand in marriage?”
Ridiculously, her pulse began to race. “It would seem impetuous.”
“So. Be a wild, impetuous woman for once.”
The tone stung, and an overhead amber lantern laid harsh lines on his face, deepening the jagged scar.
