Deb Marlowe - Cinderella in the Regency Ballroom

‘Jack, dear,’ the viscountess spoke before Lily could. ‘Do you really think I would allow Lily to do herself harm?’ She cocked her head at her son. ‘And in any case, I do not think you are in a position to speak to anyone about calm and rational conduct, not when you consider your own erratic temper over the last few weeks.’

He had the grace to redden a bit, but he ignored the jab at his own behaviour. ‘Well, there is that old Eastern philosophy—the one in which a person who saves a life becomes responsible for it thereafter.’

‘Let us not forget that you were driving the vehicle that threatened me,’ Lily said. ‘In fact, you saved me from yourself.’ She raised a challenging eyebrow. ‘What does your philosophy say about that?’

‘Oh, dear,’ Lady Dayle intervened. ‘If you two are going to squabble like cats, then I am off to speak with Lord Dearham. He is a great lover of music …’ she cast her son a speaking look ‘… unlike others I could name.’ Patting Lily affectionately, she said, ‘I shall meet you back at our seats when the music begins again, shall I?’

Lily watched her go before turning back to her victim. ‘If you do not enjoy music, Mr Alden, then I confess I am curious to hear why you would attend a musical evening.’

He rolled his eyes. ‘In fact, I do like music. But my mother will not forgive me for eschewing the operas that she so admires. I find that sort of entertainment too … tempestuous.’

‘I see,’ Lily said reflectively. ‘Not having experienced the opera myself, I must reserve judgement. Still, one wonders if something other than the music drew your interest here tonight.’

He stiffened, obviously a little puzzled by her hostility. ‘You are very perceptive, Miss Beecham.’ He glanced after Lady Dayle. ‘I find that I’m quite interested in the Evangelicals. I would like to know more about them.’

Lily lifted her chin. ‘We are not specimens to be examined, Mr Alden.’

‘Nor do I think so,’ he replied easily. ‘My brother mentioned their works and their intriguing notions on how to reform society.’ He shrugged. ‘I am here to learn.’

‘You chose well, then. There are several influential Evangelicals here tonight.’ She nodded across the room. ‘Mr Macaulay, in fact, would be an ideal person for you to speak with. I dare say he can tell you everything you need to know.’ She smiled ingratiatingly. ‘He looks to be free right now.’

‘Yes, he does indeed.’ He smiled and she received the distinct impression that he was trying to win her over. ‘But I came over here seeking a restful companion.’ His gaze wandered briefly over her. As if he had physically touched her, Lily felt her skin twitch and tingle in its wake. She had to fight to keep him from seeing how he affected her. ‘May I say,’ he continued with an incline of his head, ‘that I could not have found a lovelier one.’

‘Thank you.’ She kept her tone absent, as if his compliment had not set off a warm glow in her chest. ‘I should think that this line of inquiry is very different from your usual research. Your mother tells me that you are a notable scholar.’

He nodded.

‘You mentioned the ancients at our late supper a few days ago. Is that your area of specialty?’

‘Yes, ancient civilisations.’

She eyed him shrewdly. ‘I imagine you find it much easier to shut yourself up and study people of long ago than to deal with them in person. Real people can be so … tempestuous.’

That sardonic smile appeared. Lily’s heart jumped at the sight of it. ‘I do get out and amongst people on occasion, Miss Beecham. Thank goodness for it, too; I would not have missed making your acquaintance for the world.’

She ignored the good humour in his voice and let her gaze drop to his injured arm. ‘Yes, but I do hope you did not strain your arm in doing so.’

‘No, it is fine, thank you. I should be able to remove the sling in a week or two.’

‘When your mother told me of your profession, I asked her if you had sustained your injury in a fall from a library stepstool.’

Mr Alden choked on a sip of his wine. Lily saw his jaw tighten and when he spoke, his light tone had been replaced with something altogether darker.

‘No. Actually I was shot—while helping to prevent a group of thieves from making off with some valuable antiquities.’

‘So Lady Dayle tells me! I was quite amazed, and a little thrilled, actually.’ She smiled brightly at his reddening countenance. ‘You give me hope, you see.’

‘Hope?’ he asked, and his voice sounded only slightly strangled.

‘Indeed. For if a quiet scholar like you can find himself embroiled in such an adventure, then perhaps there is hope for a simple girl like me as well.’

It was a struggle, she could tell, but still he retained his expression of bland interest. Curse him.

‘Do you crave adventure, Miss Beecham?’ he asked.

‘Not adventure, precisely.’

‘Travel, perhaps? A flock of admirers?’ He was regaining his equilibrium, fast. ‘Or perhaps you simply wish for dessert?’ He flagged down a passing footman with a tray of pastries.

Lily had to suppress a smile. This oh-so-polite battle of wit and words was by far the most fun she had had in ages. She eyed the footman and decided to take the battle to the next level. She selected a particularly rich-looking fruit-filled tart. ‘Travel,’ she mused. ‘That would be delightful. But since I have it on good authority that I am of no age or situation conducive to easy arrangements, I suppose I must wait until I am older.’ She raised her tart in salute. ‘And stouter.’

Her eyes locked with his while she took a large bite, only to gradually close in ecstasy. She chewed, sighed and savoured. ‘Oh, I must tell your mother to try one—the burnt-orange cream topping is divine!’ Breathing deep, she held her breath for several long seconds before slowly exhaling. She opened languid eyes, taking care to keep them half-hooded as she glanced again at Mr Alden.

And promptly forgot to take a second bite. That had done it. At last she had cracked his polite façade. He stared, the green of his eyes nearly obliterated by pupils dilated with hunger. It wasn’t the tart that he hungered for, either. His gaze was fixed very definitely on the modest neckline of her gown.

‘So if travel must be a delayed gratification …’ he said hoarsely, then paused to clear his throat ‘… what will you substitute, Miss Beecham?’

‘This,’ replied Lily instantly, waving her free hand. ‘Delightful company with warm and open-minded people. The chance to exchange ideas, enjoy music and good conversation.’

‘I hear that Mrs Montague has opened her gallery to her visitors tonight,’ he returned. ‘She has several noteworthy pieces. Perhaps you will enjoy some good conversation with me while we explore it?’

Lily smiled at him. She popped the last bit of tart into her mouth and dusted the crumbs from her gloves. ‘Thank you, Mr Alden …’ she shook her head as he offered her his arm ‘… but I must decline. I see an acquaintance from the Foreign Bible Society and I simply must go and congratulate her on her gown.’ She dipped a curtsy and, fighting to keep a triumphant smile from her face, turned and set off.

Flummoxed, Jack watched Lily Beecham walk away. This was not at all going the way he had planned. He’d mapped his strategy so carefully, too, and the troublesome chit had derailed him completely.

Aberrant—that’s what she was. If it wasn’t against all the laws of nature for one female to inspire so many conflicting reactions in a man, then it should be. She acted in a manner completely unpredictable. Her sharp wit and quirky humour kept him perpetually unbalanced—just as he desperately sought an even keel.