Chapter Eight
The truly wonderful thing about London during the Season, Nick reflected, was that it was full to the brim of women. Tall and small, fair and dark, deliciously curved and regally slim—they were all packed into Almack’s and ripe for the picking.
But he could not pick just yet. Before he could find his future marchioness, Adelaide must be happily wed. Happily being the more important part. Her look of despair when he’d told her she could have marriage but not his money was branded forever in his mind. No, he could not force a lifetime of such misery on her. He must find her a suitable husband. He owed her that much, at least.
The trouble was, the ballroom was packed with rakes, dandies, and idiots—none of whom were at all suitable for Adelaide. She needed a man with brains, someone who—
His eye caught on an elfin creature making her way rather determinedly to where the dowagers and spinsters sat and gossiped. What on earth was Adelaide doing? She was certainly not going to find a husband there. She ought to be flirting. Batting those dark doe eyes of hers at some poor, defenseless man.
He took an involuntary step forward, then halted as she was waylaid by Colonel Kent. He watched as she handed the colonel her dance card and he scribbled his name. That was good. She should dance, and Kent was a decent enough fellow, if a bit dull. As a hero of Waterloo, he was quite popular with the ladies, and their mamas. It did not hurt that, although he was not a peer, he was comfortably situated.
Had Kent claimed the second dance? The third? He could have any except the first, which belonged to Nick.
“If you hold that glass any tighter, it will crack,” Nathaniel said next to him.
Nick frowned at the punch in his hand, noting that his fingertips were, indeed, turning white from exertion. He relaxed his hold and raised the cup to his lips, taking a deep gulp. “Why are you bothering me? Go find Alice.”
“Alice is with her friends.”
Nick looked in the direction his brother indicated and saw a golden-haired beauty laughing with Alice. “Who is she?”
“Miss Eliza Benton, you mean? She and Alice are very close. I don’t know much about her family, other than her parents died several years ago, and she lives with her brother and his wife.”
“Why do you ask?” Sebastian Sinclair, the Duke of Wessex, asked, coming up beside them.
Nathaniel grinned. “Nick is in the market for a bride.”
Which was true enough. But he was here to court Adelaide, not Miss Benton. Although it wouldn’t do to show too much interest before they had even had their first dance. Better to let the courtship grow gradually.
“How interesting.” Wessex gave Nick a bored look. “And Miss Benton has caught your attention?”
Nick looked at the girl again. She was certainly lovely, in the manner of a Madonna painting by one of the Italian masters. He turned back to Wessex. “There would be worse things to look at over breakfast.”
Wessex gave a derisive snort. “You are certainly welcome to try,” he said, in much the same way he might have said, By all means, tickle the hungry lion.
Nick pondered this for a brief moment. On the one hand, he could not dance only with Adelaide without the entire ton taking notice. On the other hand, he had no desire to irritate a duke.
“What of that lady, there?” he asked Nathaniel. He nodded his head toward the other woman with Alice.
“Oh, Lady Claire Harrison? Yes, she’s a nice girl. Family beyond reproach. She’s the daughter of the Marquess of Chatwell, and her grandfather on her mother’s side is a duke.”
“Ah.” Nick looked at her with somewhat more interest. She could make a powerful ally.
“Only…” Nathaniel paused. “She does have the oddest habit of…remembering.”
Nick puckered his forehead. “Remembering what?”
“Everything.”
Hmm. Perhaps that would be useful. She could tell him who all these people were, and why the devil he should care. “I believe I shall ask her to dance.”
Nathaniel shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He took a step toward her, but Nathaniel stopped him. “You haven’t been introduced. Wait here a moment.”
Nathaniel darted off in search of a matron. Nick drank his punch.
“If you will excuse me, I shall ask Miss Bursnell for a dance,” Wessex said. “Her dance card must be almost full by now.”
Nick gave the duke a coolly assessing look. He might not know an earl’s daughter from a baronet’s, but he knew a rake when he saw one. Wessex was most definitely a rake. He was also his brother’s closest friend. If Nate had shared Adelaide’s history with him, what would stop the duke from seducing her himself?
“By all means.” Nick felt a tiny spasm in his eyelid and was rather surprised about that. It wasn’t like him to display his thoughts so clearly.
“Nick.”
He turned. His mother stood there, hands clasped, face beaming. His gaze shifted to his brother, who was openly smirking.
“You are in need of an introduction to Lady Claire?” his mother asked. “She is such a delightful girl.”
Nick bit back a groan. His mother was watching him with hope-filled eyes, while visions of double weddings and grandchildren danced in her head.
“I will get you for this,” he hissed in Nate’s ear, but he dutifully followed his mother to Lady Claire. His brother’s laugh echoed behind them.
He tried not to look annoyed while his mother made the introductions. The fifth dance was procured and noted in Lady Claire’s flowery handwriting on her dance card. She smiled very prettily at him, and he was reasonably sure he smiled back. It would have been easier to pay attention to Lady Claire’s smiles if he hadn’t caught sight of Adelaide once again sneaking toward the spinster section.
And she was sneaking.
As he watched, she slipped into a chair in the farthest corner. She glanced around, as though to be sure that no one was watching. Then she reached into her reticule.
And pulled out a book.
Damnation.