“Good evening, Miss Isobel,” he said smoothly. “You look lovely tonight. That color suits you very well.”
Izzy felt herself flushing. There was an undertone in his voice that she didn’t trust at all. A slight ironic note? Aware of the interested ears close by, she muttered a passably polite greeting. Amusement glinted in his eyes.
She bristled. She opened her mouth to blast him, then recalled the listeners avidly swaying closer, ears subtly pricked. Curse it, how could she possibly confront him here? There was a reason they called it “polite society”—people might be at daggers drawn, but they would never show it openly. Instead they exchanged remarks that seemed polite and unexceptional on the surface but were tremendously cutting underneath.
She tried to think of something polite but tremendouslycutting to say to him. But couldn’t think of a thing. Those ice-gray eyes were too distracting.
“How dare you decide who I dance with,” she said in a low voice.
“Of course, it’s time for our dance, is it not?” he said loudly as if she’d come to remind him. Without waiting for a response, he tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and led her onto the dance floor.
“But—” She bit her lip. If she resisted, it would only cause the kind of gossip she wanted to avoid.
It was a country-dance, so there was very little chance of conversation. Her jaw tight with resentment, she danced, meeting his gaze as infrequently as possible. But she was aware the whole time of his eyes on her.
When the dance finished and everyone was leaving the floor, she hung back a little, waiting for a chance at private speech. When it occurred, she said to him in a vehement undertone, “What I do and with whom I do it is none of your business. You are Clarissa’s guardian, not mine—”
“Thank God for that.”
She glared at him. “So concern yourself with her, notme. I will dance with whomever I choose, and I will thank you to stay out of my affairs.”
“Sir Jasper Vibart is an inveterate gambler and a ruthless rake.”
“I care nothing for that. He is good-looking, entertaining company and an excellent dancer. Which is all that matters to me at the moment.”
“He has ruined several young women. You can’t trust him.”
“I was simply going todancewith him! In public at a crowded party,” she snapped. “Besides, whatever I choose to do with him or any other man is my business, Lord Salcott. Yours is to protect Clarissa. She doesn’t mind your bossy ways. I do. I will take care of my own future, thank you, so stop interfering.”
“I did it for your own good,” he said stiffly.
“Well, stop it. My good—or my bad—is for me to decide.” She marched off the dance floor, only to find Lord Giddings, in knee breeches and a tight coat of purple satin, waiting for her, his plump face wreathed in smiles.
“Miss Isobel, how very delightful you look this evening. Our dance, I believe.”
Trapped, Izzy pasted a polite smile over gritted teeth and allowed him to lead her out for the next set. If that dratted chaperone didn’t arrive soon, she would probably murder Lord Salcott.
***
The following day, Leo, having learned Clarissa and Isobel were attending Lord and Lady Clendon’s rout that evening, announced that he would escort them to it.
“But it’s already arranged,” Isobel said, bristling visibly. “Lord and Lady Tarrant are going and Lady Tarrant offered to chaperone us.”
“Very generous of her. Nevertheless, I will escort you. As Clarissa’s guardian, it is my duty,” Leo said, aware hesounded like an antediluvian old fossil. “I have notified Lord and Lady Tarrant. And,” he added, as his aunt opened her mouth to enter the fray, “I have arranged for Betty to accompany us in the carriage. She will await the young ladies’ pleasure in the servants’ quarters.”
As he spoke, the maid emerged from belowstairs, her eyes shining. “Thank you, melord, I never been to a proper lord’s party,” she confided. “Not indoors, I mean. I’m ever so excited.”
And that, more than anything Leo could say, put an end to any argument from Isobel. So much for Leo being in charge.
The carriage pulled up at the front of the house, the young ladies donned their evening cloaks, and Leo helped them into the carriage. Isobel was looking enchanting in a dress of mulberry silk trimmed with lace. Her hair was up, bound in place by a thin mulberry ribbon. Tiny dark curls clustered around her temples and nape. He longed to trail his fingers through them.
Clarissa, too, looked very smart in a gauzy peach-colored dress. The maid was wearing a blue dress he’d seen on Isobel once, and wore the red pelisse over it. Isobel noticed him observing it and with a challenging look raised her chin. The maid’s fine clothing was a statement.
A temporary truce might have been arranged, but hostilities still simmered underneath. But Leo had plans for that.
They entered Lady Clendon’s home. Clarissa looked ahead and gave a little sigh of pleasure. The carpets had been rolled back, chairs were arranged around the edge of the room, and musicians were tuning up. “Oh good, there’s going to be dancing,” she exclaimed. “So much more pleasant thanconversazione.”
Leo immediately reserved two dances with Clarissa and two with Isobel.
