An Impulsive Debutante. Michelle Styles

coat contrasted with his face, and his cream trousers skimmed his figure. But what was he doing here and in the company of Lord Thorngrafton? He had given the impression the other day that he had very little to do with the man. Lottie tightened her grip on her fan and hoped that he would not make any untoward remarks about their last meeting.

      ‘I am delighted to make your acquaintance, Mr Dyvelston.’ Lottie held out a gloved hand, prayed that his lips wouldn’t brush it, then prayed that they would.

      Chapter Three

      Tristan regarded the trio in front of him. The mother and the brother were types he was used to, but Lottie Charlton in an evening gown was a piece of shimmering blue confection. The form-fitting bodice bowed out at her waist and her petticoats swirled about her ankles in a sea of white foam. Tristan wondered if his hands could span her waist or would there be a gap? Would her flesh feel as warm between his fingers as her wrist had felt against his mouth the other day?

      Her ear bobs swayed gently and her blonde ringlets were artfully placed on the top of her head. No expense had been spared. She was obviously angling for a husband, but which one of the geriatrics did she want? And what would happen if she knew his title? Would she use their earlier meeting against him? A pulse of anger ran through him. He would not be so easily ensnared into marriage.

      ‘I am delighted to make your acquaintance at long last, Miss Charlton. I was confused as to your identity.’ Tristan bowed low over her hand. His breath touched the thin kid of her glove, though Lottie drew back before his lips encountered her palm. But he had seen the slight flaring of her nostrils. ‘I have heard a great deal about you from my cousin.’

      ‘What are you doing here?’

      ‘Lord Thorngrafton has taken a suite of rooms here and my cousin is permitting me to share them.’ Tristan watched the comprehension grow on Peter’s face. The masquerade would continue for tonight, until the precise nature of the situation was clear. It paid to be cautious.

      ‘How did you get here?’ Lottie asked in a furious undertone, pointedly ignoring his arm. ‘You were in Haydon Bridge looking after your parents’ graves and hopefully feeling remorse at the state you allowed them to get into.’

      ‘I could ask the same of you.’ His eyes stopped at her neckline and flicked up to her generous mouth. ‘What did you come in search of? A husband? Your gown is admirably suited for the hunt.’

      The corners of her mouth turned down and her blue eyes took on a mulish expression. ‘You do take the strangest notions into your head, Mr Dyvelston. Do you always give lectures in this manner?’

      ‘My cousin is here but for a short while.’ Tristan gestured towards where Peter stood, rapidly expounding on the virtues of lead mining in the district to Lottie’s brother. An unforeseen complication, but one he intended to his advantage. If Lottie discovered his true status, would she tell her mother about the incident in the cemetery? Would the mother use it as an excuse to ensnare him? He refused to take the risk. Peter would keep silent, he was certain of that. ‘I do not feel that he would be good husband material.’

      ‘And is there anyone you recommend in his place?’ Her tone was light, but her eyes narrowed as she fluttered her fan.

      ‘I have not been here long enough to advise properly,’ Tristan said, allowing his eyes to dance.

      ‘You should not assume, then.’ Lottie snapped her fan shut. ‘I declined your cousin’s offer before Christmas.’

      ‘So you did. I had forgotten.’

      ‘I am here because my brother brought me.’ Lottie risked a glance at Tristan’s unyielding profile. It irritated her that he thought her so blindingly obvious in her husband-hunting. And if he had made that assumption, how many of the other guests had also come to the same conclusion? Her mother could be terribly indiscreet. ‘My mother is taking the waters. She swears that they do her nerves a power of good. She enjoys the company.’

      ‘The sulphur water at Gilsland is renowned as is its matchmaking Popping Stone. I believe the numbers are about even.’

      Lottie gritted her teeth. ‘My mother desired a bit of company. I shall not be following the footsteps of Sir Walter Scott.’

      ‘Did everything work out as you had planned for your cousin?’ he asked in an arch tone, seemingly amused rather than quelled by her remark. ‘Is your aunt pleased with your interference in matters matrimonial?’

      Lottie examined the pattern of the carpet. He would have to bring that up. ‘I maintain hopes, but I misjudged the situation slightly. It was felt that perhaps I was better off departing as Mama was desirous of me arriving here. I am to be the belle of tonight’s ball, so I understand.’

      ‘Ah, you are here for the matchmaking.’

      ‘No, I am here to prove to my mother and brother that I can be trusted. I wish to make my mark in London.’

      ‘Do you think you will be able to? Many young ladies vie to become to the Incomparable, the Diamond of the Season. The vast majority are condemned to be wallflowers.’

      She glanced up and noticed that his dark eyes were fringed with impossibly long lashes, the sort of lashes that were wasted on a man. But his gaze held no malice, only concern. A queer trembling overtook her. He, a near stranger, cared. ‘I think there are other places where I stand a better chance of achieving my goal.’

      ‘And the goal is…’

      ‘To make a brilliant match.’ She threw back her shoulders and made sure her eyes danced. ‘And you do not need to worry. I have no designs on your virtuous name. Mama is insistent on a title.’

      ‘That fact relieves me no end.’ He gave a short laugh.

      ‘I thought it would.’

      ‘Who are you hunting?’

      ‘Mama has made a list, but I fear she has not consulted Burke’s recently and is doomed to disappointment.’ Lottie rubbed her eye, relieved to be explaining the problems. Tristan Dyvelston, at least, was a sympathetic ear and he might have a solution to her problem. ‘I distinctly heard Lord Foster mention a wife and she has him down as a widower. I am not sure if she has been careless or if she simply made a mistake. These things can happen even in the best ordered of campaigns. But it doesn’t really matter as I have no intention of marrying, simply demonstrating to Mama that I can behave properly. There will be no scandals clinging to my skirts.’

      ‘Sometimes scandals happen whether one is trying to avoid them or not.’

      ‘What does it feel like to be on the outside of society, Mr Dyvelston?’ Lottie tilted her head to one side, making her smile sweet.

      His eyes became a deep black as the barb hit home and he inclined his head. ‘It is a cold and bleak place, Miss Charlton. You would not care for it. And yet women are easily banished there. Too easily.’

      Lottie grasped her fan tighter and struggled to breathe against the tightness of her corset.

      ‘No, I probably would not, but then it is unlikely I shall have to encounter it.’ She gave her ringlets a little toss. ‘I plan to be at the very heart of society. It is my natural place.’

      ‘Are you determined to marry a title, then? Against the odds?’

      ‘It is as easy to love a titled man as an untitled one.’ Lottie glanced over her shoulder and dropped her voice. ‘One of Mama’s little sayings, and it does seem to mean so much to her. She has aspirations.’

      ‘So your sights are set on Thorngrafton, as much as you try to deny it. I will warn you for the last time, Miss Charlton, my cousin is not to be trusted. Please consider long and hard if he does make an offer.’

      ‘His title includes a baronetcy, one of the original ones purchased