countless hasty departures. And after leaving his companion a sizable purse and a gracious smile, he exited the debauch.
With a pronounced feeling of relief.
Twenty minutes later, he was mounting the stairs to Hertford House.
Standing on the threshold of the ballroom a few moments later, he was announced by the marchioness's august majordomo. A great number of guests turned their heads to stare. Not that he was overlate, for balls rarely began before eleven.
But, rather, that he was there at all.
And, they noted, in a state of mild dishevelment.
Even from a distance it was evident he'd not just come from his valet. Although the earl had a certain cachet that drew the eye regardless of the state of his dress. He wore a black swallowtail coat, an elegant waistcoat of embroidered silk, and knee breeches, the required dress for balls. And while his neckcloth might be a shade wrinkled, the beauty of his face and form eclipsed even that most reprehensible of sins. He ran his hand through his hair in a casual gesture as he stood in the doorway, the cynosure of so many eyes, and surveyed the guests with a raking gaze.
His appearances were rare at society functions, although he was known to make the exception when he was intent on making a new conquest or charming a current one.
It had to be a woman.
Who was she? everyone wondered.
And then his gaze came to rest on Lady Hertford's honored guest, and the conjecture ceased.
The earl strolled forward.
Isabella had seen Dermott the minute he'd stepped through the doorway, before he'd been announced, before he'd seen her, and her heart was racing.
His progress across the large room engaged everyone's attention, although he seemed not to notice. And when the men surrounding Isabella moved aside enough to allow him access to her and he saw her fully, his mouth curved into a smile.
An intimate smile that suggested he and Miss Leslie were well acquainted.
That made it clear to those who knew him best.
'Miss Leslie, I understand,' he said, his voice deep and low, his salutation careful not to openly acknowledge their prior friendship. 'Lord Bathurst at your service.' He bowed with exceptional grace.
And while protocol demanded he wait to be presented to her, no one was surprised at his audacity.
She should take offense at his insolence, but he looked so beautiful, she could scarcely breathe.
But then she smelled the heavy fragrance-a woman's scent that rose from his hair and clothes-and an inexpressible rage filled her senses.
'How dare you,' she murmured, aware of the attention his appearance had evoked but unable to suppress her anger.
'I didn't realize you were such a stickler for convention, Miss Leslie. Should I find someone to introduce us?'
'Don't let me keep you, my lord. You perhaps wish to return to your lady friend.'
'Not in the least. I apologize for my unkempt state. It was unavoidable.'
'As is my next engagement. Excuse me, gentlemen. I've promised Lady Hertford a moment of my time.' She made to walk away.
Dermott stepped in her path, his half-smile offering challenge. 'Barbara won't mind waiting. Dance with me, Miss Leslie.'
All eyes were on their exchange, and even those on the opposite side of the ballroom recognized a contretemps.
Isabella smiled tightly. 'The musicians aren't playing, my lord. Perhaps some other time.'
'An oversight, I'm sure.' Gripping her hand, he stepped out onto the floor enough so the resting musicians saw him, and signaled for them to begin. They were separated from the other guests by a small distance now, their words not as likely to be heard.
'You're annoying me,' Isabella snapped.
'Strangely, I feel the same way.'
'Then I'll thank you to unhand me.'
'I don't care to. Are you willing to make a scene at your coming-out party?' he softly jibed, drawing her into his arms as the strains of a
'How kind of you to notice, my lord,' she replied sarcastically, trying to ease backward.
'Kindness has nothing to do with it.' His grip tightened as he smoothly moved them into a turn. 'Your breasts are quite magnificent mounded in plump display above that very risque neckline.'
'Low decolletage is the fashion, my lord. As you well know, I'm sure, considering your major source of interest.'
'As I recall, it was yours as well.'
'People change. Although I see you're still in form. Who was your lover tonight? She uses perfume liberally.'
'Actually, I forget.'
He didn't even have the decency to deny it, she hotly reflected. 'But then, you make a point of forgetting your light o'loves, don't you.'
'Not always. I'm here tonight.'
'Am I supposed to be flattered?' How beautifully he danced, damn him, effortlessly.
'You should be.'
'You arrogant bastard!' she hissed, his cool nonchalance galling. 'Is this where I'm supposed to fall into your arms and offer myself to you?'
He smiled. 'You're already in my arms.' With a cordial nod he acknowledged an acquaintance dancing by. 'Although I'm getting the distinct impression you won't be offering yourself in the next few minutes,' he murmured, his attention returned to her.
'How astute. It must come from your vast experience with women. For your information, I won't be offering myself at all.'
'Really.'
Another nod, a smile. He seemed to know everyone. 'Yes, really,' she said in a pettish tone that took issue with both the public display of adulation directed at him and his casual acceptance of it. 'You're too assured, my lord. You've had your way too long.'
'And you haven't?'
'Not with such selfish abandon.' Most pertinently, she refused to be number two hundred and ten or one thousand fifty or whatever the sum of his conquests. The female fragrance on him tonight forcefully reminded her of his reputation for inconstancy.
'Do you wish to be courted? Is that what you want?'
'What I want, my lord, isn't within your power to give.'
'You never complained before-about my giving,' he dryly murmured.
Her cheeks turned red. 'I have some pride, Dermott. Consider-how long would you keep me if I returned? A week, two weeks? When would you tire of the game? Because it's only a game with you. And I no longer care to play.'
'Are you angling for a husband?' His voice had taken on an edge. 'Is that what this is all about? This season and your newly found virtue?'
'What difference does it make.'
'Tell me,' he brusquely ordered, no longer nonchalant, the thought of her married to someone else insupportable.
'Unless you're thinking of proposing, I don't see how it can possibly matter what my plans are.'
