Page 42 of Dare to be Wicked

“How’s Eliza?” Phoebe asked, the concern in her eyes making guilt settle in Lottie’s stomach like a cold lump of lead.

“Oh, she’s fine. Looking astonishingly lovely, of course,” Lottie said lightly and hating herself for it.

Phoebe gave her a searching look that made her feel rather ill.

“She’s recovered from what happened with Cass, then?”

Lottie swallowed.

“I don’t know,” she said miserably. “To be honest, we’ve not spoken of it much, but… but she’s not herself at the moment.”

“No. I didn’t think so. I greeted her earlier and she’s quite lost her sparkle,” Phoebe said thoughtfully and then her expression changed to one of undisguised delight as she spied Louis César with Eliza on his arm, moving towards them.

“Louis César!” she exclaimed as the man laughed with equal pleasure.

“Comtesse Ellisborough. My word, but it seems like yesterday. You have not changed at all.”

“Oh, what a plumper,” Phoebe said, laughing as she gave him an unashamedly frank look up and down. “You have certainly matured in ten years, but then you were a beautiful young man, so I ought not be surprised. My, my, my.”

Louis César chuckled. “Have a care for my life, madam. I have no wish for your husband to call me out.”

“Is she flirting again?” demanded a deep voice from behind Lottie.

She turned to see Phoebe’s husband, Max, join them. He took a firm hold of his wife’s hand.

“You are incorrigible, you dreadful creature. Put the poor man down and come and dance with your boring old husband.”

Phoebe gave a snort of mirth but allowed herself to be dragged—though far from unwillingly—onto the dance floor.

“Perhaps we might join them?” the comte asked Eliza who inclined her head and gave him a smile which Lottie did not think showed in her eyes.

“I should be delighted,” she said.

Lottie watched with a troubled heart as they joined the others on the dance floor.

Chapter 14

Dear diary,

Balls are marvellous. I cannot wait to grow up and wear beautiful gowns and have fun with my friends—oh and fall in love, of course! There are so many people here, all our friends and family and lots I don’t know too. My brothers, Philip and Thomas have come and are certainly the handsomest men here tonight, except for Papa of course, and I suppose, Louis César. I may be a little prejudiced in Pip and Tom’s favour though for they are the best brothers in the world.

― Excerpt of an entry to the diary of Lady Catherine ‘Cat’ Barrington, youngest daughter of the Marquess and Marchioness of Montagu.

14th July 1838, Holbrook House, Sussex.

Eliza glanced behind her, relieved to discover she had evaded Louis César. She must be out of her mind. He was gorgeous, witty, charming, and there was a dangerous edge to him that he mostly hid, but she had caught the odd glimpse of it. Far from being off-putting, it only added to his appeal. Yet she could not keep her thoughts from a man far more dangerous, one who did not bother to hide what he was. Why she was so struck with a fellow who seemed to hate her, she could not fathom. Was it injured pride, perhaps? Did she expect every man she met to admire her? Perhaps discovering one who did not was like a stone in her shoe, a constant irritation. Eliza considered this idea, trying to be honest with herself. No. No, she was not so very conceited as that. It was just so unexpected. She had been polite and welcoming, and the look in his eyes when he’d first seen her….

Oh, she was a great ninny. There was no other word for it.

“Good evening, Eliza.”

She jolted, discovering herself startled to be addressed directly by Cassius. It was so ridiculous a situation, especially after he had been her friend for all her life, that her throat grew tight.

“Cassius,” she said, her tone a little cooler than she’d intended. She forced a smile to make up for it.

“You look lovely tonight.”

She smiled for real then, though she wanted to cry. Usually he insulted her, in the way very good friends did, teasing words that made her laugh, that made the serious business of being the perfect lady a little more bearable.