Raven McAllan - The Lord’s Persuasion of Lady Lydia

She smiled insipidly, stood and curtsied, and held out her hand. ‘What a surprise, my lord. After all, we have only been missing each other for years.’

Harry returned the smile and turned her hand over deftly to kiss her palm. He was satisfied when she gasped and the tiny pulse in her wrist showed. The lady next to her gave her a glance that could only be described as envious. Harry ignored her and curled Lydia’s fingers over the spot he had touched.

‘Save it for later, my dear.’

The pulse in her wrist jumped and she licked her lips.

Damn it, does she know how arousing that is? She might pretend to be immune, but he knew differently. Thankfully.

‘My lord,’ she said pleadingly. ‘Do not.’

‘Harry.’

She shook her head. ‘My lord, please do not single me out so. People will talk.’

‘I swear that “no” and “do not” are the most used words to come from your charming mouth, my dear. Now, my name is Harry and I give you leave to use it.’

She firmed her lips and a tiny sigh came from between them. ‘I cannot. It is not seemly and you know it. Tittle-tattle discomposes me, especially if I am at the centre of it.’

He tilted his head slightly and considered her. She didn’t seem overly discomposed, just a mite irritated. ‘People always talk. Come walk with me.’ He held his arm up and waited, daring her to agree or perhaps cause a scene. ‘They will gossip even more if they think I snubbed you – or, worse, that you snubbed me.’

****

Lydia saw three young ladies glance her way and nudge each other. Next they would send her either envious or pitying looks. She might as well be the centre of attention in a manner those women and others thought of enviously. Just once. With that thought uppermost, she inclined her head and took the proffered arm.

‘There now, that wasn’t so bad, was it?’ Harry said cheerfully. ‘I didn’t bite or make you jump. No sky fell on us, no footman fainted, or rake felt as though he were stabbed through the heart.’

She chuckled. ‘No, indeed, so all is well in our world then.’

He gave her a glance that could almost be construed as suspicious. She made haste to change his mind. ‘They do not understand things, some people. It is fine, is it not? Our world at the moment.’

‘Almost, my dear, but not totally. You are still insisting you will leave London soon.’

Lydia glanced up at him. His dark eyes gave no hint of his emotions. As ever he was immaculately dressed. The sapphire that sparkled in the snowy folds of his cravat matched the stones at her ears and around her neck, and his waistcoat had a thin, discreet thread of blue shot through it that complimented the jewels they wore, and the ruffle of her gown. Very clever. One could almost think he knew what she was going to wear before she did. For one fleeting moment she wondered if his valet were in cahoots with her maid before she dismissed the idea.

‘Leaving London is the major good thing,’ she said as she nodded to Lady Cowper and Princess Lieven as those ladies thankfully passed by without speaking. ‘I can hardly wait.’

‘How long have I got to change your mind?’ Harry drawled. ‘Nod at Lord Firth.’

Lydia smiled wryly, and nodded as indicated. He was like a dog and his bone. ‘You won’t. Can you not accept that?’ It seemed as if all she ever did was repeat herself to him, and he chose not to listen.

‘It seems not. Where is your dance card?’

‘My what?’ His abrupt change of direction confused her. ‘Oh, my dance card.’ It was something she rarely had cause to use. ‘Why?’

‘So I can sign it,’ he said patiently. ‘I assume you do have one somewhere, even though it is not on show?’

‘Oh, I have one.’ Her mama asked her more than once every time they attended a ball. She thought she knew her daughter well, and understood Lydia had no interest in dancing. Actually, Lydia did like dancing and had been taught well at the exclusive ladies’ seminary she had attended. However, she did not wish to dance with someone who had been coerced to ask her and only did so on sufferance. ‘I just choose not to advertise the fact.’

‘Why on earth not?’ Harry asked in a bewildered voice. ‘It is the reason for a female to attend a ball, surely?’

How little he knew of a debutante’s world. ‘Not in my case. I attend because my mama decrees so. Do you know how embarrassing it is to those of us who are only asked to dance because our hostess has forced a gentleman to ask us?’ she demanded, ignoring the fact she had intended to revert to her meek and mild persona. ‘Knowing he’d rather be anywhere else than leading us down the room? Forced to smile and say thank you to someone who is so patently uninterested, you can see him eying up everyone except you? Knowing that once the obligatory dance is over he will bow and scurry away? And do not get me started on the so-called debutantes who are the toast of the ton, who laugh behind your back, and then shower you with false, syrupy sympathy. Their beauty is only skin deep.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Oh, believe me, I could go on and on.’ Lydia stopped talking abruptly and bit the inside of her mouth, conscious of how close they were to other people. The last thing she needed or wanted was to cause a scene. ‘Sorry.’

He patted her hand. ‘It is I who should say that. I honestly hadn’t realised how self-centred and unthinking we males are. However, I would like to have the first waltz with you and the supper dance. Look on it as thumbing your nose at the tabbies if you like. And those insufferable incomparables who do not have one tenth of your personality.’ Behind them the sound of violins got louder. ‘Your card?’ he prompted. ‘Perhaps now it will be the second waltz.’

‘I’m sorry, my lord.’ She raised her head and worried her lip; something she had seen shy, sweet young things do to great effect. However, Lydia would wager she just looked stupid. She might want to come across as docile and boring, but never stupid. ‘What do you want me to do now?’

‘Walk on, so we aren’t interrupted, is a good start.’ He urged her out of the long windows that led to the gardens, and along the terrace to where several flickering sconces lit a selection of seats and tables. ‘I see that annoying Miss Dixon and the even stupider Mr Fitchett to our right. If we increase our pace they shouldn’t catch us up and regale us with inane conversation.’

‘Ah, yes.’ Oh, stupid.

Only one table was occupied, as most couples were drifting back inside to where the strains of a waltz could be heard. ‘We can sit here, a perfectly conventional couple and chat…’ – he paused and winked – ‘…about anything we like. As long as you don’t blush or hit me.’

Lydia allowed Harry to seat her on a curved, padded bench and waited as he sat down beside her, leaving a correct distance between them. ‘I would never be so unladylike as to attack anyone,’ she said in a suitably shocked voice. ‘I’m sure you are much too much a gentleman for me to ever have the urge or the need to do so.’

He quirked one eyebrow in a manner she knew was intended to intimidate. Damn it, she would not let him see how it – and him in general – affected her. Lydia wondered how she could make herself blush without reason and lowered her head in order, she accepted, to mask the fact she wasn’t intimidated. Then she caught a glimpse of his staff, outlined by fine material, and knew the answer. Her thoughts strayed to what was under that material and how, she had read, it was used. Heat rushed into her face. Where was her fan when she needed it? ‘You would not behave in that way,’ she added faintly for good measure.

‘If you think that, my dear, you are truly more naïve than I give you credit for. Somehow…’ Harry tipped her chin up with the tip of his forefinger. ‘No, I do not accept that.’