Regency Rumours: A Scandalous Mistress / Dishonour and Desire. Juliet Landon

and holding one’s skirts up over the puddles.

      The jest about not wearing boots might, Caterina thought, have been a hint for them to dress up rather than down, for both men wore pale knee-breeches and white stockings with their long dark-blue tailcoats and, if she had not already been half in love with his brother, she would have fallen for Lord Elyot, even if he did not smile as readily at her aunt as he did at her. Indeed, his expression was quite severe at times.

      ‘Is your brother displeased with my aunt’s appearance, my lord?’ she whispered as they waited to be greeted by Mr Newbrook, the Master of Ceremonies. ‘He rarely smiles.’

      Patting Caterina’s fingers in the crook of his arm, Lord Rayne reassured her. ‘You will find, Miss Chester, as you gain experience, that men’s smiles are not always an indication of approval, just as a straight face does not always mean the opposite. I can assure you that my brother’s regard for Lady Chester could hardly be higher.’

      Caterina thought his lesson rather patronising but, from then on, her observation of men’s expressions became rather more acute. Amelie, on the other hand, with or without Lord Elyot’s smiles, was dealing with the kind of approval she had missed since the death of Sir Josiah, having recognised in her escort’s appraising glances a darkly disturbing yet controlled desire to make their short coach-drive last for hours, alone. His lingering support down the two steps confirmed it and, to her own astonishment, her body responded, if only fleetingly. It was just as quickly cautioned. This man, she reminded herself, would never be one she could allow herself to warm to.

      Mr Newbrook was gratified to welcome such illustrious members of Richmond society. A rare visit, he said it was, and how honoured. They had arrived just in time for the opening minuet, and would Lady Chester and Lord Elyot be pleased to take the lead for the first figure? Splendid.

      It had been over two years since Amelie had danced, but no one would have guessed it as she swept gracefully into her first curtsy, then into the slow and languid movements of the minuet. Feeling all eyes upon her and her equally elegant partner, she was confident that the white gauze-covered silk with its simple classic lines had been the right choice. Instead of a lace cap or turban, she had defied convention by binding her glossy curls into coils threaded with ropes of pearls and, apart from one very large diamond surrounded by small pearls on a chain around her neck, these were her only adornments. The pendant, however, was enhanced by the glorious expanse of peachy skin inside the low-cut neckline, her beautiful breasts crossed with satin ribbons over fine pleats, the long sleeves clinging to the point of each shoulder, tied with ribbons at intervals. Lord Elyot, she was pleased to see, did not take his eyes off her once during their duet until the others came to join them.

       This, my lord, is what you will never get to know, however much you may discover about my inconvenient do-gooding, damn you.

      The minuet ended and, to the accompaniment of glances, open looks and more outright stares, Amelie was led off the floor to a corner where, before she could be surrounded by potential partners, Lord Elyot made his own claim upon her quite clear. ‘You will go into supper with me, my lady,’ he said, watching carefully for her reaction, ‘and you will save the next and the last dance for me too.’

      ‘My lord, that sounds remarkably like a command. And you know what will be said if I dance more than twice with you.’

      ‘It is a command,’ he said. ‘And people may say whatever they wish. They are talking already, I dare say.’

      She looked. Yes, heads were bent behind fans, plumes nodding. It was as she had half-expected, and although most of her new acqaintances were men introduced to her by Lord Elyot, only a few were their wives and daughters who may or may not have been told that they must be introduced to her, like it or not.

      Lady Sergeant and her daughter obviously had, otherwise their greetings would have come sooner and been delivered with more sincerity. ‘Well Nicholas,’ said Lady Sergeant, squinting through a waterfall of heavy blond lace and greying curls, ‘you’ve picked up another handsome gel, and no mistake, though you could hardly miss her on your own doorstep, could you? Eh?’ She tapped Lord Elyot’s arm while looking Amelie up and down several times. ‘Heard your husband was in the metal trade…what was it…lead?’

      Amelie’s policy had always been to make no response to outright rudeness, which was quickly fielded by Lord Elyot. ‘Lady Chester’s late husband was in gold,’ he said, ‘not lead. He was a banker, Lady Sergeant. Now, if you and your daughter will excuse us, this is my dance and I don’t intend to miss it.’ Taking Amelie firmly by the hand, he drew her away, transferring his palm to the small of her back on purpose, Amelie thought, to give the obnoxious woman something else to talk about.

      ‘Lead mines,’ she said to him in a low voice.

      Across the set, he faced her, mouthing the words, ‘Lead mines?’

      They met in the middle. ‘In Derbyshire.’

      ‘Good grief!’ he murmured, retiring.

      ‘I knew it,’ she said as they met again.

      He took her hands. ‘What?’

      ‘I should have worn my other two heads.’ She turned with him and retired, smiling to herself.

      His response, when it came, made her blush. ‘That, my lady, would be to gild the lily.’

      The glow was still in place when they next met to go down the set, hand in hand. ‘No,’ she said. ‘It would shock you as much as the rest of them.’

      ‘I am learning enough about you to be neither shocked nor surprised.’ Ducking under the arch of hands, they parted to return to the top of the set, and his meaning was not made clear to her, as the dance steps forbade anything more than the odd word in passing. Then it became more than a holding of hands and a linking of arms, but a series of more recent dance moves where she was entwined and turned by him, where arms were placed across waists with hands clasped above, where there was a closer contact than ever with him looking down at her as if they were alone, and this but a prelude to something even more intimate.

      She felt the firm pressure of his hands upon her shoulders and knew that her own hands were resting on hard muscle that could have lifted her clean off the floor with little effort, and that dance was what epitomised the manly qualities of self-confidence, support and…yes, captivation. What use was there in denying it?

      Taking her hand again, he led her away. ‘I shall re-introduce Mrs Oglethorpe and her mousey daughter to you,’ he said. ‘She may not leave her card until you do, so now I shall remove both your excuses.’

      ‘I’d much rather you did not,’ Amelie said, releasing herself. ‘I prefer to choose my own friends.’

      ‘You must know you cannot do that in this business, my lady.’

      ‘In what business, sir?’

      ‘In society. For your niece’s sake, you need all the contacts you can get, as long as they’re respectable. It won’t cost anything to know who they are.’

      But there he was mistaken, for it cost Amelie not a little in hurtful remarks that she felt could not possibly be unintentional, some to her face, others overheard. ‘Ah, from the north,’ said the hard-faced Mrs Oglethorpe, not knowing Derbyshire from the Outer Hebrides. ‘Is that not where they fix the heads of stags all round the halls? And do they still use the furs on their beds?’

      ‘You seem to know more about that than I do, Mrs Ogel-thorpe,’ said Amelie, tiring of such nonsense. ‘Did your coachman manage to get your horses under control, by the way? I always send my men to Tattersalls, you know. Costs are higher, but I prefer that to local dealers. Don’t you?’

      Then there was the barely concealed remark concerning Lord Elyot, which, for different reasons, Amelie would rather not have heard. ‘Well, my dear, with a reputation like his, you know where she’ll be heading, don’t you? Heartbreak, almost certainly. Two mistresses that I know of and plenty more that I don’t. His brother is just as bad,