Page 48

Damn it.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

A BALLROOM CAN BE A BATTLEFIELD

After watching Regina bounce on her bolstered bottom, Livie fled to the far side of the ballroom, grinning like a loon.

Regina was so mean. She deserved a tumble.

Once her back was to the wall, Livie began searching for Joshua’s face amidst the crowd of veils, masks, and elaborate hats. She didn’t think he’d be on the dancefloor; he seemed more like the Duke of Trent, a man who danced only when his wife commanded it. She was about to slip away to search other rooms when people began backing up, clearing the floor so that the duke and duchess could finally open the ball.

Strains of music began. The lady in front of her gasped and said loudly, “That is not her fiancé!” Whispers sprang up all around.

Livie rose on her toes to see what was happening—and then came down on her heels with a thud. Joshua was bowing before Regina! The two of them were opening the ball with the Duke and Duchess of Trent—an honor that was often the precursor to an announcement of betrothal.

Her mind reeled before she remembered the Earl of Winchester. Regina wouldn’t marry Joshua rather than the turnippy earl. For one thing, the major was not biddable.

Livie rose back onto her toes. Joshua was going through the steps of the dance without a flaw, but with none of the flourishes that elegant gentlemen relished, most especially when being watched by all society. He showed no signs of being dazzled by Regina, either; his expression was pleasant, but unenthusiastic.

She was so fascinated by the spectacle that she didn’t notice that someone was approaching her from behind until a deep, somewhat slurred voice spoke in her ear, “Not a fabulous dancer, is he?”

Livie came down on her heels again and turned around. A tall, rather disheveled man was leaning against the wall beside her, looking as if he needed the support to remain upright.

“What did you say?” she asked cautiously.

“I was commenting on the major’s determined but graceless dancing.”

“I think he’s an excellent dancer,” she said instantly.

“Oh, good, I was afraid you might be the wrong red domino,” the man said. “I’m his brother, by the way.”

Livie blinked at him. “Joshua’s brother?”

“The same.”

“You don’t look alike!” she blurted out. He appeared to be far older than Joshua, his hair already streaked with white. Though when Livie looked closely, she made out Joshua’s nose and chin albeit blurred, as if sculpted in soapstone rather than marble.

This had to be the heir to the earldom, the man whom Regina predicted would die unmarried.

“Likely because I’ve spent a good deal of the last decade pickling myself in brandy,” he explained cheerfully.

“I see.”

“And you’re the lady whom Joshua commanded me to find,” he continued.

Livie felt herself blushing. “I suppose I am.”

“Going to tell me your name, or must you wait for a big revelation?”

His eyes twinkled at her in a kindly fashion, but she had to tell Joshua first, given her father’s—and his father’s—situation. She shook her head and whispered, “What is your name?”

“No need to keep your voice down. Everyone is so boggled at seeing my brother dance with that tigress that we could burst out singing and they wouldn’t notice. Or would they?” His eyes lit, and he opened his mouth.

For a second, he looked exactly like Daisy.

“Don’t you dare!” Livie gasped, poking him in the stomach. His middle was soft, even paunchy—not like his brother’s.

He sighed theatrically. “I can see that you will be as dictatorial a family member as Joshua. He’s my younger brother, in case you’re wondering, and my name’s Frederick FitzRoy-Paget. You don’t seem to have memorized Debrett’s, the way many eligible ladies here have done. He’s a good catch. A future earl.”