Page 21 of When a Rogue is in Vogue
She hesitated."My brother will?—"
"See you in company.In a crowded room, under your mother's eye, within reach of Lady Oakford.Hardly the stuff of scandal."
He offered his arm.
She regarded it.He did not look coaxing, merely patient.
Choice, she thought.A small one.Not a cliff, only a step.
She slid her hand onto his sleeve.
They moved along the edge of the room, a polite promenade.People nodded, whispered, pretended not to stare.Redford commented on the paintings in a low, irreverent voice.She added small, wicked observations of her own.Genny, catching her eye across the room, waggled her brows and then promptly distracted Harrison by dropping her fan and launching into an argument about the relative merits of Handel and Haydn.
Halfway round, Redford slowed near a tall window.The curtains had been drawn back to let in a sliver of night.Beyond, the square lay quiet, lamps glowing.
"Do you know," he said, "in all my years of mischief, I have rarely had an accomplice who counts 'breathing room' as a victory."
"What do others count?"she asked.
"Kissing in the wrong conservatory.Winning foolish sums at cards.Avoiding marriage altogether."
She looked out into the dark."I would settle for choosing who sits beside me."
He was silent.A long moment.
"That," he said softly, "we can attempt."
She glanced at him."You make it sound so simple."
"It is not," he said."I am not foolish enough to pretend.But if the path insists upon being narrow, we may at least knock down the occasional hedge."
She smiled despite herself.
"Lord Redford, I believe you may be incorrigible."
"You believe correctly," he said."And yet here you are, on my arm."
"Temporarily," she reminded him.
"Of course."
And yet, as they returned to their seats, as the music rose and the evening unfurled, Esme could not shake the sensation that something had shifted.
Not dramatically, but subtly.
A small change, barely noticeable, until one day she suspected the entire image might look different.
By the time the final notes faded and the guests began to depart, the experiment had yielded modest success.
Watford had not spoken to Esme once.Mr.Dane had secured a promise of a waltz from Lady Berner's daughter at the next assembly.Lady Honoria, deprived of worthy prey, had been forced to content herself with reciting pointed couplets to the Bishop.
Esme had spent an entire evening in public without once feeling like a parcel being passed from hand to hand.
At the door, as cloaks were fetched and carriages called, Redford bowed over her hand.
"Thank you."
"For what?"
