Dex set his jaw grimly, a wave of disgust rising at the mere mention of that horrible place. “I owed it to a mutual friend to set that vile termagant back a pace or two. She had it coming.”
“Well, you’ve made an enemy there, old boy! Once word got out that you’d taken such a negative interest in her affairs, customers dropped off sharply. She’d built quite a little empire for herself. She’s been telling all and sundry that she’s after revenge.”
“Revenge!” scoffed Dex. “What could she ever do to me? An abbess of the lowest order!”
“Maggie Flanagan is not without means, friend. Has a reputation as a cold-blooded viper, doesn’t take kindly to anything or anyone standing in her way. She’s raised enough of a fuss about your interference to raise some eyebrows. If I were you, I’d keep an ear out in her direction. It doesn’t hurt to be wary!”
“I do appreciate you looking out for a friend, but I think we can both agree that I have some distinct advantages over that harpy. What is she going to do, smother me in feathers?” He chuckled a bit, grateful for the brief moment of levity in what had otherwise been a tense evening thus far.
His eyes searched involuntarily for the source of that tension.
She wore flowing white, soft and drapey, the green sash at her small waist, and she almost seemed to float, her feet barely touching the floor. She was youth, beauty, zest for life. She moved like flickering candlelight, illuminating those around her, bringing smiles to faces and light to eyes. Whatever she might be feeling for him, she would soon flit off like a butterfly seeking an easier perch.
He was so accustomed to living life in this closely structured, regimented way, and she’d set him off-balance. Once he’d fulfilled his promise, protected her entrance into public life, seen her safely and comfortably settled, his life could go back to the way he liked it: solitary and uneventful.
And yet... one touch from her gloved fingers and his body was tense with longing. He had to get himself under control. If anyone in this room could read his thoughts, there’d be a scandal of epic proportions.
He was a man of thirty-five and she a young lady. His ward, to protect, to honor, and to see settled. Her father always there in his mind. The anguish in his eyes. The blood staining her innocent letters. She wasn’t his to kiss. She would have a perfect, beautiful life. She would fall in love with a handsome young unscarred buck and leave his house and be mistress there.
As if pulled to him by his thoughts of her, she danced over, twirling and laughing, even though the music had stopped.
“Your Grace.” She curtsied prettily, her face flushed from dancing, curls escaping the confines of her hair ribbons.
“You’re not to dance with Lord Somersby again. Didn’t I warn you about him?”
Her fingers curled over his bicep. He flexed instinctively, wanting her to feel the steel of his muscles. Her toes tapped intime to the music. “I was warned. I simply chose not to heed that warning.”
Her fingers innocently stroked his arm.
“Are you enjoying yourself, Miss Crewe?” Patrick asked.
“Immensely. It’s my first ball. I’m taking notes.”
“For your novel.”
“Exactly. Lord Somersby told me that my hair was the color of a field of sun-dappled marigolds. Isn’t that a good line?”
Too good. Dex wished he’d thought of it. He’d stood there like a blockhead, telling her she was beautiful. The only words that had come to mind. Nothing so poetic as comparing her hair to sun-dappled marigolds. He’d lost the ability to make courtly compliments.
“Everyone’s in a flutter about your return to society, Your Grace. Some of my old schoolmates begged me to ask you to dance with them.”
“I don’t dance.”
“Would it kill you to be gracious just once in your life?”
Patrick chuckled. “Well put, Miss Crewe. Everyone’s always attempting to match me with ladies. I’m delighted to see Warburton take my place as one of the most eligible bachelors this Season.”
“I’d sooner scar the good side of my face than mince around a dance floor. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go and find Aunt Glynis. She can’t have gone far.”
“I’ll stay with Miss Crewe and say delightful things that she will want to add to the dialogue in her novel.” He bowed over Miss Crewe’s hand with an irritatingly charming upward glance.
Dex marched away, purposefully stopping himself from turning back to see what they were up to. He couldn’t find Aunt Glynis. Perhaps she’d gone to the retiring room.
Several mamas with marriageable daughters attempted to engage his attention but he repeated his intention not to dance, to their great distress. When he returned, Patrick was alone.
“Where’s Miss Crewe?”
“She said she needed to splash some water on her face. She left for the retiring room ten minutes ago.”