Raven McAllan - The Lord’s Persuasion of Lady Lydia

Lydia had no comeback. She folded her hands in her lap. It was that or mangle her reticule. Damn him. Was he going to be the one who saw through her façade? Why, oh why, had he singled her out? Any other gentleman would have left her once she assured them she was fine. Not him. He had to involve Lady Raith, who Lydia was certain would not have introduced him to her without his insistence, and now at another ball he had once more given her his undivided attention. Why?

A servant approached with a salver and Harry took two glasses of champagne from it and held one out to her. ‘Will this help and give you something to do with your hands?’ Harry paused and grinned. ‘Other than hold your fingers so tightly together your knuckles are white. I’m not here to upset you, my dear Lydia, more to reassure you I am a good, upright citizen with your best interests at heart.’

Really? Oh, Hades . Lydia took the glass with a murmur of thanks. Why did she think his ideas would not mesh with hers? She was going to need to have her wits about her, and be very alert. Please, God, do not let my attraction or nervousness show. These sorts of nerves were not due to innocence or reticence, more down to the discovery he seemed to see through her façade.

Why?

‘So kind,’ she said faintly, and watched his lips quirk.

‘Isn’t it?’ he agreed amiably. ‘I can be even more kind when it is warranted. Shall we discover if this is one of those times?’

Oh lord. When would she learn not to treat him like most of the other idiotic young bucks who couldn’t see what was under their nose?

Her stomach lurched. If only the servant had brought food as well. She was thirsty and felt somewhat nauseous, but her overwhelming fear was her tummy might rumble because she hadn’t managed to eat any supper. Perhaps she had better take her time with the champagne.

Lydia put her glass down and took a deep breath, knowing she was probably going to say something she would regret later. ‘What were we talking about earlier?’

‘Your dance card.’

With a sigh that rustled the hem of her dress, Lydia opened her reticule, resigned now to becoming the focus of people’s interest. ‘If you must.’ She handed the card with its attached pencil over to him.

Harry grinned. ‘I must.’ He scribbled his name twice and handed it back to her. ‘I’d fill it except then that would cause a stir.’ He bowed very formally. ‘I believe this is our dance, my dear. Ready?’

She sighed again and hated the way it sounded breathy, not resigned. ‘As I will ever be.’

Harry laughed and his dark eyes sparkled. ‘You do my ego so much good, my lady. There is no chance of it becoming overinflated with you around.’

‘I, er…’ she stammered, not knowing what to say, and he winked.

‘Don’t worry. I know that secretly you want to dance with me and only your innocence and reticence stops you showing it.’ He took her glass and sat it down on the table next to his. ‘Into the fray?’

There really was no answer to that. Lydia swallowed and smiled as he led her on to the dance floor and hoped she would not disgrace herself. It was a long while since she’d danced properly with someone who had asked her because he actually wanted to be her partner and not because he had been forced into it. She suspected it might feel different.

It did.

Once Harry swung her into his arms and began to waltz, Lydia forgot everything except the joy of dancing with someone who wanted her in his arms, and was not wishing for the dance to end. Someone who danced beautifully and let her do the same. Their steps matched, and she knew that, for once in her life, she was envied and not pitied. Her skirts brushed his legs as they executed a flourishing turn, and she could almost imagine his arms tightened as he steered her around another couple. Did his chest touch her? Did he really press his lips to her hair? Goodness, was he flirting?

Lydia glanced up at him and he smiled in such a way she could almost imagine she mattered to him. Which, of course, was stupid. Harry Birnham’s views on women were well known. Love them and leave them, and no love came into the equation. Even so, it was rumoured women queued up to share his bed, even briefly. That would never do for Lydia. To be a convenience seemed so demeaning. He had no intention of getting leg-shackled and, when he did, everyone knew he would take a wife to ensure the line and nothing more. Even more humiliating. It would never do for her and Lydia knew it. But he danced like a dream and, for one brief moment, it was good to be envied not pitied.

They danced on. Sadly, it was all too soon that the music stopped and she remembered to curtsey to her partner.

Harry bowed as he held her hand for a second longer than was truly acceptable. His eyes gleamed and he chuckled softly. ‘How the hell you are not inundated with suitors for every dance I do not know. That was sheer pleasure, my dear, and I look forward to the next.’

The sincerity in his voice was enough to make her body tingle and tiny pinpricks of desire danced down her spine. The man had enough charisma for three men and it was oh so dangerous. How simple it would have been to bask in his admiration and go with the flow. And how easily that could lead to the destruction of her carefully constructed world. Even so… ‘It makes a difference to be with someone who wasn’t forced to ask you to…’ She broke off. Her unruly tongue would be the social death of her. Lydia might want to leave, but preferably not in disgrace. ‘I, er…’

Harry glared. ‘You infuriating woman. Are you intimating I was coerced into dancing with you? No such thing. I was not forced to ask you, and you know it.’

It was interesting, she thought, how he could convey such annoyance and still speak in a level tone.

‘I danced with you for my enjoyment and, I hope, yours,’ he continued. ‘I look forward to our next dance and would not relinquish you if I didn’t have to. Now, to where would you like me to escort you? Your mama?’

Lydia shuddered. ‘Heaven forbid. I’m fine here. I will go and get some lemonade and sit and watch the dancers.’

He shook his head. ‘I will escort you to get some lemonade and we will watch the dancers.’

That was surely a recipe for disaster? ‘People will talk.’

Harry looked around. ‘People are talking anyway. It’s to be expected. I don’t dance normally, you only do when coerced, and I’m certain we appeared as if we were enjoying ourselves. Look on the bright side. If they are talking about us, they are not upsetting anyone else.’

He had a point. ‘I hate being the centre of attention,’ she grumbled as he took her arm once more and carved a way though the throng towards the anteroom where an assortment of drinks waited. ‘It’s all right for you. You can do the lordly bit and ignore anyone you don’t want to talk to. I, however, have to grit my teeth and bear it all.’

Harry handed her a glass of lemonade, and took a goblet of wine for himself. She eyed it mulishly as he led her to a low, soft chaise and waited while she settled down on the dark-green, velvet cushions. Why should she have to have lemonade while he had wine? She hadn’t heard of that in those damned unwritten rules for debs.

‘Here.’ He smiled in amusement, handed her the wine, and put the lemonade on a nearby table. ‘I have never know someone who can convey so much annoyance without saying a word. I’ll get another one for myself.’

Lydia smiled back. ‘Thank you, my lord.’

Harry laughed. ‘You keep me on my toes.’

She sipped the rich, ruby red and robust wine. ‘Good.’

‘Wait there.’ He took the few steps needed to reach out and accept another glass of wine and returned to sit in an armchair next to her, then shook his head. ‘Why people think you are sweet and effacing, I cannot fathom. You are anything but, aren’t you?’