Regency Secrets: My Lady's Trust. Julia Justiss

believe the lips of such an exquisite creature could pass on anything less than … delicious. Come,” he urged, taking the hand the lady had pressed on Lord Beaulieu’s arm, “let us find some wine. Then ye must speak to me and prove the yea or nay of it.”

      It appeared that the lady might refuse, until the doctor leaned closer and murmured something that brought a satisfied smile to her face even as she laughed and batted his arm. “La, but you’re wicked,” she reproved, allowing Dr. MacDonovan to lead her to the sideboard.

      Before Laura could look away, Lord Beaulieu’s gaze met hers. He rolled his eyes briefly, a gesture so indicative of relief she almost laughed out loud. Then he smiled again, a slight curve of lip and fire of glance that once again ignited every nerve and set the champagne bubbles dancing through her veins. His eyes holding hers, she sensed more than saw him approach.

      “Thank you, brother, for the rescue,” Lady Elspeth murmured. “I was in dire danger of becoming … unladylike.”

      Lord Beaulieu bent to kiss his sister’s cheek. “That, I could never believe,” he said with a grin.

      With Lord Beaulieu a mere forearm’s length away, Laura could feel the heat emanating from his body, catch the faint scent of shaving soap and brandy. Almost, she could feel his hand once more resting on her shoulder, those lips dipping to brush her cheek. A shiver swept over her skin.

      He turned to her, his grin fading as his imperious eyes found and commanded hers. Scraps of conversation, the popping of the fire, the clink of glasses faded, until she heard only the rapid beat of her pulse. While they both remained motionless, staring, she forgot even to breathe.

      “Mrs. Martin,” he said at last. “How very beautiful you look tonight.”

      “Th-thank you, my lord.”

      “I had hoped we might—”

      “Excuse me, my lord,” Squire Everett’s hearty voice startled her. “The card tables are set, and Lady Ardith is demanding we choose partners now and begin play.”

      “Play,” the earl repeated, and shook his head as if to clear his thoughts. “Yes, of course. If you’ll excuse me, ladies.” He made them a quick bow.

      Almost dizzy with happiness, Laura watched him walk away. He thought her beautiful. As she’d dreamed all evening, he’d come to her, stood by her, gifted her with that special smile that transported her to a magical realm where nothing existed but the two of them alone.

      Better to leave now, before anything occurred to mar the perfection of an evening she would recall with wonder the rest of her days. Cinderella, mirrored in the eyes of her prince as “beautiful.”

      In a daze, she murmured thanks to Lady Winters and Lady Elspeth and floated toward the door.

      Before she reached it, Lord Beaulieu called out, “No, Mrs. Martin, we cannot have you departing so early! Squire Everett needs a fourth at his table.”

      “Aye, madam, ye’ve had evenings enough of sick lads and laudanum,” Dr. MacDonovan said. “Having kept vigil late these past days, ye canna be weary yet.” “You must stay, Mrs. Martin,” Squire Everett said. “My sister declares she will not play unless you join us.”

      Desperately as she wished to break free, to tuck away this fragile gem of an evening in a protective tissue wrap of memory so she might preserve it forever, once again civility dictated she remain.

      And so she let the squire lead her to the table, knowing in truth that the reticent Lady Winters, an indifferent card player, would be wretchedly uncomfortable unless matched with a forgiving partner.

      And besides, depending on where Lady Ardith maneuvered Lord Beaulieu, she might be able to observe the earl a bit longer, add a few more gilded treasures to the trove that must warm her through the long lonely days after he departed. As soon he must.

      A surprisingly bitter regret spiraled through her. Damping it down, she took her place.

      Laura gamely played through several rubbers, though her modest skill was not sufficient to outweigh some of Lady Winters’s disastrous discards. Their team ended by being solidly trounced, much to the delight of the squire and his partner Sir Ramsdale.

      Naturally, Lady Ardith had snared the earl and Dr. MacDonovan for her table, with Lady Elspeth making up the fourth. The beauty seated the gentlemen—deliberately?—so that Laura could view only the back of his lordship’s head, but from the frequency of Dr. MacDonovan’s hearty laugh and the coos and squeals emanating from Lady Ardith, Laura surmised their table was enjoying a rousing good game.

      The other tables were finishing up. Repressing the desire to linger, Laura turned to the squire.

      “Thank you and Lady Winters both for such a delightful evening. I must go check on our patient now.”

      “Nonsense,” Lord Beaulieu said, surprising her by appearing behind her chair. “Kit’s valet will summon help if the need arises. Lady Winters, shall we not have some dancing? This handsome chamber seems designed for it.”

      “D-dancing?” Lady Winters repeated faintly.

      “Capital idea!” Squire Everett said. “We’ve numbers enough for a respectable set. You can play for us, Emily.”

      Lady Ardith walked over then to put an entreating hand on the earl’s arm. “Oh, yes, you must dance with me! Do say you will play for us, dear Lady Winters.”

      “Nay,” Lord Beaulieu said, slipping his arm from under Lady Ardith’s grasping fingers in one smooth movement. “I insist on leading my charming hostess into the first set. I’ve heard, Lady Winters, you were such a belle at your debut Season the gentlemen called each other out over the privilege of escorting you.”

      “Aye, a regular diamond our Emily was,” the squire confirmed proudly. “Winters was smitten the moment he saw her. Weren’t the only one, neither—even the old Duke of Clarendon came calling on her.”

      “I’ll wager she can outdance us all still,” Lord Beaulieu said. “If you would do me the honor, my lady?” He made her the exaggerated leg of a Georgian courtier.

      “Oh, la,” Lady Winters said, her face pinking with a mingling of pleasure and alarm. “I—I …”

      “Excellent,” the earl said. “Squire, Dr. MacDonovan approaches, so you’d best be quick if you wish to capture Lady Ardith for the first set.” Ignoring the dagger glance that lady shot him, he turned to the rest of the company. “Ladies, gentlemen, choose your partners.”

      He turned back to Laura. “You will play for us, Mrs. Martin? I understand you are quite skilled.” Without awaiting a reply, he offered his arm to the blushing Lady Winters and led her to where the couples were assembling.

      Laura made her way to the piano, trying not to feel so … deflated. What had she expected—that the earl would ask lowly Mrs. Martin to dance? A woman who, whatever her origins, now occupied a position less elevated than a governess. A woman who, as Lady Ardith had cogently reminded the company earlier, had to earn her own bread.

      She should focus on that fact and forget the seductive magic so briefly evoked by a borrowed gown.

      “Let me help you find some music.”

      Mr. Blackthorne stood beside the piano, distracting her out of her dispiriting reflections.

      “A country dance, perhaps?” he suggested.

      She nodded, as perversely comforted now by his attention as she had been unsettled by it earlier. After selecting a piece, she began to play.

      Within a few moments, joy at the mellow chords produced by the squire’s fine instrument succeeded in dissipating her melancholy. She glanced up to the dancers—and found the reverend’s eyes focused on her with alarming warmth. A smile leaped to his face as their eyes met and he winked. Then, as he bent to turn the page of music, he placed a hand on her bared shoulder.

      She