AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Oh no,” she muttered. “What has she done now?”
* * *
What Lucy had done,Joshua saw as they pushed closer through the crush, was commandeer a footman bearing a silver tray loaded with glasses of champagne. Most were full, a couple were empty; he suspected from Lucy’s color that they had been emptied into her. She had also gathered a small band of spellbound young men who feasted their eyes on her every move.
Lucy selected a full glass from the tray and raised it as if making a toast.
“Whoever catches this glass,” she announced, “that man shall have a waltz.”
She tossed back the champagne in a few neat gulps and then hurled the glass into the air. A scramble ensued and the men leaped high, displaying skills honed on the cricket fields of Eton and Harrow. One proud victor caught the glass with a “hurrah!”. His rivals sportingly slapped his back and they all turned back to Lucy, like so many panting puppy dogs eager to fetch a stick.
“I’m going to kill her,” Cassandra muttered. “This time, I’m truly going to kill her.”
Fair enough. Even Joshua could see that this was bad. He shouldered through the resistant crush toward Lucy.
Lucy raised another glass. “Whoever catches this glass, that man shall have a kiss.”
A cheer met this announcement. She drained the drink and sent the glass flying. The scrambling halted Joshua’s progress, until a victor flourished the glass to a fresh round of cheers. “A kiss! A kiss! A kiss!”
Lucy laughed again, raised another full glass, in an unsteady hand, champagne sloshing over the rim.
“Whoever catches this glass, that man I shall marry!”
The puppy dogs howled.
Joshua shoved closer, not taking his eyes off Lucy’s hand, the hand lifting the glass, the glass that must not fly, the glass that was almost at her lips, the glass that was almost in his grasp when—She spied him from the corner of her eye. Guessed his purpose.
And with a graceful swing of her arm, Lucy sent the still-full glass arcing through the air.
It tumbled end on end, dumping a shower of champagne on squealing ladies and hollering men, yet still arcing up, up over the reaching, grasping fingers, headed straight for the massive chandelier. In horror, he imagined it smashing into an iron arm and showering glass upon skin and eyes. But by the luck of Lucy’s devil, the glass lodged precariously between two branches. A few candles puttered out. The chandelier rocked. The glass slipped, the crowd gasped, the glass stuck again.
The young men jostled around under it. At the center, Joshua saw to his relief, was Lord Hardbury, tall, fierce, and safely married, scowling and ready to spring.
But one young man proved to be enterprising: He pulled off one of his shoes and threw it hard at the chandelier. The chandelier rocked. The glass slipped. Another shoe followed and the glass slid from its perch. The young men surged, arms outstretched, knocking even Hardbury off balance as they wrestled, jostled, forming a forest of seeking fingers. The glass bounced against those fingers, jumped, bounced further, jumped, bounced, jumped, and the best hope now was that it fell and smashed.
Until one hand broke through the others, a large gloved hand attached to the black sleeve of a tall, dark-haired gentleman, who plucked the glass out of the air.
Then hand and glass disappeared into the crowd.
Everyone froze. Silence fell. Joshua could not see the man’s face. A moment later, he could not see the man at all.
“Him!” Lucy bellowed, pointing. “I shall marry that man! Stand aside, London. That man is mine!”
Obediently, slowly, the scandalized, titillated crowd parted, murmuring, shuffling, craning their necks, to reveal—
A footman.
Everyone gasped.
The footman was short. He wore red livery and an expression of sheer terror.
“It wasn’t me,” the footman stammered, holding the glass away from him as though it were poisoned. “Please. I’m sorry. It wasn’t me.”
“Who was it, then?” someone yelled.
“I believe it was a, ah, a Scottish gentleman.”
Heads turned, but the tall, nimble-fingered Scotsman had wisely made his escape.
