Three Nights with a Scoundrel (Stud Club #3)(19)

“It’s so lovely to see you again,” she said. “What great fortune that your ship has just returned. And how good of you to bring your friends.” How resourceful of Amelia to invite them, she added to herself. What better place to find a group of clean-shaven, respectable, eligible men desperate for a dinner invitation, than naval officers just returned from six months at sea?

“It’s good to see you, too.” His expression went grave. “I was so sorry to hear the news of Leo.”

“Thank you. I know you can understand the pain of losing a brother.” Hugh d’Orsay had been killed at Waterloo.

“Yes. But Leo’s death … so unexpected. Tragic.” Sadness etched his face, making him look far older than his eight-and-twenty years. Of all the d’Orsay brothers, she and Leo had been closest to Michael, since they all three were of an age. He and Leo had gone off to Eton together.

She didn’t want to ignore Michael’s feelings, but she couldn’t bear to talk about Leo right now. As rarely as she went out in society, this happened too often for her comfort. Whenever Lily began to feel that her own wounds had scabbed over, along would come an acquaintance for whom Leo’s death was a new development. And that person would want to talk of him and mourn him—as was only natural, for her brother had been loved by many—but once again Lily would feel ripped apart. She couldn’t cope with that tonight, not atop everything else.

She looked around the room, casting about for diversion. And she found it. All thoughts were promptly driven from her head by a flirtatious smile. The smile belonged to a tall, well-formed officer plastered with insignia and gold braid. He was not an especially handsome man, but neither was he ill-favored. He had intelligent, playful eyes.

And he was headed straight for her.

Nerves danced in the crooks of her elbows. To Michael, she whispered, “Did you tell your friends about my impairment?”

He shook his head in apology. “Should I have? I wasn’t certain if …”

Before she could answer, the officer had joined them.

“Come, d’Orsay,” he said, eyeing Lily. “I can see you mean to keep this enchanting lady to yourself all night. I shall have to pull rank and command an introduction.”

Lily kept her eyes glued to Michael’s mouth. Names were especially hard to catch, as they came without context.

“Lady Lily Chatwick, may I introduce my superior officer, Commander …”

Oh, drat. She missed it. Was it Merriman? Or perhaps Barryman? Lily’s eyes flickered over the man’s attire as he bowed. Maybe his name was engraved on a buckle or his scabbard. But then, wouldn’t it seem worse to be caught boldly ogling a man’s person than to simply have missed the name?

She offered her hand. “I’m delighted to make your acquaintance, Commander.” She had that, at least. Thank heaven for military ranks.

And thank heaven for Amelia, who came to her rescue moments later, when she and the duke approached the group.

Amelia touched Lily’s arm, drawing her aside. “I’m not certain I can delay dinner much longer. Shall we continue to wait for Mr. Bellamy?”

“No.” Lily sighed with disappointment. “Don’t delay.”

The Duke of Morland’s mien was, as usual, censorious. “I loathe that man,” he said, just before tipping a glass of whiskey.

Lily felt horrible. She knew the duke hated parties, and here she’d forced him to host one on ridiculously short notice. And now the guest of honor—or rather, dishonor—had not even bothered to show his face.

Amelia called for her guests’ attention, inviting them into dinner. Suddenly the commander was at Lily’s side, offering his arm along with a quick salvo of words that soared straight past her. She merely smiled and nodded by way of response, sending up a fervent prayer he hadn’t just confided he had a wasting illness, or remarked on the culinary skill of cannibals in Lesser God-Knows-Where.

They filed into the dining room, and Amelia indicated the place for each guest. The duke, of course, took the head of the table, and Amelia sat at his left hand, with Michael at his sister’s other side. On the duke’s right, the commander took the place of honor. Lily sat at his right, directly across from Michael.

Amelia said, “Six gentlemen and only two ladies … what an unbalanced group. A poor reflection on me as a hostess, I’m afraid.”

Michael replied, “Certainly a more favorable ratio than we’re accustomed to having at sea.”

To Lily’s left, the commander said something in reply. However, she turned her head too late. Once again, she missed his words entirely.

Michael noted her puzzlement and explained, “The good commander says you and my sister are uncommonly lovely. So lovely, you’re each worth three of other ladies, and therefore the balance is exact.”

Lily smiled. “Only until Mr. Bellamy arrives.”

If Mr. Bellamy arrived. She slid a glance toward the empty chair at her right. His absence was upsetting her own balance, greatly. She stared at the vacant seat with angry desperation, as though Julian might materialize on the striped damask if only she willed it fiercely enough. He’d promised to come. He’d given his word.

Looking beyond his empty chair, she flashed a halfhearted smile at the three young lieutenants holding down the far end of the table. They immediately ceased casting doleful looks at their empty plates and grinned in return. So young, so hungry. If any of them were older than twenty, Lily would be astounded. When she’d been introduced to them earlier, they’d practically tumbled over one another to take her hand. Now she gave them a polite nod of greeting, and they all replied at once, speaking and laughing amongst themselves.