Page 127 of How to Lose a Lord in Ten Days

This part was going to be difficult. Ideally, she needed to be within his sights for as much as the evening as possible, whilst avoiding actually speaking to him for as long as possible. Her imitation might be good, but she did not care to test it face to face with Lady Phoebe’s husband until he had several more drinks under his belt. But that decision was not up to her, and as she nodded and smiled her way around the room, she became aware that she was being pursued by a flushed and sweating Sir Waldo. Dear lord. She sped up, watching as new couples began to flock to the floor for the waltz and tried to scan the crowd for someone she might force to be her partner.

Ashford appeared at her side just in the nick of time.

‘He is coming,’ he said. ‘Dance with me.’

She accepted his hand, and they joined just as the musicians began to play the first notes.

‘Where is he now?’ Lydia asked, taking his hand in hers as Ashford placed his arm about her waist.

‘Watching,’ he said.

‘Villainously?’

‘Yes. I hope I am there, when he finds out she is gone – I should like to see the look upon his face.’

‘Don’t get ahead of yourself,’ Lydia said. ‘We have the whole night to get through, still.’

She could not help but sigh at the thought. ‘What a day.’

‘It does feel many moons since we were trying to hide in that study,’ Ashford said.

They looked at each other and then away.

‘We kissed, earlier,’ she said, for if they were both thinking of it, they might as well speak of it, surely.

‘Can we strictly call that a kiss?’ Ashford wondered.

‘Our mouths touched,’ she said. ‘I’m not sure what else you would call it.’

‘Romantic.’

‘I ought to apologize,’ she said. ‘I should have asked permission.’

‘It would have been the gentlemanly thing to do.’

‘I am not a gentleman.’

‘That much,’ he said, ‘I had already noticed.’

They turned, and turned, and turned again.

‘Well, I’m sorry,’ she said belligerently.

‘You need not be.’ He looked down at her and then quickly away. ‘I do not regret it.’

Lydia inhaled sharply.

‘Ashford—’ she began, but the next turn had her facing towards the doorway, and there was Pip, no mask on his face, his gaze significant and intense.

‘Oh lord,’ she breathed. ‘There is Pip – I forgot all about him.’

‘Poor chap,’ Ashford said. ‘He’s been on a wild-goose chase this afternoon.’

Another turn, and she craned her neck to see him again.

‘No.’ She frowned. ‘He looks … excited.’

His eyes were bright with it. The last notes of the song played and they drew apart.