My Wicked Little Lies. Victoria Alexander

you of late, you should try it.”

      She raised a brow. “You’re suggesting I dance naked under the stars? In London?”

      “It is something to consider.” He thought for a moment. “Admittedly, it might prove awkward with the neighbors, but I do know I would appreciate it. Although, on the roof ...”

      “You are the most proper man I know, Adrian.” She shook her head in a mournful manner. “And yet you have a decidedly wicked streak.”

      He cast her a most wicked smile.

      She heaved an overly dramatic sigh. “I like it.”

      He sipped his wine. “I know.”

      She laughed. No, it would always be as wonderful between them as it was right now. She would make certain of it. As soon as she laid the past to rest. Still, as much as she was eager to find Dunwell’s library, patience being a virtue she needed to cultivate, she couldn’t appear too eager to leave her husband’s side. They had barely arrived and there would be more than enough time to slip away later.

      “Now then.” She plucked his glass from his hand and passed his glass and hers to a waiter. “I should very much like to be swept off my feet again.”

      “Here? In front of everyone?” He shook his head. “That would be most improper. And I do think our hosts would object.” He paused. “If we were discovered. If not ...”

      She laughed. “I was speaking of another dance, darling, and you well know it.” She took his arm and led him back to the dance floor. He took her hand in his and she leaned close and spoke softly into his ear. “But later, I shall sweep you off your feet.”

      His brow rose. “And you claim I am the one with the wicked streak.”

      “We are well matched.”

      They danced two more sets, and while Evelyn now paid attention to every word her husband said, she also took the opportunity to study the ballroom. She’d been here once before but had no idea where the library was. In the past, she would have been provided with the plans for the house. No matter. It was simple enough to ask a servant for directions. Such a query wouldn’t be considered unusual. Not that a servant would question a guest under any circumstances. But it was not at all uncommon, at a gathering of this size, for guests to wander from the ballroom, out of curiosity or in search of a moment of privacy or for a prearranged meeting for one purpose or another. If discovered, she would simply explain she was curious to see Lord Dunwell’s collection as she had been told it was quite exceptional. Not that she knew what his lordship collected or indeed if he collected anything at all, but most gentlemen of her acquaintance did so. Why, even Adrian had a small but valuable collection of ancient Greek coins.

      “Isn’t that your cousin Portia?” she asked when the second dance drew to a close. She nodded toward the far side of the room. Portia’s parents had died when she was very young and she’d been taken in by the Hadley-Attwaters. Adrian’s mother considered Portia every bit as much her child as she did Adrian, his brothers, and his sisters.

      Adrian nodded. “I wouldn’t be at all surprised. No doubt Mother is here somewhere as well.” He chuckled. “She does not give up easily.”

      He took her arm and they headed toward his cousin. Lady Waterston’s determination to see each of her children happily wed was an ongoing topic of discussion within the family and most amusing to those siblings who were already married. The dowager countess had a list of who should be wed next and she concentrated her matchmaking efforts on that unfortunate child. Portia, widowed three years ago, was currently at the top of the list and had found it necessary to flee to Italy this past Christmas to escape her aunt’s efforts.

      Portia spotted them and waved.

      They made their way toward her. Adrian leaned close to his wife and spoke softly. “Do you think she might have met someone in Italy?”

      “Surely she would have mentioned something of that magnitude,” Evelyn said. They’d seen Portia only once since her return, and that was at the wedding of Adrian’s youngest brother, Sebastian. “Why do you ask?”

      “No reason really. Just an odd impression I had when we last saw her.”

      “Portia has never been known for her ability to keep secrets.”

      “No, you’re right.” A thoughtful note sounded in Adrian’s voice. “Portia would certainly have said something.” He chuckled. “If only to keep Mother from introducing her to yet another eligible bachelor.”

      “Good evening, Adrian. Evelyn, how wonderful to see you.” Portia kissed Evelyn’s cheek and spoke low into her ear. “Save me.”

      Evelyn widened her eyes. “From what?”

      A waiter handed them each a glass of champagne. Portia downed hers in scarcely more than a swallow. “Aunt Helena, of course.” She turned to Adrian. “Your mother is in rare form tonight, Cousin. Every time I turn around, she is introducing me to yet another candidate for my hand. All of whom seem to think the way to my heart is by stepping on my feet and clutching me entirely too tightly in the guise of dancing.” Portia lowered her voice in a confidential manner. “One more dance and I daresay I shall be crippled for life. As my favorite cousin, I beg of you to rescue me.”

      “Your favorite, you say?” He eyed her skeptically. “I thought Sebastian was your favorite?”

      Portia huffed. “Sebastian is my favorite youngest male cousin. You are my favorite oldest male cousin.”

      He bit back a smile. “And Hugh?”

      “Hugh is my favorite ...” She searched for the right word. “Barrister cousin, yes, that’s it.” Desperation sounded in her voice. “Now will you help me?”

      “What do you want me to do?” Adrian said cautiously. No doubt growing up with seven siblings had taught him not to agree to anything they asked without sufficient information.

      “Would you be so good as to drive me home?” She peered past them into the crowd. “Now if you please. Before Aunt Helena returns with yet another victim in tow.” She shuddered. “I have had quite enough.”

      “I am sorry, Portia.” Sympathy coursed through Evelyn. “But we have scarcely been here any time at all. Leaving now would be considered most impolite.”

      “Nonsense.” Portia scoffed. “You don’t even like Lady Dunwell. Not that I blame you,” she added quickly.

      “If you could manage to survive for, oh, say another hour or so ...” Adrian glanced at his wife.

      Evelyn nodded. That should give her enough time. “That would be sufficient, I think. Another hour wouldn’t make it appear as though we were eager to leave.”

      “Not that we aren’t,” Adrian muttered, then smiled at his cousin. “And then we would be delighted to see you home.”

      Portia groaned. “In another hour or so, your mother will have me married with a dozen children.”

      Adrian choked back a laugh.

      Portia glared. “It’s not the least bit amusing.”

      “Of course not, dear.” Evelyn patted the younger woman’s arm.

      Adrian cleared his throat. “My apologies.” He studied his cousin. “I thought you wanted to marry again.”

      “Indeed, I do. But I wish to marry someone who is not thrust at me. As if he were a canary and I was a ... a ... a hungry cat!” Indignation sounded in her voice. “I am perfectly capable of finding a husband on my own.”

      “Not thus far,” Adrian said under his breath.

      Evelyn cast him a chastising frown.

      Portia ignored him, her brow furrowed in thought. “However, this is an exceptionally large and pretentious house. Perhaps I can find a peaceful place to, well, hide until