Scandal in the Regency Ballroom: No Place For a Lady / Not Quite a Lady. Louise Allen
you know.’ Max gave her a gentle push in the direction of the terrace.
Bree resisted the pressure. ‘All men? You included?’
‘Oh, me in particular, Miss Mallory.’ The amusement in his voice had a hard edge. ‘Definitely, you should be beware of me.’
‘Nonsense,’ she said stoutly. ‘I asked you to come out here—and I could have left at any moment when you kissed me. And besides, if you are such a dangerous seducer, you could easily have had your wicked way with me the other night and you were the perfect gentleman.’
‘I was, wasn’t I? I wonder what came over me. Did it not perhaps occur to you, Miss Mallory, that I was behaving with such restraint with the intention of lulling you into a false sense of security in order to entice you into my power later?’
‘Have you been reading sensation novels, my lord?’ Bree enquired tartly. ‘I realise that many men find a dangerous image to be an attractive one to cultivate, but I do credit you with more sense than that.’
He laughed, a genuine snort of amusement. ‘You never answered my question about a dance.’
‘Certainly, my lord—I have an entire card full of country dances to fill!’ Without waiting for his response, she picked up her skirts and ran down the steps to the terrace. The allegory about riding tigers floated into her mind from nowhere. She was riding a tiger now, and very exhilarating it was. But how did one get off?
Bree studied her face in the mirror in the ladies’ retiring room while a maid valiantly brushed at the lichen clinging to her skirts. The effect on her face of being thoroughly kissed was startling. Her cheeks looked as though she had rouged them, and her mouth was bee-stung and rosy pink. Her eyes were wide, and something sparkled in them, try as she might to lecture herself for wanton behaviour.
‘Bree! There you are.’ It was Georgy, sweeping in. ‘Look at my hem! Oh, thank you.’ She smiled sweetly at a maid who came forward with a sewing basket.
‘I … I feel a little flushed,’ Bree admitted. ‘I came in here to cool down a trifle.’
‘You look fine to me. The colour suits you,’ Georgy assured her. ‘You mustn’t be shy—go on, they’ll be starting the dancing in a minute, and you’ll want to get your card filled up with all the most eligible men.’
That seemed unlikely to occur, but Bree was pleasantly surprised. The attentions of Viscount Lansdowne and the approval of his sister apparently gave her a certain cachet and, although her card was not full, it was gratifyingly almost three-quarters complete when she showed it to Piers.
‘Am I too late, ma’am?’ The deep voice made her jump, even though she had been tensed for Max’s appearance ever since she had come into the ballroom. ‘I apologise for addressing you before being introduced, but I am not acquainted with your chaperon.’ Bree narrowed her eyes at him and he smiled back with an air of perfect innocence. ‘Max Dysart, Ea—’
‘But, Bree, you must know Lord Penrith, he rescued yo—’ Piers’s clear, excited voice cut through the hum of conversation. Interested faces turned.
‘Lord Penrith? Why, of course, you came to the aid of young Hinkins, our driver, at Hounslow a few evenings back, did you not? Piers told me all about it—thank you so much.’ She directed a look of such quelling intensity at her brother that he shut his mouth with a snap and melted back into the crowd.
But the group of men he was with had heard more than enough to pique their interest and he found himself the centre of attention. ‘I say, Mallory, do you have anything to do with the stagecoach Penrith was driving?’ one gentleman demanded.
‘I own the company,’ Piers admitted. ‘Half of it, that is.’
‘I see your brother has fallen amongst the Nonesuch Whips,’ Max commented softly. ‘Tell me which dance I may have, and then I’ll go and distract them if I can. Otherwise you’ll have a yard full of bucks all wanting to drive a stage.’
‘The second cotillion?’ Bree asked distractedly. ‘And thank you, I would be grateful.’
Max bowed gracefully and strolled off to join the crowd around Piers. To her relief the focus of their attention switched immediately to him. For such a big man, he really looks surprisingly good in evening dress, Bree mused. I would have expected him to look his best in buckskins and boots, but he appears positively elegant. Good tailoring, of course, but—
‘What an extraordinary coincidence that Penrith should be sitting opposite you at dinner.’ Mr Latymer’s voice in her ear jerked her abruptly back from her contemplation of broad shoulders under well-fitting superfine.
‘Er … yes, it was, was it not? Naturally I am glad of the opportunity to thank him.’
‘Yet you did not mention the acquaintance earlier.’ Mr Latymer raised an eyebrow. ‘In fact, you denied it.’
‘Of course. I had not been introduced.’ Bree pulled herself together. ‘And, however grateful I was to his lordship—given that I understand it was his drag that caused the accident in the first place—the fact that he was able to assist one of Piers’s drivers is stretching an excuse to claim acquaintance to its limit.’
‘Hmm. Our dance, I believe.’
Almost half an hour spent executing intricate figures with a number of other couples was not the best situation in which to carry out a conversation, and Bree was grateful for it. But Mr Latymer obviously had something on his mind, and she was not surprised when, after the dance, while she was sitting fanning herself, he returned to her side with a glass of lemonade.
‘I would be fascinated to see around the headquarters of your coaching company, Miss Mallory. Might I call?’
‘Why, of course, but it is not my company—Piers can make arrangements for you to see behind the scenes.’
‘Then you have nothing to do with it?’
‘I occasionally assist with a little paperwork,’ Bree said airily. It would be just her luck to be there when Brice Latymer turned up.
‘What a good sister you are.’ There was warmth in his tone. Bree shot him a glance from under her lashes and was surprised to see warmth in his eyes also—the sort of warmth she had discerned in the gaze of another gentleman altogether. Goodness, she thought, flustered. Piers is right, I am going it!
‘I am very fond of Piers, and he intends to take over the running of the company full time when his education is finished. My uncle is the other owner, but he lives in the country, so I do what little I can to help,’ she added, hoping it sounded as though she occasionally glanced at the bill for candles.
‘But you could spare some time to drive with me?’
‘Drive?’ Bree, feeling herself going hot and cold all over, plied her fan energetically.
‘Yes. I have a new phaeton you might enjoy.’
‘Oh. Your phaeton. Of course.’ Of course, not a stagecoach … Of course, he doesn’t know … ‘Thank you.’
Bree shot a distracted glance in Piers’s direction, hoping he was being discreet. To her horror he was deep in conversation with the lanky young man she recognised as Max’s cousin. There was nothing for it, she would have to go and extract him before he did any more damage.
‘Miss Mallory, our dance, I believe?’ It was Lord Lansdowne.
‘Yes, of course.’ Bree flipped open her card. It was a country dance and immediately afterwards she had the cotillion with Max—all she could hope was that he had discouraged the Nonesuch Whips from a mass descent on the Mermaid.
She curtsied and took her place. At her side Lord Lansdowne waited while the first couple set off down the double line. ‘Would you care to drive with me some time this week?’ he enquired.
Another one! Really, this