Part 34 (1/2)

”I.

recall reading somewhere that if a man rescues another, then he takes on the responsiblity for that rescued life. Presumably the same holds true if the one saved is a woman. ”

Lucinda frowned.

”That's an eastern philosophy. You're English to your bones.”

”Eastern?” Harry raised his brows.

”From one of those countries where they cover their women in shrouds and keep them behind locked doors, no doubt. I've always put such eminently sensible notions down to the fact that such civilisations have apparently existed so much longer than ours.”

On the words, they reached her court. Lucinda fought the urge to grind her teeth. If she heard one more of his glib excuses for being by her side she would, she felt sure, embarra.s.s herself and Em and everyone else by screaming in fury. She plastered a bright smile on her lips--and let the admiration of her court and their subtle compliments soothe her abraded pride.

Harry stood it for five minutes, then silently relinquished his position by her side. He prowled the room but at no great distarter, exchanging a few words with a number of acquaintances before retreating to a convenient alcove from where he could keep his self- imposed burden in view.

His very presence in the room was enough to keep the dangerous blades from her skirts. Those about her were all gentlemen at heart--they wouldn't pounce without an invitation.

His interest, of course, was an added deterrent; he was prepared to wager that not one soul amongst all the ton understood what he was about.

With a somewhat grim grin, he settled his shoulders against the wall and watched as Lucinda gave Frederick Amberly her hand.

Taking the floor in yet another waltz, an apparent fixation of Lady Hemminghurst's, Lucinda fitted her steps to Mr Amberly's strides, distinctly shorter than Harry's, and let the music take hold.

Three revolutions later, she met her partner's somewhat concerned expression--and sternly reminded herself to smile. Not a spontaneous gesture.

She was distinctly irritated.

Rakes were supposed to seduce women--widows, particularly. Was she really so hopeless she couldn't break down Harry's resistance? Not that she wished to be seduced but, given his natural flair--and her status-she had to face the fact that, for them, that might well be the most sensible first step. She prided herself on her pragmatism; there was no point in not being realistic.

He had come to London; he was dancing attendance on her. But that clearly wasn't enough. Something more was required.

They were coming up the room for the third time when Lucinda's gaze refocused on Mr Amberly. Presumably if, at her advanced age, she wanted to learn how to encourage a rake, she was going to have to arrange lessons.

The waltz, most conveniently, left them at the other end of the room.

Lucinda grasped her~ fan, dangling by its ribbon from her wrist. Opening it, she waved it to and fro.

”The room is quite warm, don't you think, Mr Amberly?”

”Indeed, dear lady.”

Lucinda watched as his gaze slid to the terrace windows. Hiding a smile, she gently suggested,

”There's a chair over there. If I wait there, could you fetch me a gla.s.s of lemonade?”

Her cavalier blinked and hid his disappointment.

”Of course.” He solicitously helped her to the chair, then, with an injunction not to move, disappeared into the crowd.

With an inward smile, Lucinda sat back, languidly waving her fan, and waited for her first lesson.

Mr Amberly duly reappeared, bearing two flutes of suspiciously tinted liquid.