In her cranky mood, she didn't immediately perceive he wasn't serious. Then the humor of it struck her and she could not help but laugh, especially when he managed to keep a straight face the whole time. She felt better, knowing laughter had somewhat assuaged her disappointment. For the first time, she regarded Lord Lynd with genuine curiosity. He was tall, with powerful shoulders, just like Lord Dashwood, but his face could not compare with the enchanting perfection of the viscount's sharply chiseled features. In fact, this man looked like some sort of brigand with those heavy brows over dark, brooding eyes, slightly crooked nose, and that prominent, set chin that suggested a stubborn streak. Nor did he possess a charming smile. In fact, he hardly smiled at all but instead kept looking at her in a quizzical fashion.
She realized she'd been rude and hastened to answer the question he'd asked in the first place. "The things I do are not too terribly interesting, I'm afraid. When in London I practically live at Hatchards because I read a lot, various things like military history and—"
"The classics," he ventured.
"How did you know?"
"Your reference to Homer."
"I've never seen you in London. Surely you go for the Season?"
"I go to London for two reasons—an occasional visit to Tattersoll's, but mainly for The Four-in-hand Club."
Her interest peaked immediately. "You belong?"
He nodded.
She knew she shouldn't ask, but curiosity spurred her on. "Does Lord Dashwood belong?"
The shadow of a frown crossed his face before he answered, "Dashwood, too." For the first time, he actually smiled. "When we were boys we had a pact that when we grew up we would both be coachmen on the Brighton Road."
She opened her mouth to say,
Oh, I, too
..., but thought better of it. Perish the thought a well-brought-up young lady would dream of being a coachman. But then, why shouldn't she speak her mind? Lord Lynd was most certainly not a suitor, so there was hardly a need to impress him with her feminine charms. "Don't laugh, but I would love to try four-in-hand myself sometime." She waited for his derisive laughter. The few men in whom she'd confided always laughed at the thought that a woman wanted to drive four-in-hand.
He didn't laugh but replied, "Then you should try. I've always thought it absurd—this notion that our women must be treated like delicate flowers. Such hypocrisy
. And what's truly outrageous is that our concern for the so-called 'gentler sex' extends only to those in the
ton
. Among the so-called lower classes, women toil as hard as their men, but that's acceptable." He looked her up and down, but not in a licentious way. "You're young and strong. I've no doubt you could handle driving four-in-hand. Have you ever tried?"
"Never. I can just see my mother if she caught me attempting such a thing. She won't even let me on
a horse except for an old nag we own."
"Of course," he answered with a rueful shrug. "Naturally it would be considered most unseemly."
"But still, I would like to try it sometime. I can't think of a more exciting sight than a coach just ready to start from the courtyard of an inn."
"Ah, yes, and the coach itself, all gleaming," Lord Lynd agreed, "and the harness, so skillfully arranged—"
"—and the beautiful horses, impatient to be off. The inside of the coach full and the outside covered with men, women and children and—"
"—boxes, bags, and bundles," Lord Lynd enthusiastically continued, "and then there's the coachman himself, master of all he surveys, taking his reins in one hand, whip in the other. He gives the signal with his foot and away they go—"
"—with the coachman calling, 'All right. Wo-ho! So-ho then!'" Flora spiritedly supplied. "Imagine, soon they're going a whole ten miles an hour."
"Astonishing." Lord Lynd paused a moment, as if to savor their mutual delight at coaching. "You have it exactly right." A faint light twinkled in the depths of his brown eyes. "I hope your wish comes true someday. I've no doubt you could drive a coach and four with the best of them." He gazed down at her with a thoughtful look in his eyes. "You are not what I thought you were, Lady Flora."
"And just what did you think I was?" If he answered, she didn't hear because just then, out of the corner of her eye she caught a glimpse of yellow floating by. It was Amy in her yellow silk ball dress trimmed with yellow satin bows. She was still dancing with Lord Dashwood, who, judging from that dazzling smile he was flashing at her, was enjoying the dance immensely.
A stab of envy filled Flora's heart. How strange, for she was never jealous of her sister. They had always gotten along just fine, perhaps because they were completely unalike and their interests differed. Come to think of it, she had never been jealous of anybody. But when it came to Lord Dashwood, perhaps hers and Amy's interests had converged. If that was true, she wouldn't dream of standing in Amy's way.
The music stopped. She heard, "I shall return you to your chaperone, Lady Flora," and suddenly remembered with whom she was dancing.
"That will be fine," she said with scarce attention as Lord Lynd led her from the dance floor. By rote she added, "I enjoyed the dance."
His eyebrows raised inquiringly. "Did you?" Before she could answer, he gave her a slight bow and moved away.
She knew she'd been rude but couldn't bring herself to care. Lord Lynd was nice enough, she supposed, but Lord Dashwood—so dashing, so spirited, so handsome
.—had stirred a fire within her, and she could think of nothing else. Eagerly her gaze swept the throng of dancers. Where were they? She must find out if Amy was attracted to the handsome viscount. Pray God, she was not.
When Flora found Amy for a moment alone, she asked, "What did you think of Lord Dashwood?"
Amy shrugged and answered, "Oh, he's all right, I suppose. Awfully handsome, isn't he? And charming, too, but still...not for me."
Flora's heart was gladdened but only briefly. Lord Dashwood still did not ask her to dance. As the evening wore on, she invented all sorts of reasons why he was ignoring her.
Perhaps he had not had the chance, what with eager mothers pressing their daughters upon him. Or perhaps he was saving her until last. Yes, that was it. Once he got his obligations out of the way, he would appear before her, that wicked little gleam in his eye...
"Come dance with me, Lady Flora. It's you I have wanted to dance with all evening."
"Really? I am surprised. You have shown no indication of it."
"Please, give me a chance. Don't you understand? It was only out of courtesy that I was forced to dance with all those other young ladies..."
But he never asked. As the evening drew to a close, she convinced herself he wasn't going to. How dare he not ask? How could he possibly ignore the belle of the ball?
She caught herself, and inwardly laughed at her own arrogance and stupidity.
Let that be a lesson to you, Miss Fancy Flora. You can't catch every man with the crook of your little finger after all
.
Besides, why should she care? Not only had she danced every dance, she'd been showered with compliments and attention—things she ordinarily didn't care about, but tonight the attention was a boon to her wounded pride.
Blast you, Lord Dashwood, you insignificant coxcomb
.
At the beginning of the last dance, Lord Dashwood finally appeared before her and flashed his dazzling smile.
"Lady Flora, I must have a dance before it's over."
The anguish of the evening disappeared, although she was not about to let him know how her heart had suddenly filled with joy. "I would be honored, sir," she answered none too warmly. "Luckily you found me without a partner."
"I know," he said as they started dancing. "You've been the belle of the ball tonight."
She cocked her head and tartly asked, "Really? How would you know?"
"I am aware of every man you danced with, starting with that milksop, Lord Farley. Then Lieutenant Kenniston, followed by that major, then the milksop again—I saw him step on your toes, followed by—"
"Stop
," she said, finally laughing, her doubts replaced by a gush of pure joy. She smiled back at him coquettishly. "You could have asked me sooner."
"Ah, but I saved the best until last."
They danced mostly in silence with Flora noticing how quick, how graceful he was. At the end, he stepped back and said, "You're a marvelous waltzer, Lady Flora. I vow, you waltz as quick, if not quicker, than Madame Lieven herself."
What a marvelous compliment
, to be compared to one of the esteemed patroness of Almack's. When he led her back to the sidelines, her mother spoke up.
"My dear Lord Dashwood, you must come visit us tomorrow." She added as an afterthought, "And your friend, Lord Lynd, of course."
At any other time, Flora would have been embarrassed over her mother's blatant invitation, but now she held her breath, waiting for his answer.
A broad smile spread over Dashwood's face. "We'd be delighted. The house on the hill, is it not? Don't worry, we'll find our way. Tomorrow then." He bowed to Flora, a definite gleam of interest in his eyes.
Chapter 3
The moon barely shone through the heavy ocean mist as Richard flicked his whip over the bays pulling their curricle back to the house on the Marine parade he'd leased for the summer. He glanced sideways at Sidney, who sat silent beside him. "You did not enjoy the ball."
Sidney took a long time answering. "All things considered, no." He wished his friend
was not so damnably observant.
Richard nudged his companion's arm. "I note that you and that old reprobate, Lord Marshall, sat in a corner most of the evening. No doubt exchanging your tedious war stories."
"As a matter of fact, we were. I found my conversation with Marshall to be far more interesting than dancing with a passel of giddy young debutantes."
"But you hardly danced, except the once with Lady Flora."
"Had you nothing better to do all evening than observe me?"
"That's absurd. You very well know I devoted myself to the ladies tonight." Richard's voice lightened as he continued, "But of course I kept an eye on you. You are my guest. I wanted to see you had a good time."
Sidney felt a twinge of guilt. In this life, a man could count on but a handful of friends who truly cared about his well-being. Despite his many faults, Richard was one of those. "Sorry. As for Lady Flora, yes, I danced with her once and wished I hadn't."
"But she was the most beautiful girl there tonight, by far the most popular."
"Then why did you dance only one dance with her yourself, and the last one at that?"
"Ah, so you noticed," Richard replied, his voice suffused with self satisfaction. "But you see, that's my strategy. I know women well enough to know they want what they cannot have. If you want a woman, the worst thing you can do is chase after her like some puppy dog, especially one with as many suitors as Lady Flora. How old is she? Twenty-two or three? Been out since she was eighteen? So she's had several years of men begging for favors, throwing themselves at her feet. She's utterly spoiled, and that's what she expects now, but by God, she won't find me fawning over her.
Au contrair
." Chuckling, Richard snapped the reins, bringing the bays to a swift, trotting pace.
Sidney cast his friend a look of disgust, even though he knew Richard couldn't possibly see it in dark. "So just what is your strategy?"
"Indifference, that's the key. Amazing, how well it works. When I see a woman I want, I ignore her, though not entirely, of course. I give her a sample of that old Dashwood charm, just enough to rouse her interest. Soon she's dying for my attention. It's not long before she's dying for more." Even in the darkness, Sidney sensed Richard's triumphant little smile. "Works every time."
"Richard, you are absolute scum."
His friend met the insult with a hearty laugh. "Scum, perhaps, but I assure you my strategy works. Did you notice Lady Flora tonight? She could not keep her eyes off me. At the end of the evening when I danced with her, or, to put it another way, when I finally threw her a crumb, she was not only exceedingly grateful, she was ecstatic with relief that at last I had deigned to notice her."
So that's why she ignored me
. Sidney gritted his teeth, surprised at his own irritation. After his unsatisfactory dance with Lady Flora, he vowed not to dance again, telling himself he'd be an idiot if ever he attended another ball. "Why do you do this? What's to be gained?"
"Am I not free to pursue my pleasures?"
"That's not the point."
"Since when are you such a prude?" Richard asked with mild exasperation. "Am I not doing what most men do?"
"I can't argue." Sidney would say no more. Far be it from him to preach and moralize. Besides, in a society like the
ton
, prudish on the surface, but rife with corruption underneath, how could he possibly explain how, in recent years, he increasingly found the loose morals abhorrent? "So go pursue your pleasures," he said with a sigh.