"You missed your calling," Isabella snapped, finally able to speak her mind. "You should have been on the stage."
"While you could have played the part of a sulky miss," he sportively replied. "How do you hope to bring a suitor up to scratch if you don't put yourself forward in a more flattering way?"
She cast him a steely glance. "Are you a suitor?"
"Acquit me, darling. I was speaking in an advisory capacity."
"Advice from you on courtship, my lord? I would think advice on seduction more your style."
"You don't need any advice on that, puss. You seduce in the most blatant way."
"I'll take that as a compliment, coming from a man of your repute."
"I'd rather have you take something else from me."
"Acquit me, darling," she mocked, repeating his phrase. "I've given up making love to faithless rakes."
"You knew what I was when you agreed to dispense with your virginity, so don't take on the airs of an affronted maid," he said with disagreeable calm. "I never promised you anything."
"Of course. How stupid of me to have overlooked the facts of our"-her brows rose-"agreement. Forgive me."
"Happily." Content with the lady's clearer understanding, his soft murmur turned indulgent. "Now, tell me, darling, how I can make you happy?"
It was the most tempting of questions but not one she cared to answer honestly. "If only you could," she sweetly drawled, abruptly coming to a halt just short of the ballroom, resisting the tugging of his hand. "Unfortunately, I have no intention of changing my mind."
He looked at her from under drawn brows, his gaze highly charged, examining. And when he spoke, his voice was unutterably soft. "You're sure?"
"Very."
Releasing her hand, he stepped away. "Then there's no point in wasting our time. Good evening, Miss Leslie," he murmured with the ceremonial courtesy of a stranger. And he walked away without a backward glance.
The earl danced the rest of the evening with women of every description, dispensing his charm with democratic conviviality, flirting shamelessly with the crowd of ladies that hovered around him between dances, ignoring Isabella. And when the guests were beginning to take their leave, he followed suit, coming to pay his respects to his hostess with a lovely raven-haired woman on his arm.
Lady Hertford and her guest of honor were seated with several others, indulging in champagne ices after a lively mazurka. The ladies were fanning themselves, the men wiping their brows with their handkerchiefs, and at Dermott's approach conversation trailed off. He and his companion were a stunning couple, both dark, tall, the stylish woman sumptuously provocative. She was dressed in a revealing magenta tulle gown that showed off her pale skin and black hair to perfection, and the manner in which she clung to Dermott flaunted their intimacy. Every man there envied him his night of entertainment. Mrs. Compton's beautiful mouth was reputedly one of her greatest assets.
On reaching the seated group, Dermott smiled and bowed to his hostess. "You've outdone yourself again, Barbara. The party was a veritable crush." He winked at her. "Your usual triumph."
"Thank you, darling. So nice of you to come." Her glance was amused. "You always add a bit of drama to any assembly."
"I live to entertain you, marchioness," he lazily drawled, a teasing gleam in his eye.
"And a good many others as well, you sweet man."
Ignoring her drollery, Dermott turned to Isabella. "Much success in your season, Miss Leslie." He bowed faintly. "I wish you every happiness."
With the lady on his arm fairly melting into his side, Isabella found it difficult to subdue her jealousy, and she kept her voice steady only with effort. "Thank you, my lord."
Dermott's gaze turned from her and swept the group. "We'll say our adieus, then. I'm sure we'll all see one another again-at some other crush." He turned to his companion. "Are you ready, darling?"
The resplendent beauty answered with a breathy, soft response that brought a smile to every man's lips and a disapproving severity to each woman's mouth. Isabella felt as though she were suffocating.
As the couple walked away, Lady Blandford sniffed. "How fortunate for her, Mr. Compton prefers his little bit of fluff in Half Moon Street."
"For access to the Prince of Wales's circle, Compton is more than willing to allow his wife her freedom," one of the men remarked. "That connection has nicely profited his financial firm."
"She's a bit fast even for the Prince of Wales's set," a young matron chided. "And I hardly think her dress suitable for a ball."
"More suitable to the boudoir," another woman taunted, "with her bosom so blatantly exposed."
"Come, come, Caro, your son has had his fill of her now," a gentleman noted.
"And the lady must feather her nest while she may. Her dark, sultry looks will soon fade."
"Mrs. Count'em has feathered her nest quite well, rumor has it." The sobriquet distinguished Mrs. Compton's habit of extracting expensive gifts from her lovers. "Bathurst has given more than his share to her. Recently, a necklace of pigeon-egg pearls, I hear."
"They're friends of long standing, are they not?" a man observed.
"Because they suit each other," an elderly lady calmly said, having seen enough of the world to be inured to its peccadillos. "Bathurst wishes no attachments. And Mrs. Compton likes his money."
"Enough of this tittle-tattle," Lady Hertford interposed, cognizant of Isabella's discomfort. "And if we don't all find our beds, we won't be up in time for Cecilia's Venetian breakfast tomorrow."
A small groan arose at the reminder of the morning's event.
"I for one am for my bed," Lady Hertford declared, rising from her chair.
Molly was waiting up when Isabella returned, eager for news of the evening. "Did you enjoy yourself?" she asked as Isabella entered her bedchamber.
"It was very grand, Molly. And yes, I enjoyed myself immensely."
"He was there, wasn't he?" Molly said, the reserve in Isabella's tone obvious.
Isabella smiled ruefully. "In all his glory."
"And?"
"After his very public pursuit, I told him I wasn't interested in renewing our relationship. After which he danced with virtually every woman in the room and then left with a Mrs. Compton, who was very beautiful and seductive and apparently one of his many lovers."
"He's going to be visible during the season," Molly gently noted. "Will you manage?"
Isabella kicked off her slippers and sank into a chair near Molly's. "Yes, Molly," she quietly replied. "I shall manage. In fact, I've accepted an invitation to drive Lord Lonsdale's phaeton next week when my schedule is less busy. And several other men have expressed their intentions to call."
"I'll warn Mrs. Homer of possible visitors, but you sleep as late as you may." Isabella's housekeeper had been brought to Grosvenor Place in the role of a country aunt to Isabella. A suitable chaperone was a requirement for an unmarried young lady. And Homie was capable of presenting an image of respectability.
"The Holland breakfast is scheduled for noon."
"Do you wish to attend? After so little sleep?"
Isabella smiled. "Of course, Molly. I intend to divert myself with each and every entertainment offered to me this season."
"Good for you. I wouldn't wish for you to pine over something-"
"Unattainable?"
"I was going to say something too problematical. Dermott hasn't come to terms with his life or himself since his return." She didn't admit to her bit of matchmaking after the fiasco of Richmond. "He's not ready to admit to love again. And any woman who thinks to change or reform him is bound for disappointment."
"So I've come to realize. So I shall enjoy myself in the exhilarating pace of activities. And not expect anything more than amusement."
"Exactly. Do you want a warm drink to help you sleep?"
Isabella laughed. "The moment my head hits the pillow I shall be sleeping. And thank you, Molly… from the bottom of my heart. For all you've given me."