Page 9 of Saving a Scoundrel
“Don’t be silly. Your bosoms look stunning,” Susanna said.
Lady Dearborn gave her daughter a quelling look over her shoulder. But Susanna just shrugged. They moved along the receiving line. Ellie glanced over at Susanna’s small pert breasts elegantly swathed in a peach silk gown and then back down at her cleavage, which seemed to want to burst forth from the confines of her corset. She adjusted the delicate gold chain of her necklace nervously.
“You both look lovely tonight,” Lady Dearborn said. “So fresh and pretty. Don’t you think so, my lord?”
“Uh yes, yes, lovely, of course.” Lord Dearborn glanced back at them with a distracted smile.
Lady Dearborn patted his arm before turning to smile at their hostess. “Lady Ponsonby, everything positively sparkles tonight. May I introduce my daughter, Susanna, and her dear friend Miss Spencer?”
Lady Ponsonby nodded her head regally. “A pleasure to meet you, ladies. Lord Dearborn, Lady Dearborn, I’m so glad you could attend tonight.”
They moved toward the top of a pair of curved stairs that led down into a ballroom filled with guests. Ellie paused at the railing to look down. There must be two hundred people milling about. Crystal chandeliers heavy with candles hung in a row down the long room. The center of the room already held dancing couples, a colorful blur of skirts and bejeweled coiffures.
Around the edges of the dance floor were groups of people in small knots of conversation and waiters winding through the crowd balancing silver trays laden with wine. The room was a hive of movement and sound. A string quartet played in one corner but behind the music was the constant buzz of conversation.
The urge to flee flooded her. What was she doing here? Everyone knew each other in this small rarefied world. While she knew no one, what would she possibly have to say that anyone would think was witty? They would all see through her pretty costume and find her to be provincial and dull. Her knuckles tightened painfully as she gripped the balustrade. Perhaps it wasn’t too late to change her mind about all this adventure business.
*
Lucius leaned againstthe wall and took a long swallow of his wine. Around him, the laughter was too loud. Comstock’s new plaything had the high-pitched giggle of a hyena. The woman dressed as garish as her laugh. But the group of men standing around her all thought her bawdy jokes hilarious.
Next to him, the Duke of Hartwick rolled his eyes and tipped his flask back for another slug of brandy. “Don’t think any cock sucking, no matter how good, is worth listening to that laugh.” He leaned in and stumbled a bit before catching himself with one hand on the wall. “Don’tcha think?”
Lucius just shook his head. It was only nine thirty in the evening, and Hart was already stumbling. It was going to be a long night. His friend, famously affable, had shown up this evening scowling and on a mission to drink himself to oblivion. When Lucius asked what crawled up his ass, he’d growled one word. “Lucy.” Hart was the guardian to Miss Lucy Middleton, a young woman so irksome his friend only ever growled her name in frustration.
Perhaps he could persuade everyone to play cards. The dance floor was no place for a drunk scowling duke. Lucius was already exhausted. He had spent the day at the brewery helping to load barrels of beer for distribution to local pubs. Not generally his job but two of Macdougal’s men had been missing, and Mac himself had been hefting barrels to help out. Lucius rolled his shoulders; his ego dented a bit at how sore his back felt.
The music changed, and he glanced around the ballroom as the dancing couples clapped politely. It was early yet, and an influx of people still drifted down the grand staircase. His eyes followed the marble stairs up to the landing. His breath caught. Eleanor Spencer stood at the balustrade, a ray of pure sunshine in a pale yellow gown.
He had never seen her dressed like this. The silk hugged her curvaceous figure. A long ribbon in dark green circled her waist, showcasing the flare of her hips below and an abundance of cleavage above. Short puffed sleeves were diaphanous in an iridescent fabric of some sort, and there were tiers of ruffles along the hemline of the dress. The curls piled on top of her head were the color of soft burnished gold and threaded through with a dark green ribbon.
He had forgotten about those dark gold curls. In recent years, whenever he saw Ellie, her hair was always pulled back tightly under a bonnet or lace cap. As a young boy, he had been obsessed with her bouncy ringlets, taking every opportunity to tug one when she wasn’t looking. He took a gulp of wine, then frowned.
Instead of wide-eyed anticipation, Ellie looked terrified. She stood frozen, her hands gripped the railing, and her lips trembled. What was this about? Feisty Ellie Spencer, the woman who always spoke her mind, usually to scold him for some indiscretion or another, afraid of a ballroom filled with pretentious peacocks? Not possible.Come on kitten, straighten those shoulders.
As if she could hear his thoughts, Ellie straightened. She slid her hands from the railing and ran them down the yellow silk of her skirt.Now smile.Her lips turned up at the corners. She glanced over her shoulder at Susanna Dearborn, who waved a hand beckoning her. Turning, she joined her friend at the top stair.That’s my girl.
“Grisham!” a loud voice boomed. Lord and Lady Pierson strolled up. Lord Pierson nodded to the duke. “Your Grace.”
Hart managed a regal nod in return. “Pierson. Didn’t think you’d show your face tonight after having your bill so roundly thrashed this week.”
Lord Pierson’s face reddened behind his salt-and-pepper beard as he blustered. “Nonsense. That vote would have gone my way if it hadn’t been for Babcock’s underhanded tactics. How many hands do you suppose he greased?”
Hart just chuckled. “Sounds like sour grapes to me.”
Rosemary unhooked herself from her husband’s arm as he continued to bluster about politics. She glided up next to Lucius. “Mr. Grisham, what a remarkable cravat pin. It’s simply stunning.”
Lucius brushed his mouth across the satin-covered knuckles of her outstretched hand. “Thank you, Lady Pierson. It’s new, a gift from a friend.”
“Your friend must like you very much.” Her lips curved into a smile.
Lucius gave her fingers a quick squeeze before stepping back. Rosemary loved to flirt. But he wouldn’t take the bait in front of her husband, no matter how naughty she was feeling. Her mouth formed a small pout, but she was easily distracted by Lady Arnold, who stopped to say hello. He leaned back against the wall once more and raised his glass to his lips. Deuce, he was out of wine. He held out a hand to Hart, who passed him his flask without breaking off his conversation with Lord Pierson. On his other side, Rosemary and Lady Arnold gossiped.
“I heard that she had to have the whole wardrobe altered just this month. She must have been eating like a heifer all winter,” Lady Arnold said.
“Or she has been terribly careless with her indiscretions.” Rosemary raised an eyebrow.
Lucius lifted the flask and took a long swallow of excellent brandy. He handed it back to Hart. He was so tired. A flash of yellow caught his eye. Ellie stood across the room next to Susanna Dearborn, and several men surrounded them. Susanna held court as usual. But Ellie stood stiffly, her hands clasped tightly together in front of her. She shook her head at something, and the gentleman talking with her moved away. Dancing resumed and obscured his view of her.
