The Regency Season: Gentleman Rogues: The Gentleman Rogue / The Lost Gentleman. Margaret McPhee
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him.
He turned his attention to Lady Lamerton. ‘Ma’am, would you permit your companion to stand up with me for this dance?’
Asking the dowager rather than Emma. Playing by the rules of society. Yet it irked Emma, making her feel every inch the paid servant that she was, rather than a woman who had a right to answer for herself.
She looked around the small circle of ladies. Every one of them was staring at Lady Lamerton, eyes goggling, waiting with bated breath. Lady Lamerton was in her element, holding them all in the palm of her hand.
‘I will, sir. But only if Miss Northcote is in agreement.’
All eyes swivelled to Emma, awaiting her reaction.
There was a calculated gleam in Devlin’s eyes. He knew full well the stir it would create if she dealt him the direct insult of a refusal. He smiled his usual lazy, arrogant smile, that of a man who was used to getting what he wanted.
It was almost enough to tempt her to refuse him, just to see it wiped from his face. And had there not been Lady Lamerton to consider, and all that depended on Emma’s position with her, she would have done it. But there was Lady Lamerton. And there was Kit.
So Emma met those arrogant dark eyes and gave a cool polite smile. ‘Thank you, Lord Devlin, how could I refuse?’
He held out his hand to her.
She took a breath and, placing her hand in his, let him lead her out on to the dance floor.
* * *
Ned and Rob were with Misbourne, chief amongst the Hospital’s governors. Rob stood back, watching the dance floor while Ned discussed financial matters with Misbourne. Even though Ned was listening to Misbourne he was aware of what it was his friend watched so intently.
His eyes cut a glance through the crowd upon the dance floor to one couple alone. Devlin’s hand upon Emma’s. A light touch here. A lingering touch there. They did not speak, only danced with smooth flowing steps. Polite, formal, nothing but respectable. Emma’s expression was a mask that revealed nothing.
‘You really think you can drum up the investment?’ Misbourne asked.
‘It’s already done.’
‘Then what do you need me for?’
‘To represent the project amongst the great and good.’ They would listen to Misbourne. He was an earl. He was part of the establishment. Misbourne’s sharp dark eyes narrowed as they fixed upon Ned. He stroked his beard and studied Ned as if trying to glean his measure. The earl was not devoid of prejudices and might have his own dark agendas, but Ned knew the man would do better for the Hospital than any other. And so it was to Misbourne that he made the proposition.
Misbourne gave a nod. ‘Come round tomorrow at seven. We will discuss it over dinner.’
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