Page 5 of The Baron’s Halo

“Oh, yes, my lord. By all means, if dear Isabelle has agreed to partner you.” Mama’s resigned face had lit up at the request. Isabelle was loath to disappoint either her or Lord MacKay.

Weary beyond belief from all the tension, Isabelle summoned her socially acceptable smile. “I did grant his lordship the next dance, Mama.” The set should not take long and she certainly didn’t begrudge Lord MacKay his dance. But she was tired to the bone. An evening with so much tension had left her wishing to sleep for a week, but she would instead put on her pleasant smile and return some of this gentleman’s kindnesses. “Shall we, my lord?”

“Yes, Miss Devereaux.” His fervent gaze warmed her all over, as though he’d put his jacket back around her. “Allow me to escort you to the floor.”

He offered his arm, and Isabelle was glad to have its strength to lean on as they headed for the ballroom floor. About halfway there, Lord MacKay leaned over to her, his breath warm in her ear and whispered, “Lord Barclay’s eyes look ready to pop out of his head. I suppose he did think me a liar then. Pity you forbid me to call him out.” Lord MacKay straightened and without missing a stride said, “I suppose I’ll simply have to hold you too close during the dance and hope he has a fit of apoplexy.” He grinned down at her. “You wouldn’t mind me doing that in the interest of putting a stop to that social menace, would you, Miss Devereaux?”

Biting her tongue to keep from laughing out loud, Isabelle shook her head. “Behave yourself, my lord, or I’ll go find Mr. Bufkin and let him put you both to shame.”

They took their places in the longways set, grasped hands, and just as the music began, she gave his hand a squeeze.

His eyes flew open wide and Isabelle whispered, “Let us begin, then.”

Chapter Three

The next afternoon Sandy headed his new curricle toward the townhouse Mrs. Grey had taken for the Little Season. Bordering on the far outskirts of Mayfair, the address wasn’t the most fashionable, but Miss Devereaux’s location mattered not a jot to him. If the young lady had been residing in Cheapside, he’d have been pulling up in front of that address now instead. Something about Miss Devereaux had gotten under Sandy’s skin—like an itch he couldn’t quite scratch—making him need to see her again as soon as possible.

When they’d left the dance floor last evening, Sandy’d been so elated, so besotted with the memory of how the lady had felt in his arms, he’d gotten all the way home before realizing he hadn’t asked to call on her or request her presence on a carriage ride in Hyde Park today.

Sandy sighed in disgust as he pulled his perfectly conformed bay horse to a stop in front of a neat brick house. If he was going to be this muddle-headed about courting a young lady he needn’t expect to get on very well at all. He must keep a cool head if he wished to do well during the Little Season, and especially if he wished to give Miss Devereaux a good opinion of himself. Last night’s adventure had taught him the lady had hidden strengths and a cool head herself. He liked both those qualities in a woman and so hoped to pursue her long enough to assure himself she absolutely was the one.

Sandy had never given the idea of love at first sight any thought past its claim to be a romantic notion. No one could be so attracted to another person that quickly, or so he’d believed. Now, he found himself a possible victim of this impossible state. If it were true, he wished to be certain of his perception of the young lady and convince himself she reciprocated his feelings as well.

He wound the ribbons around the whipsocket and jumped to the pavement. Facing the front door, Sandy experienced a sudden dryness in his mouth, like he’d just swallowed sand. This was ludicrous. Even though he’d never formally called on a young lady before was no reason to panic. Such trepidation was unlike him. But what if she was out? Or refused to see him? Or saw him but refused his offer of a drive?

Head spinning from so many disastrous scenarios, Sandy stood on the pavement gazing up at the gray door with colorful stained glass outlining it. The sun winked off the plain brass doorknocker as if taunting him, daring him to knock.

“Excuse me.” An older woman passed close by him, bringing Sandy back to himself.

He couldn’t stand out in front of Miss Devereaux’s house, blocking the pavement. Lord, how long had he been standing there? Giving himself a good shake, Sandy straightened his shoulders and mounted the short flight of stairs to the stoop. His sharp rap with the offending knocker brought a maid to the door, who showed him to a pretty parlor where Miss Devereaux and her mother sat, sipping tea and looking as though they had been waiting for him to arrive.

“Lord MacKay, ma’am.” The maid curtsied, then stepped back to let him enter.

“Thank you, Dobbs.” Mrs. Grey dismissed the servant, then smiled invitingly at him. “Lord MacKay, how nice to see you again. Isn’t it, Isabelle?”

Sandy’s attention had been riveted on Miss Devereaux from the moment he set foot in the room. Dressed today in a white gown with tiny pink and blue flowers sprinkled generously all over it and delicate lace at the neck and cuffs, the lady reminded him of a sweetmeat ready for him to unwrap and savor all by himself.

“It is good of you to call, my lord.” Miss Devereaux smiled at him and indicated a seat opposite her.

Almost bursting with the desire to be near the lady, Sandy shifted from foot to foot. “Thank you, Miss Devereaux, but I called, you see, because I forgot to ask you last night if you’d like to go for a ride with me?”

Miss Devereaux’s eyes widened but she made no response.

“To Hyde Park.”

Still no reply from the lady.

“In my cabriolet.”

When the young lady still didn’t answer, Sandy glanced at her mother for assurance that he had, indeed, been speaking. Miss Devereaux seemed lost in her thoughts so deeply Sandy didn’t know if she’d heard his request or not. Did she truly need to think so long and hard about his invitation? Was his premonition that she’d refuse to ride with him about to come true?

“Isabelle.” Mrs. Grey leaned over and put a hand on her daughter’s arm. “Lord MacKay has invited you for a ride, my dear. Please do him the courtesy of an answer.”

Miss Devereaux shook her head, as if coming out of a dream, then smiled warmly at him.

Heart racing, Sandy held his breath.

“I beg your pardon, my lord. Woolgathering again, I fear.”