The Lord’s Persuasion of Lady Lydia. Raven McAllan

words full of suspicion. He couldn’t blame her; he’d never, ever indicated by so much as a wink or a nod that he had even a flicker of interest in her. Now it seemed Lady Lydia Field had more to her than those limpid pools of blue, otherwise known as her eyes, the hair of spun silk and a figure to hold and caress indicated. Good God, now he sounded like one of those awful books he’d heard women loved to read and accused Jeremy of behaving like a character from. Why had nobody brought the lady’s delicious attributes to his attention before?

       Probably no one looked closely enough to see them. Including me.

      ‘The cooler air might help your pain. Plus, it had been remiss of me to neglect you,’ he said smoothly, every inch a gentleman of the ton. ‘I feel behove.’

      ‘Why? You have never shown the need before,’ she said bluntly, and put her hand over her mouth. ‘Oh, my lord, I do apologise at my rudeness.’

      Harry laughed. ‘No, don’t go and spoil it. I like this side of you.’

       Did she really say ‘I was afraid of that’?

      Lydia shook her head. ‘My mama would be aghast at my lack of respect. Perhaps I best return to her side before I totally blot my copybook. If you would excuse me, my lord.’ She curtsied and began to turn.

      Harry stopped her by dint of taking hold of one wrist. ‘To my certain knowledge, you, my dear, when you forget yourself, show you have spirit,’ he replied amiably. ‘It intrigues me. Perhaps we should further our acquaintance. Here, where so many other people are milling around, will attract attention. The terrace is within view and will cause less interest than anywhere else.’

      ‘If you think that, you are deranged,’ Lydia said bluntly. Evidently she had forgotten her need to efface herself. Harry hoped she would continue to do so.

      ‘I’m not your type, my lord,’ she continued. ‘Everyone knows a man like you would have no interest in me. Even thus far will have people wondering how much brandy you have taken. So, again, why?’

      That was much too complex to reply there and then, and to be honest he wasn’t sure he could answer. He was no longer sure of his motives. Originally he had thought to be unethical and divert some of her attentions from Jeremy to himself. Thence to try and get to the bottom of why Jeremy thought it necessary to wed her. But now, he understood that there was more to it than that. Exactly what more he wasn’t going to try to discover. Not yet.

      Now he accepted he wanted to get to know the lady… just because…

      ‘Are you promised to anyone?’ he asked abruptly. ‘Have an understanding?’ If she had he might need to rethink his tactics.

      ‘Good lord, no,’ she said, startled. ‘Why on earth would I? I am single by choice and intend to stay that way… Ah.’ She went red and shut her eyes briefly. ‘I mean, my lord, who would want me? I’m past the age of men offering for me.’

      ‘But you would like some air; I’ve seen you look longingly towards the gardens.’ He hadn’t, but it was a calculated guess. ‘I’ll say Lady Raith asked me to, if you like,’ he said with the lazy smile he was aware usually made a woman turn into a simpering imbecile.

      Lydia Field was made of sterner stuff, it seemed. She ignored it.

      ‘But she hasn’t,’ she pointed out. ‘And that doesn’t answer my question.’ Lydia paused and he swore she counted to three and did her best to compose herself.

       Curious.

      ‘Truly, my lord, you are most kind, but there is no need.’ Her voice had no animation, no expression and again he wondered at her chameleon-like abilities.

      Harry grinned. ‘Yes I am, and yes there is. Go into the ballroom and give me five minutes.’

      He stared at her until she inclined her head, smiled oh so sweetly, and curtsied. ‘You are too gracious, my lord.’ She somewhat spoiled the meek and mild persona by muttering under her breath. Something along the lines of, God save me from high-handed men?

      Really? Surely not? Truly, Lydia Field needed investigating. Harry turned on his heel and went in search of his godmother.

      ‘You want what? Why?’ Lady Raith asked suspiciously three minutes later, as Harry ran her to ground as she swept up the stragglers in the dining room and shepherded them towards the ballroom. ‘What do you want with her? Hold on.’ She pointed at a young lady who stared longingly at Harry. Lady Raith raised her voice. ‘Miranda Forrester, go on into the ballroom now. Your mama is waiting for you.’

      The young deb, in a dress that Harry considered was first cousin to a meringue, blushed, curtsied and left the room.

      ‘Silly chit,’ Lady Raith said with a chuckle. ‘What do they see in you?’

      ‘My charm? Wit?’ He shook his head. ‘Lord only knows, I do nothing to encourage them. They just keep appearing in my vision like flies.’

      His godmother snorted. ‘Really? Poor deluded things. As you insist you give them no encouragement, it’s more likely your fortune. Now, where were we? Lord, Harry, you do confuse me.’ Her eyes twinkled. ‘Stop changing the subject.’

      Harry laughed. ‘Of course, my dear, and of course I would never cast aspersions on your summing up of the situation.’

      Lady Raith guffawed. ‘Bad boy. Ah yes, Lydia Field. Why her and what are you up to?’ She narrowed her eyes and stared at Harry with suspicion. ‘She is not for you.’

      ‘I’m up to nothing, Rosie, not a thing.’ Harry spoke soothingly. His intended dalliance was for only him – and, when it happened, Lydia – to know about. ‘The lady in question turned her ankle on the way in. I thought a breath of air might help. Especially after the last ball she was at, where Donkin hit her accidentally on the cheek and was sent home bosky. Him not her. She seems to be accident prone.’

      ‘I should hope she wasn’t bosky,’ Lady Raith said indignantly. ‘We women do not get bosky. And you can hardly call her accident prone if it was Donkin’s fault,’ she pointed out acerbically. ‘And, do not call me Rosie – I feel like an apple if you do. Rosemary,’ Lady Raith said automatically, as she patted Harry’s cheek. ‘Always Rosemary and you know it. You are a good boy.’

      The ‘boy’, well into his late thirties, grinned and ignored the niggle of remorse for not owning up to his true intentions. How could he, though, when, all of a sudden, he wasn’t totally sure of them himself? ‘I try.’

      ‘Hmm. Very well, where is she?’ Lady Raith asked as Harry bussed her cheek. ‘No need for that. I know damned well you’re up to something, and no doubt you’ll tell me what in your own good time.’ She patted his arm. ‘Let’s go and see if we can find young Lydia for you.’

      ‘I believe she is sitting outside the antechamber to the right of the ballroom. The one you call the blue room,’ Harry said. ‘For the love of God, Rose… Rosemary, do not intimate I asked for the introduction. It might make her faint on the spot. I rather think the lady in question would prefer not to be the centre of gossip. If people think it’s you being your usual medd… oh, you know what I mean.’ What a load of twaddle he was spouting. Not the meddling bit – that was oh so true, as he had often found out to his detriment in the past – but the rest.

      ‘I never meddle,’ Lady Raith said with a twinkle in her eyes.

      Harry snorted.

      ‘Bad boy. Not unless I deem it necessary, anyway. Now, promise me something. Be gentle, Harry, she’s not the sort who understands innuendo and the badinage you men enjoy with ladies of a more robust nature. Lydia is a quiet, biddable, sweet young thing. She’d make any man a dutiful wife.’

      He nodded. ‘I hear you.’

      ‘But are you taking heed, I wonder?’ she asked shrewdly. ‘All I’ll say is remember your rules. Shy and biddable is