A Dash of Scandal(14)

She picked up the quill and dipped it into the ink jar, but the sharpened nib didn’t touch the vellum before she replaced it on the stand. Instead, she picked up her reticule and opened it. She shook the contents down onto the desk: handkerchief, spectacles, dance card, a satin ribbon, and two pencils.

Her stomach quickened when she saw the pencil the intriguing gentleman had insisted she accept. She picked it up and squeezed it in her fist, then slowly she opened her hand and rolled it back and forth between her fingers. An unexpected pleasure filled her.

She remembered how she had felt when he’d deliberately let his fingertips brush across the inside of her gloved hand, soft but firm enough she would know he’d stepped outside the boundary of propriety. What daring. He had no idea how she would react, yet he took the chance she wouldn’t scream for help or box his ears. And he was right. Surely the man was an unscrupulous rake to be so forward to a lady he had never been introduced to.

As a proper young lady, she should have given him a snub for such ill-mannered behavior, but that thought had never entered her mind. And as a proper young lady, she should never allow herself to write such things as tittle-tattle. Perhaps she should feel heavy with guilt for what she was doing, but for some reason that emotion hadn’t entered her thoughts either.

Millicent shook her head. She must banish the stranger from her mind. No doubt he had deliberately set out to make himself unforgettable so she would wonder who he was and seek him out so that appropriate introductions could be made. She wouldn’t allow herself to think about him again. She had too much work to do and very little time.

She picked up the quill again determined to do her work. She wrote What’s in a name? before her mind betrayed her and turned to dreamy blue eyes, a knowing smile, and a forbidden kiss blown across the air.





Four




“What’s in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet,” but not according to Miss Pennington. She was overheard saying she could never marry a man named Longnecker. One wonders what the eligible marquess had to say about that.

—Lord Truefitt, Society’s Daily Column

Chandler watched her Dancing. Gliding across the floor with ease through the steps, the turns and twirls. She was a natural beauty, slim with delicate bone structure, a small waist, and slightly rounded hips.

The neckline of her flowing gossamer gown was higher than most fashions of the day and showed only a mere hint of the swell of breasts which lay beneath her clothing. That disappointed him because he very much wanted to see that gentle swell. Again, he had the feeling she was deliberately trying not to draw attention to her beauty by wearing severe hairstyles and modest clothing.

Chandler had noticed more about her than he should have, but something about her beckoned him. He desired to get closer to her and see her mesmerizing golden brown eyes again, which he had decided were really a glimmering shade of dark, speckled amber. He wanted to engage her in conversation again, but for now he was content to ponder and watch her.

She was polite to her dance partner but not overly so. She smiled at him, but it wasn’t the encouraging smile of a young lady who wanted to gain the gentleman’s attention. It seemed to be more of a “thank you for the dance” smile. That pleased him, too.

“Do you know who she is?”

Chandler turned to see that his friend Andrew Terwillger, who was more notoriously known throughout Society as Lord Dugdale, standing right beside him.

It bothered Chandler that Andrew had caught him watching her, and it bothered him that she hadn’t noticed him observing her at all.

His friend’s appearance reminded him he was supposed to be watching for suspicious-looking characters and following men who wandered off alone. That’s how he happened upon the young lady last night. Chandler had little faith that the authorities in charge of finding the Mad Ton Thief would be successful. He felt it necessary to do some investigating on his own.

The thief was daring enough to have already stolen from three different homes. He had been so successful in stealing right out from under the eyes of the owners and guests, there was no reason to think he wouldn’t continue to pilfer the homes where he was a welcomed guest. Chandler wanted to catch him, and to do that he had to watch the doorways for any man who might wander off alone.

“Haven’t got the foggiest clue who she is,” Chandler finally answered his friend. “Do you know?”

“Me? No, I haven’t met her, but—” Andrew paused.