“A lovely creation, madam,” murmured Saybrook. “Your taste is exquisite.”
“And expensive,” she replied. “I hope you are a very rich man, milord.”
He inclined his head a fraction. “I am. But be advised that I expect my investment to pay off.”
The note of cool detachment nettled for an instant, but Arianna was quickly distracted by the arrival of Lord Concord, who came in with several other gentlemen.
As he turned to converse with his friends, she had a chance to study him under the bright light of the crystal chandelier.
Robert Mappleton, the Right Honorable Lord Concord, was a decade younger than her father—which put his age at forty-four—and had inherited the barony only recently. Those facts, and a good many other details about his background, she had committed to heart. Until now, however, she had caught only fleeting glances of his face.
Arianna could see why many women found him attractive. He possessed fleshy good looks that were just beginning to show the effects of his dissolute lifestyle. His dark hair was thick, with just a touch of silver showing at the temples, and his smile radiated a certain self-confident hauteur.
She angled her body, just enough to catch his eye, and then turned away. Let him wonder who she was.
“Quite a crush, is it not?” Saybrook surveyed the snaking line of guests winding their way up the curved stairway. “That is, by the by, the highest accolade for any evening entertainment.”
Mellon and his wife rejoined them. “Shall we go up?” he inquired tightly.
“After you, Uncle,” replied Saybrook, offering Arianna his arm.
The vast stretch of black and white marble floor tiles were barely visible beneath the sea of ruffled silks and polished evening pumps. The effect was still impressive, as was the pristine painted woodwork and the high, arched ceiling decorated with an Italianate fresco of cavorting cherubs.
She blinked, feeling a bit blinded by all the rich trappings of the haute monde.
A lady’s light laugh sounded nearby, the dulcet tone blending with the masculine murmurs and the muted clink of crystal.
Privilege, power, pedigree. Wealth had a language of its own.
Her eyes once again found Lord Concord.
“If you are ready, Lady Wolcott, I think we ought to follow my uncle’s suggestion and go meet our hostess.”
Saybrook’s words roused her from her study. “Yes, of course.”
The stairs were still crowded. She felt the brush of wool against her bare arms and heard whispers stir behind her back. Their comments had drawn attention. People were curious about the new face in their midst.
Excellent.
Fluttering her fan, Arianna ventured a peek at the people below. Concord was leaning on the newel post, his head upturned, his gaze on her.
Better and better.
As they made the last turn to the upper floor, the light from the massive chandelier seemed to take on an even more glittering intensity. Mellon was waiting for them, and as his wife slipped away to greet a group of her friends, he held out a gloved hand. “I shall take our lovely relative to greet Lady Battell,” he announced. “And then we will have the first dance before turning her over to you, Sandro.”
The earl stepped aside with alacrity. “But of course. I will meet up with you later.”
Arianna had no chance to see where he slipped off to, as she was immediately swallowed into a swirl of silken greetings. Names, faces, titles—she concentrated on keeping them all straight. Everyone, it seemed, was anxious to make her acquaintance.
“That seemed to go well,” she murmured as Mellon finally was able to lead her on to the dance floor.
“Yes.” The earl’s uncle kept a dutiful smile pasted on his face, but no warmth reached his eyes.
“I know how little you like this, sir,” she said. “But I’m not your nephew’s enemy. I’m not going to stab him in the back.”
“So you say.” His jaw tightened. “Have you truly any idea of what a dirty, dangerous game you are playing?”
“I’m not afraid,” answered Arianna.
“Well, you should be,” whispered Mellon. “As should my nephew.”
She wasn’t sure how to answer, so they danced the rest of the quadrille in silence, their feet moving mechanically in time with the music.
“Your uncle dislikes me,” she said, as the earl claimed her hand.
“He tends to be protective,” answered Saybrook.
“Your grandmother’s journal also expressed worry over you,” she blurted out. “Why?”
“I was at war, Lady Wolcott. Naturally she was worried.”
Despite the noise and the crowd, Arianna was suddenly aware of being very alone. No one gave a damn whether she lived or died. Even when her father was alive, he had shown little paternal responsibility. Every man for himself was the unspoken credo. She had learned at an early age to fend for herself.
“Naturally,” she replied coolly. “So who watched over you in the army? Do your fancy English regiments hire mother hens to keep watch over the precious chicks?”
The shadow of his lashes hid his eyes. “Have a care where you tread, Lady Wolcott,” he said softly.
Arianna felt his shoe pinch against her toe.
“The dance,” he chided. “Pay attention to the dance. If you wish people to believe you are who you say you are, you can’t afford the tiniest slip.”
“Thank you for the warning,” she muttered.
“Call it a caution.” He spun through an intricate turn. “I see that Lord Concord is here. I assume you wish to strike up an acquaintance.”
“Correct,” she said through her teeth.
“I know one of his companions. I’ll introduce you when this sets ends.”
“A Mr. Needham has claimed my hand for the next dance.”
Saybrook’s mouth curled to a semblance of a smile. “Prerogative of rank. I shall inform him that I want you to meet some of my friends.”
“And your wish is my command?”
“So it will seem to him.”
An oblique answer. Which was just as well. Having to work with anyone chafed. She didn’t rub along well with figures of authority.
“My uncle and aunt will be leaving shortly—and by the by, we can trust that Eleanor has made certain that every gossip in Town is now aware that you are a very rich widow.”
“Lucky me,” she murmured.
“Yes, well, you’ll have every fortune hunter sniffing around your skirts. But I imagine you won’t have any trouble fending them off.”
“Just get me close to Lord Concord, sir.”
“As I said, that will be no problem.” His face betrayed no hint of concern. Indeed, he looked almost anxious to feed her to the wolves. “Signal me when you are ready to leave. I will take you back to my uncle’s town house in my carriage.”
It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him that wasn’t necessary. But it was. The rules of propriety must be maintained for now.
“Come,” he said, as the trill of the violins died away. “Now that the erstwhile chef has spent a bagful of my blunt making herself look good enough to eat, let us see if Concord will bite.”
“You are new to Town, Lady Wolcott?” asked Sir Philip Gavin as Saybrook excused himself from the group.
“Yes.” Arianna flashed a smile at the three men, letting it linger just a little on Concord. “It’s been ages since I’ve visited. I am so looking forward to enjoying myself.”
Gavin looked at her intently, and then his mouth twitched—a little hungrily, she thought.
Encouraged, she leaned in a little, allowing them all a better look at her décolletage. “Is it very naughty to admit that I take pleasure in a party? My late husband preferred a quiet life in the country. We would occasionally journey to Harrowgate to take the waters. But the society there was very . . . dull.”
“It’s only natural for a lovely lady to prefer a more stimulating environment than the wilds of Yorkshire,” replied Concord with a hint of a grin. “I assure you London is far more fun.”