“You seem pleased Lord Selbourne is in attendance this evening.” His tone itself was an accusation.
Oh, dear. She hadn’t considered Reginald’s reaction to her plan to corner Selbourne. No doubt her fiancé expected her to appear suitably cool toward the man who’d so recently threatened and cowed him.
“Ah . . .” Think quickly, Lucia. “I—I’ve decided to be hospitable to Lord Selbourne.”
He frowned.
“Merely in the interest of ensuring a pleasant evening, darling.” She sighed dramatically and gazed across the room at Francesca with what she hoped looked like sisterly devotion. “It means so much to Francesca that her party be a success.”
Reginald’s frown softened. Lucia bit her lip and blinked rapidly. “I do hope you follow my example, darling.”
“I suppose we owe the marquess and marchioness that much,” he agreed, but Lucia heard the reluctance in his voice. “Here, my dear, take my arm.”
Lucia took the proffered arm as a sign of forgiveness—or at least of a truce.
“Lady Winterbourne is rising from her seat. Shall I take you down to dinner?”
SEVERAL HOURS AND A dozen courses later, Alex watched Lucia and the other ladies retreat to the drawing room, leaving the men to their preferred vices. Thank God. The evening had been interminable.
Ethan produced Spanish cigars and a bottle of Portuguese port, which, considering the vast quantities of wine already consumed, did nothing to temper the heated arguments.
Sober and weary of dining room war strategy, Alex strode to the window facing Grosvenor Square. He scowled at the carriages racing past the park. Dinner parties. Balls. The theater. What was he doing here? Why wouldn’t Wentworth allow him to return to France? Who knew what Old Boney had up his sleeve this week?
Certainly not the new operative Wentworth had sent in response to the missive Alex had delivered to Pitt. Alex didn’t know who the agent was, but he couldn’t possibly have the same resources or the vast network of contacts Alex boasted. Bloody hell. His country needed him.
“You’re ruining my wife’s dinner party.” Ethan clamped him on the shoulder then handed him a snifter of brandy. “You’ve been sullen and morose all evening, and if I know Francesca, she’ll be up half the night trying to figure out why. And that means I’ll be up half the night as well.”
Alex smiled for the first time all evening. “My apologies.”
“Apologies won’t get my head on the pillow. Grant me a few hours’ sleep and say it’s something simple. How about the food?”
“Sorry, but the food was excellent. My compliments to Francesca and your chef.”
“The society then. She can dissect that in threequarters of an hour.”
“No. Yes.” Alex glanced out the window.
“You’re killing me, Alex. Yes or no? Give me something. I’m exhausted, man.”
“I’d be more sympathetic if I didn’t know you have your own methods of diverting your wife.”
Ethan grinned. “And don’t think I won’t resort to them.”
The din of voices rose, and Alex glanced at the table where Dandridge was smoking, his face florid from arguing vehemently with Lord Brigham over some inconsequential issue. Alex’s fists clenched, and he turned away again.
“Ah, so it’s her fiancé that’s behind this mood.”
Alex rounded on his brother. “I wasn’t thinking of her.”
Ethan shook his head. “I wish you hadn’t been because I can’t tell Francesca this, and now I’ll never get any rest. But I know you, Alex. You’ve been watching Lucia all night, and she’s been watching you. What’s happened between you?”
Alex saw no point in lying. “Nothing of any consequence.”
“Of consequence to her or you?”
“To either. I haven’t defiled her, if that’s your meaning.”
“That’s precisely my meaning. Dandridge won’t take it kindly if he doesn’t find a virgin in his bed.”
