Part 71 (1/2)

Relief flooded Lucinda; she remembered to incline her head, and smile fleetingly at her court as Harry led her from their midst.

On the ballroom floor, she relaxed into Harry's arms, allowing him to draw her close with no attempt at dissimulation. She glanced up at him as they started to slowly twirl; his eyes met hers, his expression still aloof but somehow softer. Their gazes held; they communicated without words as they slowly revolved down the room.

Then Lucinda lowered her lashes; Harry's arm tightened about her.

As she had foreseen, the floor was crowded, the dancers cramped.

Harry kept her safe within the circle of his arms; she was very aware that if anything threatened, she had only to step closer and he would protect her.

His hard body was no threat--she had never seen it as such. He was her guardian in the oldest sense of the word--he to whom she had entrusted her life. The waltz ended too soon; Lucinda blinked as Harry's arms fell from her. Reluctantly, she stepped away and placed her hand on his arm, then let him steer her back through the throng.

Harry glanced at her face, his features impa.s.sive, concern in his eyes. As they neared her court, he leaned closer to murmur,

”If you don't care to waltz, simply plead fatigue.”

Lucinda glanced up at him; he felt his lips twist.

”It's the latest fas.h.i.+onable ploy.”

She nodded--and straightened her shoulders as they rejoined her court.

Lucinda was inexpressibly grateful for that piece of advice--her supposed fatigue was accepted without a blink; as the evening wore on, she began to suspect that her earnest court were no more enamoured of dancing in such cramped surrounds than she.

Immovable, repressively silent, Harry remained by her side throughout the long evening. Lucinda greeted the supper waltz with a certain measure of relief.

”I understand Mr Amberly, Mr Satterly and Lord Ruthven are particular friends of yours?” Harry'glanced fleetingly down at her.

”Of a sorts,” he reluctantly conceded.

”I would never have guessed.” Lucinda met his sharp glance with wide eyes.

Harry studied her innocent expression, then humphed and drew her closer. At the end of the waltz, he led her directly to the supper room. Before she could gather her wits, Lucinda found herself installed at a secluded table for two, shaded from much of the room by two potted palms. A gla.s.s of champagne and a plate piled high with delicacies appeared before her; Harry lounged gracefully in the seat opposite.

His eyes on hers, he took a bite of a lobster patty.

”Did you notice Lady Waldron's wig?”

Lucinda giggled.

”It nearly fell off.” She took a sip of champagne, her eyes sparkling.

”Mr Anstey had to catch it and jiggle it back into place.”

To Lucinda's delight, Harry spent the entire half-hour regaling her with anecdotes, on dits and the occasional dry observation. It was the first time she had had him to herself in such mood; she gave herself up to enjoying the interlude.

Only when it ended and he led her back to the ballroom did it occur to her to wonder what had brought it on.

Or, more specifically, why he had put himself out to so captivate her.

”Still here, Ruthyen?” Harry's drawl hauled her back to the present.

He was eyeing his friend with a certain, challenging gleam in his eye.