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“Why not?” Cardemore gave a shrug of his massive shoulders. “Like the rest of your kind, you’ve been taught from the cradle how to manipulate others. There’s very little you can’t manage if you put some effort to it. And don’t think I don’t know it. I come from the same sort of people, with all their ancient titles and ancient blood and ancient emotions.” He sat back comfortably in his chair. “The Walfords go back to before the days of the Romans, so far back you’d think we’d have water in our veins by now instead of blood, we’ve been stretched so thin. Some of us are half-mad,” he said with a grin. “Some of us are nearly inhuman. I happily abandoned my family when I was fourteen and never would have gone back if my brother hadn’t had the bad manners to get himself killed without leaving a son to inherit the title and estates, and if Lily hadn’t needed me. I’ve loved few souls in my life, Graydon,” Cardemore said softly, intently, “but Lily is the most precious among them. I’ve held her safe from every harm these past many years, keeping her in the country, as far from fashionable society’s vultures as possible, but now I think perhaps I’ve done her a disservice. She’s twenty-one years of age and as vulnerable as a newborn babe. Coming to London is as a dream to her. An answer to all her prayers. I’ll not allow her to be disappointed. Understand that.” His expression took on a hint of menace, as gentle and firm as his voice. “Lily will have all the things she’s dreamed of. Exactly as she’s dreamed of them. You’ll make certain of it or lose everything you hold most dear. I give my word of honor on it.”
“Why?” Graydon asked, shaking his head. “There must be dozens of better men you could have chosen.”
“Hardly,” was the casual reply as Cardemore opened a desk drawer and pulled out a single sheet of paper, which he scanned. “I’ve been informed by my sources that you’re a notable sportsman, a leader of fashion, highly admired among the nobles as a rising power in Parliament, considered the catch of the ton by the mothers of marriageable females and, according to my mistress—” Cardemore glanced up at him “—handsome enough to make young girls faint should you happen to smile at them. Not that I want you felling Lily, of course, but she’s far too level-headed for that sort of nonsense.” Leaning, he offered the paper to Graydon, who read it through with narrowed eyes. “Is it all correct?” Cardemore asked.
“Quite thorough.” Graydon passed the paper to Lord Daltry. “Right down to the name and location of my mistress.” He smoothed his fingers in a relaxed gesture over the folds of his cravat. “I’d ask how you came to know so much about my sisters, even their dates of birth, but I’m afraid I wouldn’t like the answer much.”
A chilly smile lifted the corners of Cardemore’s mouth. “No, I’m afraid you wouldn’t.”
“Dear me,” said Daltry, tossing the paper onto the desk. “Even my name’s listed as one of your frequent companions. Never knew you’d be such a dangerous fellow to associate with, Tony.”
“There’s one pertinent bit of information missing from your collection, however,” Graydon said. “I spent most of last season openly courting Miss Frances Hamilton, and it’s well-known among the members of the ton that she and I have an understanding, despite the fact that I’ve not yet made her a formal offer. I cannot possibly do what you ask without starting a great many unpleasant rumors flying, perhaps driving Miss Hamilton away even if I should be able to explain the matter to her.”
Cardemore’s expression sharpened. “You’ll tell no one of the understanding between us. Either of you.” His dark gaze fell briefly on Lord Daltry, who smiled cheerfully at him in turn. “If Lily should ever hear of it I would be most displeased. I don’t care what you do with Miss Hamilton. In my mind, she doesn’t exist as a problem. The only thing I’m concerned about is that Lily enjoy her first season in London and that she be spared any unkindness on the part of fashionable society. If she wants to attend parties, you make sure she attends them. If she wants to dance, you make sure she dances. When she leaves London to return to Cardemore Hall, I want her doing so with a smile on her face.”
“If you love your sister so dearly,” Graydon remarked, “then why don’t you squire her yourself?”
Cardemore stood, setting his hands palms down on the desktop. “That’s a foolish question, Graydon, even for you. If I took Lily about she’d be treated with respect for no other reason than simple fear, while behind her back all those sharp-tongued matrons of the ton would gleefully wreak havoc. If the most notable gentleman in London shows a keen interest in Lady Lillian Walford, however, society will welcome her with open arms.” From his great height, he gazed down at them much as a waiting panther might look with satisfaction upon its helpless prey. “Lily and Isabel will be arriving in three weeks, with my sister-in-law, Lady Margaret. Their first outing will be to Almack’s, where I have already secured vouchers for them. I advise that you make yourself known to Lily then, Graydon, for a month after that I’ll be holding her and Isabel’s comeout here at Wilborn Place and I’ll expect to see you leading Lily out for the first dance.” To Lord Daltry he added, “If you bear your friend any affection, then do what you can to aid him in his endeavors. Otherwise you’ll find yourself lending him comfort as he serves his time in debtor’s prison. It will be, I promise you, a lengthy period of time in which to prove the mettle of your friendship.”
Chapter Two (#ulink_5a246c99-7671-5467-9d9b-f6cdb46a162d)
“That can’t be the girl, surely.” Lord Daltry frowned. “I didn’t expect her to be beautiful, what with having Cardemore for a brother, but I didn’t think she’d look more like a man than a woman. Are you sure there isn’t any way for you to get out of this?”
“I’m sure,” Graydon replied grimly, clasping his hands behind his back as he contemplated the tall, dark-haired young woman standing at the other side of Almack’s. “Cardemore headed off every attempt I made to retrieve my debts. He’s evidently got his own personal army of cutthroats. My tailor was so upset when I tried to pay him personally that I thought the poor man would have a seizure. It was the same everywhere else I went. People, it seems, are rather in awe of Lord Cardemore.”
“You’re going to go through with it, then?” Daltry asked, eyeing the young lady doubtfully. “With her? Only look at those shoulders. Looks like she could take on every man in the room and come out the easy winner. Gad. She gives new meaning to the notion of country girls being healthy.”
Graydon chuckled. “She’s not that bad, Matthew. Perhaps not beautiful, certainly nothing like Miss Hamilton, but handsome enough. As long as she’s well mannered I don’t suppose I’ll mind escorting her about London.”
“Handsome,” said Daltry. “Huh. If that’s what you like in a female.”
“I rather fancy tall women, and she looks to be even taller than Miss Hamilton. And look at that smile. Stunning. See how she’s charming old Hanby there? Don’t think I’ve ever seen him laugh before. Wonder what she’s telling him?”
“Probably ‘Laugh or I’ll give you a black eye, you skinny whelp,’” Daltry suggested dryly. “God’s feet, there goes Curtis taking her a glass of punch. The chit’s got more men fluttering around her than a horse does flies. Whatever was Cardemore worrying about? Doesn’t look like she needs helping. You ought to go back to that hell house of his and tell him that his sister’s doing fine on her own. What?” He looked over as Graydon’s hand gripped his sleeve. Seeing the expression on his friend’s face, he repeated, “What?”
“There.” Graydon nodded across the room. “Sitting right behind where Cardemore’s sister is standing. See her?”
Tilting his head to see through the swirl of dancers on the floor, Daltry looked, and after the initial shock wore off, announced, “She’s mine. You’ve already got Lady Lillian to look after, as well as Miss Hamilton to keep happy.”
“She’s fantastic,” Graydon murmured, staring. “I’ve never seen hair that color, so blond it’s almost white. She looks like a painting of an angel come to life. Who do you think she is?”
“Doesn’t matter, old boy,” Daltry assured him, smoothing both hands over his elegant black coat. “She’s all mine. You go take care of Lady Lillian. I’ll take care of the angel. Do you think she’s been given permission to waltz?” He looked about. “Where’s one of the patronesses?”
“There’s Lady Jersey,” Graydon said, smiling at that lady in his most charming manner as he sketched her an elegant bow. “Ah, that did it. Here she comes.”
“There you are, Graydon, at last,” Lady Jersey said without preface as she neared them, adding in a lower voice, “I’ve been waiting an eternity. I assured Lord Cardemore that his sister would be well taken care of even before you arrived, but, try though I might, none of the gentlemen I’ve introduced her to will ask her to dance. I don’t know what Cardemore expects if it’s not a miracle. Of course, if you’ll dance with the girl, the rest will follow. Come and be introduced to her sister-in-law. You, also, Daltry.”
Exchanging glances, the two men obediently followed as Lady Jersey led the way.
“Lady Margaret!” Lady Jersey greeted enthusiastically, holding out a hand to a tall, elegantly dressed woman who stood in the midst of a group of similarly aged ladies, chatting amiably. She was a stunningly beautiful woman, with dark red hair and large green eyes, and Graydon found it impossible to gaze at her without a surge of masculine admiration.
“My dear,” Lady Jersey said, pulling her forward, “I want to introduce you to two favorable gentlemen. Anthony Harbreas, the Earl of Graydon, and Matthew Rowling, Viscount Daltry. My lords, this is Lady Margaret Walford, the Countess of Cardemore.”
They exchanged polite greetings before Lady Jersey confided to Lady Margaret, “Lord Graydon has expressed a desire to dance with your sister-in-law. If it is acceptable to you, I’ll introduce them and give her my permission to waltz.”
Lady Margaret’s steady gaze fell upon Graydon, so cool and contemplative that, after a moment of silent perusal, he began to feel uncomfortable. He realized that she must wonder at the normally inflexible Lady Jersey’s obsequious behavior. He was rather amazed, too. In the wave of selfpity—and rage—that had engulfed him during the month since his meeting with Cardemore, it hadn’t occurred to Graydon that others might be affected by this peculiar nightmare. But here was Cardemore’s animated, redcheeked sister, his angelic niece, his beautiful, wary sister-in-law and even the indomitable Lady Jersey, all caught up in the same roiling mire that Graydon was. All victims of Cardemore’s whim and power.
“I should be grateful, my lady,” he found himself saying, feeling a sudden kinship with the woman. The idea of having his revenge at the expense of Cardemore’s sister had appealed to him a time or two, but now, staring into Lady Margaret’s green eyes, all such thoughts permanently fled. It wouldn’t do to take out his anger on these innocent women.
Lady Margaret’s gaze didn’t waver, but she nodded and said, “If Lily is willing, then I give my approval. You shall have to ask her, of course.” To Lady Jersey she added, “I’m grateful, my lady, for your kindness.”
And so Graydon found himself following both ladies, with Daltry in tow, across the room. When they were nearly there the buzz of gentlemen surrounding the dark-haired girl parted and the young lady herself emerged, coming at them with such a charming, dazzling smile that Graydon felt a sudden shock of appreciation. She was tall and, as Daltry had said, healthy. Her smooth, tanned skin was dotted with freckles, her eyes sparkled like blue sapphires. Her hair, which Graydon had assumed was black, was actually a deep auburn, with a multitude of shining red strands glimmering beneath the light of Almack’s chandeliers.
“Mama!” she cried, clasping one of Lady Margaret’s hands. “It’s the most wonderful thing! Lord Hanby’s brought several of his best hunters to town, and he says we may go riding with him one morning, whenever it would please us to do so!”
“That’s very kind of him, my dear,” Lady Margaret agreed, adding, when the girl opened her mouth to say more, “Isabel, I’d like to introduce you to the Earl of Graydon and to Viscount Daltry. My lords, this is my daughter, Lady Isabel.”
“My lady,” Graydon greeted with a polite calm that was fully at odds with the way his head was spinning. Bowing over the sturdy hand Lady Isabel offered, his gaze fell upon the young woman sitting almost directly behind her. That, he realized, was Cardemore’s sister. The very beautiful Lady Lillian Walford. And he was the lucky man who was going to have the pleasure of escorting an angel about London for the next three months.
Oh, no, Lily thought with a groan. Not him. Anyone but him, please, Aunt Margaret.
She wished she’d never come to London. What had ever possessed her to think that she would be able to fit in here, among people who didn’t allow themselves or their families to acknowledge, let alone associate with, someone like her? Aaron had tried to warn her what it would be like, and Aunt Margaret, too, but Lily had been stubborn. And foolish, she thought now with deep regret. How naive she’d been! Dreaming of London, of parties and beautiful clothes and dancing with handsome gentlemen like the ones who had so politely found reasons over the past hour to excuse themselves and walk away.
Oh, help. He was smiling at her now. The handsomest man in the room, the one every woman was looking at with open admiration—she wouldn’t be able to hide her humiliation this time. She had managed it with all the others, somehow, but when this man’s face filled first with realization, then with revulsion, Lily knew she wouldn’t be able to keep the pain at bay.
Clenching her trembling hands together, she stood when Aunt Margaret brought him forward, just as she had stood to be introduced to all the others. It was harder to make herself look into his face. She’d seen him the moment he’d arrived—indeed, everyone in the room had turned to look at his tall, blond figure, so elegant in the blue satin evening clothes that matched the color of his eyes.
“My lord,” Aunt Margaret was saying, although Lily barely heard her above the buzzing sensation in her head. She wondered if she was going to faint, and thought perhaps it might be a blessing if she did. “May I present my sister-in-law, Lady Lillian Walford? Lily, this is the Earl of Graydon.”
He gave her a smile so charming and appreciative that it made Lily’s toes curl in her slippers. If she hadn’t already been unable to speak, that smile alone would have robbed her of the ability. Her hand seemed to lift of its own accord, and she felt the warmth of his fingers closing gently about her own, pulling them up to his mouth as he bent to briefly press his lips against the silk of her glove.
“My lady,” he said, his voice as caressing as his blue-eyed gaze, “I’m honored.”
When she was a child, Lily had spent hours on her knees praying for a miracle, but never, not even in those tearful, pleading moments, had she wished more than she did now that she could speak as others did.
He kept smiling, holding her hand, waiting for a response, and Lily realized that she was simply staring. Giving a slight nod, she looked expectantly at Aunt Margaret, who only said, “Lord Graydon has asked for permission to dance with you, Lily, and Lady Jersey has given you her permission to waltz.”
Lily’s eyes widened, and, as if in league with her misery, the musicians suddenly began to play the music for the next dance—a waltz.
Lord Graydon looked as pleased as if he’d just received a boon from heaven itself. “Indeed, if you are not already spoken for, I should be grateful for this dance, my lady.”
She couldn’t. Never. She’d rather be humiliated on the spot than have the memory of dancing in his arms to think about for the rest of her life. Lily began to shake her head, to tug at the hand Lord Graydon insistently held, all the while looking pleadingly at Aunt Margaret, who gazed back with calm encouragement.
“You came to London to dance, my dear,” Aunt Margaret said in a low voice. “You must dance.”
She wasn’t going to tell him! Lily realized, feeling the shock jolt vividly through her limbs. Aunt Margaret had told all the others. Why wouldn’t she tell him?
She turned to Isabel for help, only to be met by the younger girl’s pleading expression. Isabel had refused to dance until they could both do so. She had wanted this time in London just as much as Lily, herself, had. Oh, help.
Lord Graydon’s handsome face began to fill with bewilderment. He would realize the truth in a few moments. He would feel like an utter fool. Lily cast one last pleading glance at Aunt Margaret, who only motioned her toward the dance floor.
It happened, somehow. Lily couldn’t remember whether she had walked into Lord Graydon’s arms or whether he had pulled her. One moment she was merely standing, and the next she was with him, gliding across the dance floor. She didn’t know how it was that her feet managed to make all the right steps, but somehow they did so. Lily felt as stiff as a stick of dry wood, and just as unreliable. Lord Graydon seemed to think so, too, for he said after a few rigid turns, “It’s very crowded, is it not? Is it much worse than what you’re used to in the country?”
Lily couldn’t bring herself to look at him. Keeping her eyes on her feet, she shook her head.
“I’ll not let you trip, Lady Lillian,” he said gently, much nearer to her ear so that she felt the warmth of his breath. She lifted her head to find that he was smiling down at her with an expression as innocent and unthreatening as a schoolboy’s. He tightened his grip on both her hand and waist and spun her about in a rapid turn, causing Lily to gasp aloud before he returned their movements to a more normal pace. With the same smile on his lips, he added, “You dance very well, my lady.”
The kind lie was so blatant that it almost made Lily smile in turn. She could dance well when the circumstances were right. At the moment, however, she didn’t doubt that she was dancing with all the grace of a lame cow. Fortunately, Lord Graydon was capable of pulling her along with enough ease to keep her from appearing too clumsy to the onlookers in the room. In the morning, the gossiping would start. Aaron had told her it would, but the idea hadn’t particularly distressed Lily before tonight. Now, having had her first taste of the ton, she was fully grateful that polite society wouldn’t be able to add “ungainly” to her list of shortcomings.
“Are you enjoying your visit to London this season, Lady Lillian?” Lord Graydon asked.
She shook her head. No.
A flash of surprise lit his blue eyes, though his features betrayed nothing more than polite interest.
“Have you only recently arrived? I disremember seeing you before at any other functions.”
Lily shook her head once more, and could see that he was becoming slightly wary. It would only be a moment more before he finally understood the truth, before his admiration turned to distress. He would be too much of a gentleman to desert her in the middle of their dance. She would have to endure the hellish moments of his dismay until the music ended.
“Perhaps,” he began hesitantly, “we should find a way to make your stay in town more enjoyable. I would be honored if you would allow me to bend my efforts to the task, my lady.”
Lily felt as if her heart had dropped all the way from her chest and into her feet. If he could only know how she had longed for a man to say such sweet words to her. If he could only know…But realization was dawning as he gazed questioningly into her eyes. Little by little, as they danced without speaking, she could see that he understood. He was stunned for a few moments, and then, as her vision blurred with tears, he began to look angry. His hands tightened on her once more, and he released a hard, taut breath as he twirled her about sharply. He was more than angry, she realized. He was furious. People were watching them, had been watching since they’d begun to dance. He must have suddenly realized how foolish he appeared at having tried to converse with her—with a woman who didn’t speak. He would feel as if he’d been duped by Aunt Margaret, perhaps even by Lady Jersey, perhaps even by Lily herself, into dancing with a freak.
“Don’t cry,” she heard him command tersely. “The dance will be over soon. For pity’s sake, don’t let them see you in tears.”
Lily tightly shut her eyes, but he said, “Look at me.” And again, more firmly, “Look at me, Lady Lillian. Into my face. Yes, just like that. Keep your eyes on mine. Now…smile.” He smiled into her stunned expression as if to show her how it was done. “Smile,” he said again. “At me. As if I’m the most charming, witty fellow you’ve ever known. If they’re going to talk, let’s give them something worth talking about.”
Something worth talking about? she thought incoherently, unable to fathom what the words meant. He wanted her to smile at him?
“Not like that, as if I’ve just sprouted two horns,” he chided. “You’re supposed to look as if you’re enjoying this. Aren’t you enjoying it? I am. You’re the most beautiful woman in this room. In all of London, for that matter. And you’re dancing in my arms. Even if you are looking at me as if I were a horrible apparition.”
Lily didn’t believe him. He couldn’t mean what he said, for she’d never seen anyone who looked as if he was enjoying what he was doing less than Lord Graydon did at that moment.
He spun her about again until Lily began to feel breathless, then he leaned closer and whispered, “Let’s give the gossips something to talk about. Shall we?”
She didn’t care what his motives were. If he could pretend to enjoy himself to save face, then so could she. With a definitive nod, she lifted her chin and gifted him with her most dazzling smile. He blinked at her, then his own smile widened. “Very well, then, my lady.”
The remainder of the dance was pure enjoyment. Lily relaxed and matched Lord Graydon’s daring movements step for step. By the time it was over they were both flushed and grinning. Lord Graydon bowed over her hand with a gallant flourish, kissing her fingers grandly as the rest of the assembly looked on.
“Thank you, Lady Lillian. You’re a marvelous partner. I’m honored to have been allowed to lead you out in your first waltz.”
Lily replied with an elegant curtsy.
With unhurried and deliberate care, Lord Graydon returned her to Aunt Margaret’s side, and then, with Lady Jersey beaming and Isabel fluttering and everyone in the room watching, he said, “May I call on you one day soon, my lady, with the hope that I might have the pleasure of your company for a drive?”
He was still furious. Lily could hear his anger clearly beneath the gentilesse of his words. He was doing what was expected of him, what was necessary to keep from appearing foolish. She should tell him no and release them both from the burden of any further pretense, yet when he gazed into her eyes she found herself nodding.
Lord Graydon bowed, gently kissed her hand again, then took his leave of Aunt Margaret and Lady Jersey. He spoke to no one else as he made his way to the assembly room doors, ignoring the stares and whispers of all those who watched him depart.
Chapter Three (#ulink_4ba5c3fd-b836-593f-94e5-7dab650676a2)
He walked for some time, aimlessly, neither knowing nor caring where he went. The night air was cold, and his harsh breathing coupled with it to form a painful, icy knot in his lungs. He tried not to think of what had just happened, of what he had almost done. Instead, he let his anger dwell solely on Lord Cardemore, and on what he would do to that man if he could somehow manage to get his hands around his thick neck.
The idea pulled Graydon to a stop, and he stood where he was and stared thoughtfully into the darkness. Cardemore. He was more than half tempted to go to the man’s house and bid him to the devil. Or personally send him to the devil, more like. The man had claimed to love his sister so well. Love! Graydon thought with silent disdain The inconsiderate swine wouldn’t know what love and care were if they walked up and bit him on the…
“Good evening, Lord Graydon.”
Graydon turned to face the owner of the voice that hailed him. He recognized at once the slender, well-dressed man who’d repeatedly appeared in various corners and side streets during the past several days while Graydon had attempted to repay his debts. He’d been hesitant, at first, to believe that the fellow was one of Cardemore’s minions, but it had become clear, despite the gentleman’s obvious civility and manners, that he was fully adept in the business of being an efficient shadow.
“Your master must pay you well, sir,” Graydon stated, his voice low and calm. “Day and night, is it?”
“I’m paid well enough for services rendered.” He made a slight bow, never taking his eyes from Graydon’s.
“I see. Do you intend to accompany me to my mistress’s home and wait for me until I’ve finished with her? Will you watch over my house while I’m sleeping? Surely Cardemore doesn’t expect me to flee the country in the middle of the night.”
“You’d have to ask Lord Cardemore what he thinks, my lord,” the man answered evenly. “I don’t make a habit of questioning my employers.”
“Certainly you don’t. Dogs are obedient to their masters.”
A thin smile curled the man’s lips. “Wise dogs are, my lord, which is a lesson I recommend you learn to live by until you’ve regained your debts. I was curious to see that Lady Lillian left Almack’s shortly after you did. Perhaps you’d best tell me what transpired, as I shall need to know what to report back to Lord Carde—”
Graydon shoved the man up against the wall of the nearest building, easily lifting him by the collar until they were eye to eye. “To Lord Cardemore? You need to know what to report back to your demon master?” He thrust the man harder into the bricks. “You tell him that he should’ve warned me beforehand that the sister he claims to love so well is mute. You tell him, you filthy cur, that I very nearly humiliated that same sister tonight because I wasn’t prepared, because of my shock. I can only thank a providential God that my mother taught me so well never to embarrass a female in any event, else Lady Lillian surely would have found herself dancing alone on the floor at Almack’s. That’s what you tell him. Understand?” He hauled the smaller man a few inches higher for emphasis.
“Put ’im down, m’lord.”
Graydon glanced briefly to one side, seeing the two burly men who stood nearby.
“Ah, so the shadow has shadows of his own, does he?” His lips pulled back into a feral smile. “How very convenient.”
“Now, if you please, m’lord. We don’t want to make you do it.”
“Don’t you?” Graydon asked softly, lowering the other man slowly to his feet. “But I should like very much to see if you could.” To his captive he said, “Remember the message I want you to give your master. Word for word, you understand? And remember, too, that if I ever see you sneaking around and about me again I’ll make you very sorry indeed.” Then, raising one fist, he deftly sent the man flying into the arms of his guardians. “Now,” Lord Graydon said as his assailants stared at him in disbelief. “Shall we do this one at a time or all together?”
“Guess we’d better teach ‘im a lesson, Bill,” the taller of the two said as he carelessly tossed Cardemore’s insensible minion to the ground. “You hold ‘im, and I’ll school ‘im.”
Smiling, Graydon began to pull the gloves from his hands, but stopped when he heard Lord Daltry’s rather bored voice emanating from the darkness.
“I’m very sorry to interrupt,” said Daltry as he strolled into their midst, “and I know you’ll not forgive me for spoiling your fun, Tony,” he added affably, placing his large, muscular person companionably near his friend, “but out of respect for your dear mother, I fear I must. I would appreciate it if you…gentlemen—” he drew the word out meaningfully “—would take your friend and leave.”
“Your timing is unfortunate, Matthew,” Graydon said. “I was going to enjoy this.”
“I know,” Daltry said apologetically as the two ruffians took in his size with some dismay. “But, devil take you, can’t you confine your amusements to more conventional venues, like gambling and drinking and women?” With a nod at the man lying on the ground, he repeated, “Take him and go before I change my mind and let my friend vent his ire on you. I can assure you that his temper is dismally volcanic.”
Exchanging glances, the men clearly decided that they’d be better off doing as they were told. When they had dragged their companion away, Daltry turned to Graydon with a sigh. “You,” he said, “are getting to be an exhausting fellow to know. Here.” He pushed a dark garment at him. “You left your cape at Almack’s, along with your coach. I think tonight must be a record of some sort. You’ve managed to set London’s tongues wagging, send your coachman into a state of apoplexy wondering whether he should wait for you to return to Almack’s, and expose yourself to a deathly chill all in an hour’s time. Quite exceptional, even for you.”
“Yes, Mama,” said Graydon, setting the elegant cloak about his shoulders.
“Never seen you look so thunderstruck on a dance floor before,” Daltry continued pleasantly. “Was it the angel’s beauty that put you in such a state, or was it something she said?”
