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Authors: Ella Quinn
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announced?” Miss Emerson, a plump lady in her early twenties who’d joined them, asked.
Miss Featherton glanced at the ceiling and huffed. “No, I was looking at him.”
Serena gave a polite smile. “He is Viscount Beaumont.”
“He reminds me of a Greek god.” Miss Featherton sighed. “I’ve never seen him before. He must not spend much time in London.”
“Oh no, I believe he spends most of his time in London.” Miss Emerson lowered her voice. “I heard Dowager Lady Worthington say to Mama he’d not attended a ball like this for years, and he must be thinking of marrying.” She frowned slightly. “Then Mrs. Carter said she’d heard of a lady in despair over him, and Mama said she knew the lady and that the lady should have known better than to behave as she did.”
Serena’s grip on her fan tightened. This gossip about Lord Beaumont didn’t sound at all good.
Miss Featherton’s eyes grew wide. “Did they say the woman’s name?”
“No, they saw me and Lady Worthington just remarked that the ball would now be a success because he’d attended. Mama said I could stand up with Lord Beaumont if he asked me, but I mustn’t go anywhere alone with him.”
Miss Featherton’s eyes grew even wider and her voice dropped to a whisper. “Do you think he is a rake?”
“Well . . .” Miss Emerson glanced around and said in a conspiratorial tone, “I think he must be. Otherwise why would Mama stop talking about him when she saw me? If he’s looking for a wife, perhaps he’s reforming.”
Serena pressed her lips together. How dare these girls blacken his name so carelessly? “I wouldn’t repeat idle gossip. He is a friend of my cousin, Lady Evesham, and he’s been very kind to me.”
Miss Emerson’s face fell. “But wouldn’t it be romantic to have a reformed rake fall in love with one?” She sighed. “I’d be happy just to dance with him.”
For the first time since Serena had arrived in London, she felt the differences in the ages of the other ladies making their come out. She wasn’t at all sure rakes did reform, which boded ill for her if the talk was true. When Lord Beaumont was near, she had trouble remembering any other gentlemen existed.
Robert bowed and lifted Serena’s hand to his lips before placing it on his arm. He’d wanted to talk to her and keep her by his side. Unfortunately, the quadrille was not conducive to holding a lengthy conversation.
He smiled, confident in his ability to charm her as easily as he did any other female. “Lady Serena, you dance delightfully.”
She glanced up shyly. “Thank you, my lord. I have not danced the quadrille long. I’m a little concerned I might miss my steps.”
Robert blinked, caught off guard by her guilelessness. “I would never have guessed you’d not been dancing it for years.”
Serena smiled delightedly up at him, and he stopped breathing.
“I am having such a good time in London. I feel almost like a princess,” she confided.
And he was lost, struggling not to respond to her innocent joy. Collecting himself, Robert replied with practiced grace. “You look like a princess.”
The paces of the dance parted them and brought them together again. Serena glanced at him, gratefully. “Thank you, my lord. You are too kind.”
Robert searched her face when she spoke the words he’d heard too often while engaging in a flirtation. Yet unlike other females, she meant what she’d said and he didn’t want her gratitude. He wanted . . . He didn’t know what he wanted, except for her to smile again. “I am only telling you the truth.”
She did look like a princess and was easily the most elegant and beautiful woman in the room. Her gown of Pomona green set off the red in her hair and was cleverly fashioned to make her shoulders appear almost naked. What would the rest of her look like? She wore only a long strand of pearls looped low over her luscious breasts. Breasts he desperately wanted to touch and taste.
Miss Featherton glanced at the ceiling and huffed. “No, I was looking at him.”
Serena gave a polite smile. “He is Viscount Beaumont.”
“He reminds me of a Greek god.” Miss Featherton sighed. “I’ve never seen him before. He must not spend much time in London.”
“Oh no, I believe he spends most of his time in London.” Miss Emerson lowered her voice. “I heard Dowager Lady Worthington say to Mama he’d not attended a ball like this for years, and he must be thinking of marrying.” She frowned slightly. “Then Mrs. Carter said she’d heard of a lady in despair over him, and Mama said she knew the lady and that the lady should have known better than to behave as she did.”
Serena’s grip on her fan tightened. This gossip about Lord Beaumont didn’t sound at all good.
Miss Featherton’s eyes grew wide. “Did they say the woman’s name?”
“No, they saw me and Lady Worthington just remarked that the ball would now be a success because he’d attended. Mama said I could stand up with Lord Beaumont if he asked me, but I mustn’t go anywhere alone with him.”
Miss Featherton’s eyes grew even wider and her voice dropped to a whisper. “Do you think he is a rake?”
“Well . . .” Miss Emerson glanced around and said in a conspiratorial tone, “I think he must be. Otherwise why would Mama stop talking about him when she saw me? If he’s looking for a wife, perhaps he’s reforming.”
Serena pressed her lips together. How dare these girls blacken his name so carelessly? “I wouldn’t repeat idle gossip. He is a friend of my cousin, Lady Evesham, and he’s been very kind to me.”
Miss Emerson’s face fell. “But wouldn’t it be romantic to have a reformed rake fall in love with one?” She sighed. “I’d be happy just to dance with him.”
For the first time since Serena had arrived in London, she felt the differences in the ages of the other ladies making their come out. She wasn’t at all sure rakes did reform, which boded ill for her if the talk was true. When Lord Beaumont was near, she had trouble remembering any other gentlemen existed.
Robert bowed and lifted Serena’s hand to his lips before placing it on his arm. He’d wanted to talk to her and keep her by his side. Unfortunately, the quadrille was not conducive to holding a lengthy conversation.
He smiled, confident in his ability to charm her as easily as he did any other female. “Lady Serena, you dance delightfully.”
She glanced up shyly. “Thank you, my lord. I have not danced the quadrille long. I’m a little concerned I might miss my steps.”
Robert blinked, caught off guard by her guilelessness. “I would never have guessed you’d not been dancing it for years.”
Serena smiled delightedly up at him, and he stopped breathing.
“I am having such a good time in London. I feel almost like a princess,” she confided.
And he was lost, struggling not to respond to her innocent joy. Collecting himself, Robert replied with practiced grace. “You look like a princess.”
The paces of the dance parted them and brought them together again. Serena glanced at him, gratefully. “Thank you, my lord. You are too kind.”
Robert searched her face when she spoke the words he’d heard too often while engaging in a flirtation. Yet unlike other females, she meant what she’d said and he didn’t want her gratitude. He wanted . . . He didn’t know what he wanted, except for her to smile again. “I am only telling you the truth.”
She did look like a princess and was easily the most elegant and beautiful woman in the room. Her gown of Pomona green set off the red in her hair and was cleverly fashioned to make her shoulders appear almost naked. What would the rest of her look like? She wore only a long strand of pearls looped low over her luscious breasts. Breasts he desperately wanted to touch and taste.
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