Beguiled. Susan Paul Spencer
Lady Jersey,” Graydon said, smiling at that lady in his most charming manner as he sketched her an elegant bow. “Ah, that did it. Here she comes.”
“There you are, Graydon, at last,” Lady Jersey said without preface as she neared them, adding in a lower voice, “I’ve been waiting an eternity. I assured Lord Cardemore that his sister would be well taken care of even before you arrived, but, try though I might, none of the gentlemen I’ve introduced her to will ask her to dance. I don’t know what Cardemore expects if it’s not a miracle. Of course, if you’ll dance with the girl, the rest will follow. Come and be introduced to her sister-in-law. You, also, Daltry.”
Exchanging glances, the two men obediently followed as Lady Jersey led the way.
“Lady Margaret!” Lady Jersey greeted enthusiastically, holding out a hand to a tall, elegantly dressed woman who stood in the midst of a group of similarly aged ladies, chatting amiably. She was a stunningly beautiful woman, with dark red hair and large green eyes, and Graydon found it impossible to gaze at her without a surge of masculine admiration.
“My dear,” Lady Jersey said, pulling her forward, “I want to introduce you to two favorable gentlemen. Anthony Harbreas, the Earl of Graydon, and Matthew Rowling, Viscount Daltry. My lords, this is Lady Margaret Walford, the Countess of Cardemore.”
They exchanged polite greetings before Lady Jersey confided to Lady Margaret, “Lord Graydon has expressed a desire to dance with your sister-in-law. If it is acceptable to you, I’ll introduce them and give her my permission to waltz.”
Lady Margaret’s steady gaze fell upon Graydon, so cool and contemplative that, after a moment of silent perusal, he began to feel uncomfortable. He realized that she must wonder at the normally inflexible Lady Jersey’s obsequious behavior. He was rather amazed, too. In the wave of selfpity—and rage—that had engulfed him during the month since his meeting with Cardemore, it hadn’t occurred to Graydon that others might be affected by this peculiar nightmare. But here was Cardemore’s animated, redcheeked sister, his angelic niece, his beautiful, wary sister-in-law and even the indomitable Lady Jersey, all caught up in the same roiling mire that Graydon was. All victims of Cardemore’s whim and power.
“I should be grateful, my lady,” he found himself saying, feeling a sudden kinship with the woman. The idea of having his revenge at the expense of Cardemore’s sister had appealed to him a time or two, but now, staring into Lady Margaret’s green eyes, all such thoughts permanently fled. It wouldn’t do to take out his anger on these innocent women.
Lady Margaret’s gaze didn’t waver, but she nodded and said, “If Lily is willing, then I give my approval. You shall have to ask her, of course.” To Lady Jersey she added, “I’m grateful, my lady, for your kindness.”
And so Graydon found himself following both ladies, with Daltry in tow, across the room. When they were nearly there the buzz of gentlemen surrounding the dark-haired girl parted and the young lady herself emerged, coming at them with such a charming, dazzling smile that Graydon felt a sudden shock of appreciation. She was tall and, as Daltry had said, healthy. Her smooth, tanned skin was dotted with freckles, her eyes sparkled like blue sapphires. Her hair, which Graydon had assumed was black, was actually a deep auburn, with a multitude of shining red strands glimmering beneath the light of Almack’s chandeliers.
“Mama!” she cried, clasping one of Lady Margaret’s hands. “It’s the most wonderful thing! Lord Hanby’s brought several of his best hunters to town, and he says we may go riding with him one morning, whenever it would please us to do so!”
“That’s very kind of him, my dear,” Lady Margaret agreed, adding, when the girl opened her mouth to say more, “Isabel, I’d like to introduce you to the Earl of Graydon and to Viscount Daltry. My lords, this is my daughter, Lady Isabel.”
“My lady,” Graydon greeted with a polite calm that was fully at odds with the way his head was spinning. Bowing over the sturdy hand Lady Isabel offered, his gaze fell upon the young woman sitting almost directly behind her. That, he realized, was Cardemore’s sister. The very beautiful Lady Lillian Walford. And he was the lucky man who was going to have the pleasure of escorting an angel about London for the next three months.
Oh, no, Lily thought with a groan. Not him. Anyone but him, please, Aunt Margaret.
She wished she’d never come to London. What had ever possessed her to think that she would be able to fit in here, among people who didn’t allow themselves or their families to acknowledge, let alone associate with, someone like her? Aaron had tried to warn her what it would be like, and Aunt Margaret, too, but Lily had been stubborn. And foolish, she thought now with deep regret. How naive she’d been! Dreaming of London, of parties and beautiful clothes and dancing with handsome gentlemen like the ones who had so politely found reasons over the past hour to excuse themselves and walk away.
Oh, help. He was smiling at her now. The handsomest man in the room, the one every woman was looking at with open admiration—she wouldn’t be able to hide her humiliation this time. She had managed it with all the others, somehow, but when this man’s face filled first with realization, then with revulsion, Lily knew she wouldn’t be able to keep the pain at bay.
Clenching her trembling hands together, she stood when Aunt Margaret brought him forward, just as she had stood to be introduced to all the others. It was harder to make herself look into his face. She’d seen him the moment he’d arrived—indeed, everyone in the room had turned to look at his tall, blond figure, so elegant in the blue satin evening clothes that matched the color of his eyes.
“My lord,” Aunt Margaret was saying, although Lily barely heard her above the buzzing sensation in her head. She wondered if she was going to faint, and thought perhaps it might be a blessing if she did. “May I present my sister-in-law, Lady Lillian Walford? Lily, this is the Earl of Graydon.”
He gave her a smile so charming and appreciative that it made Lily’s toes curl in her slippers. If she hadn’t already been unable to speak, that smile alone would have robbed her of the ability. Her hand seemed to lift of its own accord, and she felt the warmth of his fingers closing gently about her own, pulling them up to his mouth as he bent to briefly press his lips against the silk of her glove.
“My lady,” he said, his voice as caressing as his blue-eyed gaze, “I’m honored.”
When she was a child, Lily had spent hours on her knees praying for a miracle, but never, not even in those tearful, pleading moments, had she wished more than she did now that she could speak as others did.
He kept smiling, holding her hand, waiting for a response, and Lily realized that she was simply staring. Giving a slight nod, she looked expectantly at Aunt Margaret, who only said, “Lord Graydon has asked for permission to dance with you, Lily, and Lady Jersey has given you her permission to waltz.”
Lily’s eyes widened, and, as if in league with her misery, the musicians suddenly began to play the music for the next dance—a waltz.
Lord Graydon looked as pleased as if he’d just received a boon from heaven itself. “Indeed, if you are not already spoken for, I should be grateful for this dance, my lady.”
She couldn’t. Never. She’d rather be humiliated on the spot than have the memory of dancing in his arms to think about for the rest of her life. Lily began to shake her head, to tug at the hand Lord Graydon insistently held, all the while looking pleadingly at Aunt Margaret, who gazed back with calm encouragement.
“You came to London to dance, my dear,” Aunt Margaret said in a low voice. “You must dance.”
She wasn’t going to tell him! Lily realized, feeling the shock jolt vividly through her limbs. Aunt Margaret had told all the others. Why wouldn’t she tell him?
She turned to Isabel for help, only to be met by the younger girl’s pleading expression. Isabel had refused to dance until they could both do so. She had wanted this time in London just as much as Lily, herself, had. Oh, help.
Lord