Even once Penelope returned to her duties as hostess—a patch of something he feared was drool on her crumpled bodice—Grace remained the warm center to which others in the room were drawn. Arkwright seemed charmed, as well.
Lucien’s eyes narrowed as he saw his friend lean near her, heard her laughing.
“Poor Everdene got stuck with me as a roommate at Eton,” Arkwright said, pulling a face. “He couldn’t shake me, though God knows, he tried. I’ve been eager to meet the woman who got Viscount Everdene to actually issue an invitation. Hedidinvite you? Personally, I mean. Or is it a scurrilous rumor he devised just to taunt me?”
“Yes,” Grace said, with a laugh. “His lordship invited me.”
“How did that miracle come about?” Arkwright asked. Lucien disliked the purely masculine appreciation in his friend’s eyes. “Youareuncommonly pretty, but he’s had diamonds of the first water hurling themselves at him for ages. The notion of Everdene inviting a lady to a party is so uncharacteristic, I almost summoned a physician when I heard.”
Lucien barely stopped himself from doing the unthinkable and tugging at his own cravat.
“His sisters were my friends when we were children,” Grace explained.
“Ah, so you and Everdene?—”
“Were decidedly not,” she supplied, her dimple appearing. “I tromped on his toes during dance lessons. Mostly on purpose.”
Arkwright shot Lucien an obnoxious grin. “I understand the urge completely. Perhaps we can get one of the ladies to play the piano forte so you can demonstrate.”
“I’ll play!” Penelope’s youngest sister, Kitty, cried rushing to the piano.
Of course, the chit would play, Lucien thought. Like most women, she never missed a chance to display her talent. The problem would be getting her tostop.
“Do you know a country dance so we can all join in?” Grace asked Kitty. When the girl nodded, Grace turned to Lucien’s sisters. “Come, Jane and Cassandra! Remember what fun we used to have dancing?”
“A capital idea!” someone else exclaimed. As others began to pair up, Arkwright led Grace to the open space on the floor.
Suddenly, Lucien found himself striding over to where Grace and his friend stood. “Since this demonstration is to display our past encounters, Lady Grace, I will be your partner,” he said.
“Really, Everdene—” Arkwright started to tease, then stopped, with a strange expression. After a moment, he stepped away and bowed. “As you wish.” Arkwright went to ask Jane to dance, but not before Lucien caught the hint of a smirk on his friend’s face. Lucien would remember that the next time they crossed swords at the fencing academy.
As the dancers gathered, Grace looked up at him, and he noticed a small emerald twinkling in the tender lobe of her ear.
“I do hope your boots are sturdy, my lord,” she teased.
“At least they aren’t doused in mud.” Lucien glanced down toward his gleaming footwear, but his gaze snagged on the vee of her bodice. A cluster of pink rosebuds was pinned to the lace between her breasts. The scent wafted up to him, warmed by her skin. He took his place with Grace at the head of the set of dancers, a primitive thrumming in his blood.
The first notes rippled out a spritely tune and they began the familiar steps. As a girl, Grace had been awkward, or perhaps his own impatience with the lessons had made her so. Now, she was light as thistledown, her face suffused with pleasure, as if she were savoring a confit after being deprived for far too long. He met with her and separated, whirling in the figures they had practiced years before. Every time they joined hands, he felt an urge to pull her closer than necessary. When she linked arms with Arkwright further down the line, Lucien counted the minutes until she returned to him.
The chilly aura that had plagued the room began to thaw as the music cast its spell. Even his sisters seemed more at ease with no one trying to make awkward conversation. Skirts whirled in bright colors. Fanny Waverly made a misstep, then recovered and laughed. When the dance ended, she pulled her skirts to one side to display a torn flounce.
“Let’s go to the retiring room,” Grace offered. “I have a great deal of experience pinning up troublesome hems.” The other women followed her, the men seeking refreshments. Lucien drew apart from the rest of the company, peering out into the darkness.
He should have guessed Arkwright would follow him.
“I trust,” his friend said, “that you didn’t take offense at my bit of flirtation earlier? Everyone was so grim I was only trying to lighten the mood. It was never my intention to poach on your preserves.”
“Don’t be a blockhead. There is no preserve to poach.”
“In any case, Lady Grace is lovely. I remember her now from her first season. She got engaged to some fellow or other. The Honorable Neville Freyne, I think.”
“Engaged?” Lucien echoed, his mood souring once again. “What happened?”
“Their betrothal fell through. I’m not sure who jilted whom.”
A rustle of gowns and soft feminine voices sounded in the corridor, nearing the doorway.
“Freyne just returned to England after spending time in the colonies, I think,” Arkwright said under his breath as the ladies flowed into the room. “Something about factories and investments…”
