The Lord’s Persuasion of Lady Lydia. Raven McAllan

a debutante’s world. ‘Not in my case. I attend because my mama decrees so. Do you know how embarrassing it is to those of us who are only asked to dance because our hostess has forced a gentleman to ask us?’ she demanded, ignoring the fact she had intended to revert to her meek and mild persona. ‘Knowing he’d rather be anywhere else than leading us down the room? Forced to smile and say thank you to someone who is so patently uninterested, you can see him eying up everyone except you? Knowing that once the obligatory dance is over he will bow and scurry away? And do not get me started on the so-called debutantes who are the toast of the ton, who laugh behind your back, and then shower you with false, syrupy sympathy. Their beauty is only skin deep.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Oh, believe me, I could go on and on.’ Lydia stopped talking abruptly and bit the inside of her mouth, conscious of how close they were to other people. The last thing she needed or wanted was to cause a scene. ‘Sorry.’

      He patted her hand. ‘It is I who should say that. I honestly hadn’t realised how self-centred and unthinking we males are. However, I would like to have the first waltz with you and the supper dance. Look on it as thumbing your nose at the tabbies if you like. And those insufferable incomparables who do not have one tenth of your personality.’ Behind them the sound of violins got louder. ‘Your card?’ he prompted. ‘Perhaps now it will be the second waltz.’

      ‘I’m sorry, my lord.’ She raised her head and worried her lip; something she had seen shy, sweet young things do to great effect. However, Lydia would wager she just looked stupid. She might want to come across as docile and boring, but never stupid. ‘What do you want me to do now?’

      ‘Walk on, so we aren’t interrupted, is a good start.’ He urged her out of the long windows that led to the gardens, and along the terrace to where several flickering sconces lit a selection of seats and tables. ‘I see that annoying Miss Dixon and the even stupider Mr Fitchett to our right. If we increase our pace they shouldn’t catch us up and regale us with inane conversation.’

      ‘Ah, yes.’ Oh, stupid.

      Only one table was occupied, as most couples were drifting back inside to where the strains of a waltz could be heard. ‘We can sit here, a perfectly conventional couple and chat…’ – he paused and winked – ‘…about anything we like. As long as you don’t blush or hit me.’

      Lydia allowed Harry to seat her on a curved, padded bench and waited as he sat down beside her, leaving a correct distance between them. ‘I would never be so unladylike as to attack anyone,’ she said in a suitably shocked voice. ‘I’m sure you are much too much a gentleman for me to ever have the urge or the need to do so.’

      He quirked one eyebrow in a manner she knew was intended to intimidate. Damn it, she would not let him see how it – and him in general – affected her. Lydia wondered how she could make herself blush without reason and lowered her head in order, she accepted, to mask the fact she wasn’t intimidated. Then she caught a glimpse of his staff, outlined by fine material, and knew the answer. Her thoughts strayed to what was under that material and how, she had read, it was used. Heat rushed into her face. Where was her fan when she needed it? ‘You would not behave in that way,’ she added faintly for good measure.

      ‘If you think that, my dear, you are truly more naïve than I give you credit for. Somehow…’ Harry tipped her chin up with the tip of his forefinger. ‘No, I do not accept that.’

      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.