Lady Merrick sent a triumphant glance in her niece’s direction, as if his attention to Lady Felicity confirmed the countess’ opinion that men preferred empty-headed females.
She could be forgiven for thinking it, he supposed. She was not even entirely wrong. There were such men, certainly.
Unfortunately for Lady Felicity, he was not one of them.
With a polite nod toward the others, he offered Felicity his arm. As her gloved hand slid along his sleeve, he could not help but wonder whether Camellia’s touch would feel similarly cool. He rather suspected it would scorch. Her indignation radiated from her in waves, like heat rising from the baked earth on a late summer day.
Never, never had he wanted so badly to be burned.
“Camellia,” he heard Lady Merrick command after they had walked a few steps away, “fetch me a lemonade.”
Ordinarily, he might have turned back and offered to bring it himself. But as he glanced toward the refreshment room, at the milling crowds awaiting the next performance, another plan began to form in his mind. A dangerous, delectable sort of plan. And he held his tongue.
“Which of the performances did you most enjoy, Lord Ash?” Felicity asked, after a moment’s silence.
“Sadly, I have no judgment in matters of music,” he said, mustering his most charming demeanor. “You must teach me which I ought to have liked best.”
Lady Felicity looked up at him, her blue gaze awash in consternation. It was not that she did not have an opinion, he realized. Any fool could see that she did. But she had been scolded once too often for offering it. He could not help but think that if someone like Christopher Fox, someone safe, had asked the question, she would have been only too eager to speak her mind.
It had been difficult enough to follow through with this marriage scheme when he had thought her dull and dumb. God help him if he were to discover she was more like her cousin than first met the eye.
“I quite liked the harp, actually,” she said at last, “until Cousin Camellia said—”
“Shall I let you in on a little secret?” He tilted his head toward her as if to impart a confidence. “Miss Burke quite liked it as well.”
“Oh, do you think so?” Her face brightened. “I found it wonderful. I would like to have learned, but Papa said the pianoforte was sufficient. And even then, I—I am not very good.” That admission was accompanied by a demure lowering of her gaze.
“Your modesty becomes you,” he said, although he suspected she was not merely being modest. “But I will not permit you to find fault with these perfect fingers,” he murmured, taking them in his and lifting them almost to his mouth as he spoke.
He did not kiss her hand. And, as was proper, she gently withdrew from his grasp and blushed as if he had. “What nonsense you speak, Lord Ash,” she protested.
Ah, God, she was sweet innocence itself, and he was the basest cad in existence for using her for it. But such a revelation would surprise no one.
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of Camellia waiting at the nearby table. “Yes. I fear I have quite taken leave of my senses,” he said as whatever good intentions he possessed rapidly abandoned him and set to work paving the road to hell—or at least, opening a path to the punch bowl. “In fact, I’m afraid I’ve just remembered a prior engagement. I will have to leave soon, if I am not to be late.”
“Of course, my lord. I would not wish to be the cause of your breaking a promise.”
Those gentle words were almost enough to stay him from his course.
Almost.
But they were accompanied by a slight easing of her posture. Relief. She wanted to escape as much as he did. “You are too generous, my dear.” The endearment fell from his lips with only the slightest hesitation. “May I bring you a glass of champagne before I go?”
She was tempted, he could see. “Mama never permits it.” She paused, considering, and then dutifully shook her head. “Just lemonade, if you please.”
And in another moment, he was looking down at the blue-black twists of Camellia’s hair, imagining what it would be like to untie the ribbon that held it and watch it tumble free to tease her breasts.
He leaned forward under the guise of reaching for a cup—the same cup for which she had reached. His fingers brushed hers—both gloved, this time—and then retreated. “I do beg your pardon, Miss Burke.” Her hand dropped to her side, so he picked up the cup and offered it to her with a bow. “Will you be so kind as to deliver a message to Lady Merrick on my behalf?”
She took the drink from his hand and nodded, but she did not meet his eye.
“I have just remembered another commitment and must take my leave. Please give her ladyship my regards and extend my apologies for this abrupt departure.”
“You ought to speak for yourself, my lord,” she said, straightening her spectacles with her free hand. “Are you quite certain my feeble, female brain is capable of remembering such an important commission?”
He felt a smile tug at his lips. “Quite.” Leaning forward on the pretense of taking a second cup, he spoke again, but this time, his whispered words were for her ears only. “When the music resumes, meet me in the gallery at the rear of the house.” A request he had no business making. In a tone that ought to cause her to take flight, if she truly possessed even an ounce of the good sense he thought she did. As he straightened up, he raised his voice again. “Let me take you to your cousin. You and she can return to Lady Merrick’s side together.”
A high flush of color had spread across Camellia’s cheekbones, and her eyes were focused unseeingly on the cup in her hands. For a
