by Anna Bradley
“I’m staying with my grandmother while my father is engaged with business overseas. She insisted on giving me a season, and he could hardly refuse.” The words flowed easily from Emma’s tongue, because they were, in fact, the truth.
Or close enough to it.
The only difference between her account and the truth was that the real Lady Emma Crosby had accompanied her father overseas. With her and Lord Crosby safely out of the way, plain Emma Downing had taken Lady Emma Crosby’s place. With a wave of Lady Clifford’s hand, she’d been transformed into an earl’s daughter.
It was merely a stroke of good luck the two of them happened to share a name. It made things much easier, yet the truth had a nasty habit of coming out, one way or another. Emma wasn’t naïve enough to imagine her ruse would be an exception. Lady Emma Crosby wasn’t out in society, but someone in London this season would surely have met her, and reveal Emma to be an imposter.
She could only pray the truth would stay hidden long enough for her to pry Lord Lovell’s secrets from his smiling lips, because if she failed, there would be no second chance. Not for Amy and Kitty, and not for Emma. By the time the season ended, half of London would recognize her face. Once she’d lost her anonymity, she’d be of little use to Lady Clifford, or to anyone else—
“Such a pretty flush in your cheeks, Lady Emma.” Lord Dunn gave her a shamelessly flirtatious smile. “Dancing flatters you.”
Emma forced an answering smile to her lips. “Thank you, my lord.”
He continued to chat amiably as they moved through the figures, Emma’s skirts spinning around her ankles. As she had predicted, Lord Dunn kept her on the floor for a second dance, which was long enough for the company to notice her, and begin to speculate.
For her part, Emma kept her attention focused on Lord Dunn, or rather did such an excellent job of appearing to do so that no one would have suspected how aware she was of everything around her: the chatter of conversation, the curious glances as Lord Dunn twirled her around the floor, and most of all, of Lord Lovell.
His gaze wandered to her more than once. For a fleeting instant, she allowed her eyes to meet his, her lips curved in the barest hint of a smile.
With any luck, that would be the beginning of the end for Lord Lovell.
Now she’d caught his attention, there was a good chance she’d be able to hold it. Dozens of lovely young ladies graced the ballroom tonight, but Emma knew things they didn’t know—things no innocent virgin should know.
How to entice with a glance, and lure with a smile. How to expose the barest hint of ankle with an innocent flirt of her skirts, and draw a man’s attention to her lips. Emma wasn’t certain whether it was amusing or tragic that her wiles should prove so useful at Almack’s, but for good or ill, she could boast all the sinful, salacious tricks of a practiced courtesan.
That was how she knew not to spare Lord Lovell another glance for the rest of the dance. Even when she could feel his gaze on her, and imagined his dark eyes willing her to look his way, she never let her attention wander from Lord Dunn, who was in no hurry to relinquish her.
By the time he did return her to Lady Crosby, laughing and breathless, Lady Crosby’s various acquaintances had come to bid her a good evening, and she had quite a crowd gathered around her. Among them were Lord Lovell and his mother, and several others who’d joined her while Emma was dancing with Lord Dunn.
Lady Crosby was just rising from her chair when Emma and Lord Dunn approached, her expression alight with pleasure as she held out her hand to a petite lady who’d just joined their party. “Lady Silvester? Edith, is that you?”
“My goodness, Henrietta?” Lady Silvester gushed, taking Lady Crosby’s hands. “But how wonderful! I didn’t realize you intended to spend the season in London.”
“Why, it’s been ages since I’ve seen you!” Lady Crosby pressed an affectionate kiss to the other lady’s powdered cheek.
“You’d see a great deal more of me if you came to London oftener,” Lady Silvester chastised gently. “But I won’t scold, because here you are. Truly, Henrietta, I couldn’t be more pleased to see you.”
Lady Crosby turned her attention to a pretty, dark-haired young lady at Lady Silvester’s side. “Don’t ever say this beautiful creature is your granddaughter?”
“She is, indeed.” Lady Silvester glowed with pride as she drew the young lady forward. “Flora, this is Lady Crosby, an old and very dear friend of mine from school.”
Lady Flora curtsied. “How do you do, Lady Crosby?”
“Why, very well indeed, child. You were in pinafores the last time I saw you, and now here you are, quite the young lady. Time truly does fly, does it not, Edith?” Lady Crosby gave Lady Silvester a misty smile. “Oh, but pardon me, such a peahen I am! May I present my granddaughter, Lady Emma Crosby, to you both? Come here, dear, and make your curtsies.”
“How do you do, Lady Silvester, and Lady Flora?” Emma offered them each a pretty curtsy.
“It’s a pleasure, Lady Emma.” Lady Silvester beamed at her.
“Lady Emma.” Lady Flora gave Emma a shy smile, and opened her mouth to say something else, but a tall, fair-haired gentleman approached her, and claimed her for a dance.
Lord Lovell’s dark eyes followed Lady Flora as her partner led her away, but then he seemed to shake himself, and offered Lord Dunn a careless bow. “How do you do, Dunn? Pleasure to see you.”
But he wasn’t looking at Lord Dunn. He was looking at Emma.
“You don’t appear to see me at all, Lovell.” Lord Dunn chuckled. “Not one to dally, are you? Very well. Lady Emma Crosby, this eager gentleman is Lord Lovell.”
“My lord.” Emma curtsied.
“Lady Emma.” Lord Lovell bowed over her hand, his lips a mere hair’s breadth from touching her glove. “It’s a plea—” Before he could say anything more, however, a thin, dark-haired lady approached and took his arm. He was obliged to turn away, and Lady Crosby seized the opportunity to whisper in Emma’s ear. “My goodness. That’s Lady Lymington. I didn’t expect to see her in London this season.”
“That’s Lady Lymington?” Emma whispered back. “But where’s the rest—”
“Emma, my love, I beg you not to inquire as to the whereabouts of the rest of Lady Lymington.”
Emma watched as Lady Lymington moved among the company, clutching at Lord Lovell’s arm. Her ladyship nodded graciously to various acquaintances, but didn’t speak much. “What’s she like?”
Lady Crosby shook her head. “I don’t know her well, but the ton regards her as a sweet lady, if rather timid.”
Lady Lymington looked nothing like her sister-in-law. She was fragile and pale, her shoulders slightly rounded, as if she were doing her best to shrink into the background. To Emma’s disgust, she couldn’t quell a pang of sympathy for the lady, who put her in mind more of a frightened rabbit than a haughty marchioness.
A frightened rabbit with two missing housemaids on her conscience, that is, both of whom had seemingly vanished into thin air without Lady Lymington expressing a single public word of concern for their whereabouts.
But Emma didn’t have time to dwell on Lady Lymington’s sins, because Lord Lovell had turned back to her and taken possession of her hand. “Lady Emma, I beg your pardon. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Lady Emma isn’t accustomed to your extravagant gallantry, Lovell,” Lord Dunn warned. “This is her first visit to London.”
“Well, of course it is.” Lord Lovell released her hand, a boyish grin on his lips. “If Lady Emma had ever appeared at Almack’s before, I’d remember her lovely blue eyes.”
Oh, but he was a gallant, wasn’t he? Why, one could almost hear the chorus of yearning sighs that arose from the young ladies gathered around them.
To her horror, a laugh tried to tear loose from Emma’s lips. No, a laugh wouldn’t do at all. An
innocent young lady on her first appearance at Almack’s didn’t burst into laughter when the most sought-after gentleman in the room paid her a compliment, no matter how ridiculous it was.
She managed a demure smile instead. “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Lord Lovell.”
“Are you, indeed?” Lord Lovell returned her smile with a flirtatious one of his own. “Then you’ll indulge me with your hand for the next two dances, Lady Emma?”
Emma was half-tempted to refuse him, just to teach him some humility, but if she danced with Lord Lovell now, then he’d be obliged to take her into supper, as well.
The timing was perfect.
Emma opened her mouth, but before she could murmur her assent, a gentleman behind Lord Dunn’s shoulder caught her attention. She gaped at him, forgetting herself entirely before gathering her wits enough to turn aside and whisper to Lady Crosby. “Dear God. Who is that?”
Lady Crosby turned, and sucked in a breath. “Oh, my. That, my dear Emma, is the Marquess of Lymington, Lady Lymington’s son, and Lord Lovell’s cousin. Rather a lot to take in at once, isn’t he?”
Emma’s mouth dropped open. “That scowling giant is that tiny, dainty lady’s son?”
“Indeed. Rather a mystery, but it’s said the marquess resembles his late father.”
He was the tallest man Emma had ever seen, and the wide, powerful breadth of his shoulders exaggerated the effect of his height, making him look positively massive. It wasn’t his size that arrested Emma’s attention, though.
It was everything else.
He had none of his cousin’s fashionable prettiness. Everything about him was hard, dark, forbidding, and excessively masculine. His clothing was impeccably tailored, yet somehow every seam appeared on the edge of bursting with the effort to contain him.
Like Lady Lovell, Lord Lymington appeared displeased with the company on offer at Almack’s, or perhaps he was just displeased in general. One might be forgiven for assuming so, given that scowl on his face.
It took another moment before Emma noticed it wasn’t just a random scowl intended for the company in general, but seemed to be directed right at her.
No, surely not.
She glanced over her shoulder, expecting to find someone looming behind her with a matching glare for Lord Lymington.
But there was no one. Emma turned around to face him again, eyes wide.
It was directed at her.
It wasn’t a passing glance, nor was it a friendly one. The Marquess of Lymington was glowering at her as if he’d like to leap across the space between them and devour her.
For a single instant Emma’s gaze met a pair of cool gray eyes. She stared back at him, her own eyes narrowing before she recalled she was meant to be a shy debutante. She dropped her gaze and gave a mental shrug, doing her best to dismiss him.
Let him glower all he liked.
The Marquess of Lymington was not, thankfully, her problem.
Chapter Three
The fair-haired, blue-eyed chit was going to be a problem.
Soft, silky gold hair gleaming under the chandeliers, creamy skin, and a slender, graceful form displayed to distracting advantage in a blue silk gown—a shade of blue too bright to be strictly proper for a debutante, but just shy of unseemly. If all that wasn’t tempting enough, she also happened to be graced with eyes the startling blue of perfect summer skies, or sparkling sapphires, or sunlit oceans, or some other similar nonsense.
Lovell was already flirting with the girl, and carefully ignoring Lady Flora. She was dancing with a slack-jawed Lord Barrett, who was gazing down into her pretty face and looking as if he’d been struck by lightning.
Samuel muttered a curse under his breath. Dear God, what a fool Lovell was—
“That scowl doesn’t become you, Lymington.”
Samuel turned at the deep rumble beside him, and found Lord Dunn at his elbow. “That fair-haired chit. Who is she?”
“Ah. That bewitching creature, Lymington, is Lady Emma Crosby, Lady Crosby’s granddaughter. This is her first visit to Almack’s, and her first time in London.”
Samuel’s eyes narrowed on her, his brow creasing. No bashful smile graced those lips, nor were those blue eyes opened wide in awe at the splendor of the rooms and the company. For a young lady who’d never set foot in London, Lady Emma Crosby appeared remarkably self-possessed. “She doesn’t behave like a debutante.”
“No? How is a debutante meant to behave, then?”
“Terrified, and trying to hide it.”
Dunn chuckled. “Well, don’t despair yet, Lymington. There’s every chance she’ll find your scowl terrifying. Not that it will damage her prospects much. That girl is well on her way to becoming the undisputed belle of the season.”
“My cousin seems to think so.” Lovell looked as if he were already composing odes to the girl’s beauty in his head.
“Yes, well, Lovell has a gift for finding the loveliest lady in every ballroom.”
Samuel grunted. “It’s not a gift, Dunn, it’s a curse. The loveliest lady in any ballroom is invariably the most troublesome.”
“Really, Lymington, you might at least wait until you’ve been introduced to Lady Emma before you decide she’s more trouble than she’s worth.”
“It’s nothing to do with her. The fault lies with Lovell. Lovely young ladies addle his wits.” When Lovell became addled, trouble was sure to follow. Indeed, it already was.
Lovell had been madly in love with Lady Flora for years, but it had taken a duel and long, lonely weeks in a sick bed for him to realize it. Of course, love being the fickle thing it was, no sooner had Lovell prepared to declare himself than Lady Flora, disgusted with his antics, had fled to London for the season in search of the sort of gentleman who’d make a proper husband.
A gentleman like Lord Barrett, for instance.
“It’s not Lady Emma who offends you then, Lymington, but lovely young ladies as a whole?”
“Why should I find Lady Emma offensive? I don’t even know the girl.” But the truth was, she did offend Samuel, for the same reason Lord Barrett did.
She was in the way.
To be fair, she wasn’t the only one casting her lures at Lovell. If Samuel could judge by the whispering and the coquettish glances, nearly every young lady on this side of the ballroom was doing the same. Lady Emma’s only sin was in having a prettier face than all the others.
No other lady, no matter how lovely her face, how blue her eyes, could ever take Lady Flora’s place in Lovell’s heart, but Lovell was already half in despair over his chances of winning back Flora. Now here was Lady Emma, the perfect distraction.
Samuel couldn’t let some blue-eyed chit turn his cousin’s head now, when Lovell was at last well enough to beg Lady Flora’s forgiveness, and win the lady who’d stolen his heart.
“Well, I doubt you’ll have any quarrel with Lady Emma,” Dunn said. “She’s a charming young lady.”
Charming. Damn it. In addition to that face, she was also charming? “If she’s so charming, why don’t you court her, Dunn?”
That would keep her out of Lovell’s way.
“I’m not looking for a wife, Lymington. It’s a pity, really, as I can’t say I’d mind being caught on the end of Lady Emma’s hook.”
Samuel snorted. “I daresay she’d be delighted to hear it, Dunn. Young ladies are always charmed by fishing analogies.”
Nearly as charmed as they were by naval battle analogies.
Dunn smirked. “Perhaps you’ll fall victim to Lady Emma’s allure yourself. I’d quite like to see that.”
“Unlikely, Dunn.” Samuel’s heart was made of sterner stuff than Lovell’s. Near impenetrable, really—
A sweet, light sound drifted over to him, and Samuel jerked his head toward it. It was Lady Emma, laughing at some nonsense of Lovell’s,
her lovely red lips curved in a breathtaking smile.
Damn it. Even the girl’s laugh was enchanting. It sounded like tinkling bells.
Abruptly, Samuel had seen enough. “Make yourself useful, Dunn, and invite Lady Flora to dance once she’s finished with Barrett, will you? Two dances, if you would, then escort her into supper.”
“My pleasure, Lymington.”
Dunn could be trusted not to press a suit of his own with Lady Flora, but Samuel couldn’t say the same for the rest of the gentlemen in the ballroom this evening. Flora had no fortune, but the gentlemen here who needn’t worry about money would rush to court her soon enough, and Lovell would be out for good.
Samuel strode forward. A quick glance revealed his mother was deep in a conversation with Lady Crosby, so he made his way toward Lovell, and overheard him murmur in Lady Emma’s ear.
“…indulge me with your hand for the next two—”
“There you are, Lovell.” Samuel cut his cousin off just in time to prevent him from asking Lady Emma to dance.
Lovell looked up, his face darkening. “Lymington. Where did you come from?”
“I was dancing with Lady Jane Townsley. It is a ball, after all.”
Samuel glanced from Lovell to Lady Emma, then back to Lovell, and raised an eyebrow. Lovell wasn’t pleased at the interruption, but he could hardly refuse to make the introductions.
Lovell scowled, but bowed to the inevitable. “Lady Emma Crosby, this is my cousin, the Marquess of Lymington.”
Lady Emma sank into a dainty curtsy. “How do you do, Lord Lymington?”
Samuel frowned. Her voice…had he heard it before?
There was something familiar about it, but he couldn’t quite place it. It hovered just at the edges of his consciousness, teasing him. Smooth, a trifle husky, it conjured up images of—
He froze.
A lady, silhouetted in a pair of glass doors, then drifting across a darkened library, her movements fluid, silent. A lovely, sylphlike creature, floating inches above the ground, mysterious and ethereal.