Chapter Seven
Being late, the ballroom was so crowded the heat hit him straight away, closely followed by the noise. A legion of the primpingtoncertainly made a racket. The sweet smell of pomade and a plethora of ladies’ perfumes hung heavy in the air. As one of the footmen carrying laden trays of champagne he would be able to move around as he pleased. As Lord Millcroft, the mysterious new lord who had once wrestled a crocodile and emerged with just the scar on his cheek, he had become an instant spectacle. Ladies turned and smiled at him, some blatantly batting their eyelashes behind their fans. Gentlemen paused their conversations to introduce themselves and shake his hand. Within minutes he was surrounded and bombarded with questions, turning the social event into the Spanish Inquisition. As much as he hated it, he knew he had Gem to thank for his sudden popularity and outright acceptance into this strange world. So far, she had been an asset and one he needed. Right this minute, before he become completely overwhelmed.
Then, like an angel from the heavens she appeared at his elbow, her arm possessively weaving through his. ‘There you are—you naughty man! You begged me for the waltz and then you turn up barely before it starts. If you weren’t so fascinating and handsome, I’d give it to someone else. Please excuse us, everyone. I shall return him to you soon.’ She skilfully manoeuvred Seb away from his inquisitors and artfully, yet politely, dodged anyone else who stepped in their way, tossing greetings and compliments around like confetti. All Seb had to do was incline his head and attempt to look superior. Something which was much easier to do with her on his arm—because he felt superior. He was with the loveliest woman in the room.
In no time, they reached the dance floor and she dipped into a curtsy.
‘I thought you weren’t coming.’
She moved into his arms. The second her hand touched his, his body responded inappropriately. So much for keeping a clear head, although at least his blasted nerves weren’t jangling. Another odd but welcome effect she now had on him. Despite being a stunningly beautiful member of the very sex he was shy around, Gem was also his anchor in these uncharted waters. Bathed in her confidence, Lord Millcroft emerged easily. Seb even felt like a peer. ‘I thought it was fashionable to be late.’
‘As frustrating as it was to wait for you, I have to concede it was a clever move. There was awill he, won’t heair of anticipation as people awaited your arrival.’
‘No doubt embellished by your good self.’ He found himself smiling down at her and waited for the inevitable blush to singe his ears. For once, it didn’t come. A peculiar, yet perplexing blessing.
‘Of course I embellished it! Did you know that you own an opal mine?’
‘I do?’
‘Yes. I’m wearing the one you sent me this morning.’ His eyes dropped to first her neck, then her décolleté and his breath caught. Good Lord, she filled out her dress well. ‘Not there, silly.’ There was laughter in her voice as if she knew exactly what he had been staring at and was quite used to it. ‘It’s in my hair.’
The jewelled pin was subtle but very pretty and sat amongst a sprig of real blue flowers. One fat opal was surrounded by tiny diamonds. There were three smaller opals on filigree stems resembling feathers dotted with even smaller diamonds. ‘I have excellent taste.’
‘Expensive, too, which adds to the fable. My parents gave it to me as a birthday present last summer and fortunately I hadn’t worn it before tonight—but it goes with the gown. Blue to match your forget-me-nots.’ She patted her hair again and he realised they were his flowers nestling amongst her golden curls. Curls that had sported an expensive hothouse rose at the last ball. ‘A very original choice of flower.’
The tips of his ears did redden then because she probably realised he had clumsily picked the damn flowers himself from his borrowed garden and sent them before he realisedIncomparableslike Gem usually received only the most exquisite blooms. Clueless, he’d felt immensely smug for remembering that a gentleman should send flowers in the first place. The peonies had looked lovely, but he’d picked the silly forget-me-nots because they were the exact shade of her eyes. It was only when Gray mentioned he knew a man in Covent Garden who could supply long-stemmed red roses all year round that he learned he’d made a mistake, but by the then the inferior bunch had been sent and it was too late to stop them.
‘Yes. Sorry about those. I’ve never sent a woman flowers before. I’ll ensure you receive proper ones tomorrow.’
‘Don’t you dare! I loved those flowers. The simplicity was heart-felt, which is always a nice touch. The choice of blooms inspired. Forget-me-nots. How utterly romantic. The other ladies have been sighing over your thoughtfulness. Besides, they make my bedchamber smell lovely when I retire for the evening. Did you know forget-me-nots are only fragrant at night?’ He didn’t, but the thought of his flowers sat next to her bed filled him with irrational joy which was swiftly snatched away. ‘Westbridge is watching us! My, that scowl is tremendous.’
‘Splendid.’ Seb was not going to talk about dukes. ‘I thought I would drop in a few little hints about Millcroft’s dubious relationship with the law tonight over cards. Moan about the English levels of taxation. How high they are. How much of a scandal it is that the Crown should skim all the cream off the top of a man’s investments.’
Her eyes moved back to hold his. ‘I suppose a man who loathes paying his taxes is easier to corrupt. Is that the sort of bait you usually use to lure criminals?’
‘It’s a delicate process. Blab too much and they become suspicious. As people become familiar with you, feel comfortable and relaxed in your presence, their guard comes down. Little nuggets sprinkled here and there blended into normal conversation. The upstanding fellows all gripe about taxation, too—but that’s where their rebellion starts and finishes. A good moan amongst their brethren and they feel purged. However, for those seeking partners in crime, those casual asides, peppered with the odd suggestion that this or that was acquired on the sly, form a trail of crumbs to follow. Bait is a good choice of word. Dangle enough bait or just the right bait on your hook, and the wrong’uns bite.’
‘How can you tell they are tempted?’ Her head had tilted to one side as she stared deep into his eyes. The position made her ringlets bounce and shimmer beneath the chandelier as he twirled her.
‘Curiosity. It is the most unsubtle human failing. The odd pertinent question means nothing. Many over a short period of time set off alarm bells. Why would they ask so much...unless they were interested?’
‘I see.’ When she frowned she had a dimple on one cheek. Just the one. A charming and minuscule imperfection when one compared the whole, but, like the hair rags and her love of sugar, very appealing. ‘And where do you wish to go fishing tonight, my lord? Is there anyone particular you would like me to introduce you to?’
‘For now, I think it’s best I stick with Viscount Penhurst’s circle.’
‘Penhurst?’ There was that frown again. It flitted across her lovely face before she covered it with a shrug. ‘Why?’
‘Well...I know them.’ And she was a family friend who would react badly to the real truth. ‘I think Penhurst is my best chance of getting invited to the card tables. Don’t you? We both know that is where the men talk business. Once there, I can naturally join any conversation. Or simply watch. I am a spy after all. We are notoriously good at watching.’ And perhaps he was over-egging it because he suddenly realised he did not feel comfortable lying to her. Odd, when lying was what he did as a matter of course. Lying to Gem left a bitter taste in the mouth and was becoming harder and harder to do convincingly after all of her help—and because he really liked her. Probably a great deal more than he should for the sake of his own sanity. ‘In the meantime, why don’t you introduce me to them?’ She followed his gaze to the crowd of brash bachelors scanning the eligible ladies. He already knew all their names and knew they were merely fortune hunters. His Invisibles were tremendously thorough whenever they started a new mission. A pile of damning biographies grew daily on the desk of his new study. Once he put names to the faces, Seb could reel off all manner of titbits about each one. Debts. Mistresses. Dubious connections.
Penhurst’s was one of the most damning of all. The man flitted from mistress to mistress without a second glance. He was ruthless to those poor misguided women, treating them more like used handkerchiefs than human beings. He once had nine thousand pounds’ worth of debt which he paid with his wife’s dowry and then gambled with impunity, racking up more. Penhurst liked the infamous hells. The most secret ones in the roughest parts of the city where the women were loose and the absinthe flowed freely. The sort of places where entire fortunes could be lost in a single night. An expensive habit which he was funding from somewhere.
‘As you wish. But first...’ She wiggled her eyebrows and tugged him towards the alcove to hide behind a pillar. Seb forgot to breathe when she daintily hoisted her skirt up a few inches, giving him a very tantalising glimpse of her ankles and calves while she rummaged for something out of his eye line. Her eyes were dancing with amusement when she finally produced a small silver hip flask and winked. ‘Brandy. I know a little nip of this banishes that shyness and I believe you’ll have greater success smiling rather than scowling at people and scaring them away.’ She unscrewed the top and passed it to him. ‘Drink up, Lord Millcroft. Let’s go and catch some smugglers.’
* * *
For the next hour, Seb said little and almost had fun. Fortunately, Gem talked enough for the both of them and did it with such witty aplomb, crediting him for all the funny stories she came out with, to such an extent he was subjected to a great deal of back-slapping from the other gentlemen while barely uttering a word. His unexpected partner had more talent for charming people than any person he had ever known. If he could bottle it and sell it, he’d make a fortune. But the way her eyes trailed after her Duke certainly took the edge off his good mood. Watching them dim as Westbridge found Lady Olivia Spencer and proceeded to dance both the hole in the wall and the subsequent cotillion with the girl tugged at his heartstrings. Why she wanted that Duke was beyond him, but he had agreed to help her make the idiot jealous in return for her assistance so he had to play his part willingly. Even if it infuriated him.
At Gem’s insistence, they rejoined the Penhurst party much sooner than Seb had expected and she remained at his side, chatting while her eyes searched the crowds for signs of the fool she had set her cap for. Nobody else noticed. Half the ballroom were too busy watching Clarissa and Seb with barely concealed interest. The viscount himself was one of them. He smiled in greeting.
