Three Nights with a Scoundrel (Stud Club #3)(58)

She queued up with the ladies, and then her attention was consumed with following the steps and paying the minimum of polite attention to her partner. Lord Weston was a nice enough man—she didn’t wish to be rude, but her concentration was obviously elsewhere. She missed her cue to move diagonally and curtsy to her corner, leaving poor Mr. Barnaby bowing to thin air.

But in the crowd behind him, Lily spied a cluster of gentlemen gathered in a corner, and amongst them—

There was Julian. The breath she’d been holding rushed out of her. Thank goodness.

Mr. Barnaby moved back into place, blocking her view, but at least she knew Julian was there. He hadn’t left, and that meant her battle was more than half won. After this dance, she would plead a headache or similar and beg Julian to see her home. From there, she just needed to entice him to stay. Desire danced over her skin, raising the little hairs on her arms. She would hold him tonight, and nothing—not even clothing—would come between them.

But first, she had to last through this dance. Fortunately, this particular dance was a pattern designed to showcase a single couple at a time. There were long periods of standing still, interspersed with brief interludes of circling one’s partner, then returning to one’s place while the couple at the top of the dance traveled the length of the floor, joining the queue at the opposite end.

As she and Lord Weston made their inchworm-like progress toward the head of the line, Lily strained her neck for glimpses of Julian. It became more and more difficult, as he seemed to have drawn a crowd. This must happen at every party—she had seen it happen at Leo’s own gatherings. All of the gentlemen, and the bolder of the ladies, would throng around Julian just to hear what amusing thing he’d say next, and to see whether he could be coaxed into doing one of his popular imitations.

She wasn’t sure how she felt about watching it now. Seeing him at the center of attention did give her a sense of satisfaction. Much the same, she would imagine, as it made him proud to see her admired. But she knew there was so much more to Julian than cheap party tricks. She wished he would allow people to know that side of him—the real, genuine man inside. If he knew the regard he engendered was sincere, he might have a better sense of his own worth.

Lord Weston moved toward her, and Lily circled him with a dutiful smile. As they parted, another couple moved down the row, and they made another sidestep closer to Julian’s end of the room. Again, she found her gaze wandering to him.

On closer inspection, Lily didn’t like the scene at all. Julian was still surrounded by guests, but the look on their faces did not signal laughter or amusement. No, they looked shocked and affronted. A few of them appeared to be flat enraged. There must have been an argument, because Lily saw heads turning in Julian’s direction. Despite the ire of those around him, his mien remained smug and insouciant. As if he was enjoying the fact that he’d made a scene.

Almost as if he’d tried to make a scene.

Drat it all. Lily and Lord Weston had reached the top of the queue, and here came their turn to run the gauntlet. She advanced to the center of the floor, took Weston’s hands, and allowed him to sweep her down the aisle, all the way to the other end of the floor. And there she was stuck. An eternity passed before the pattern shifted and allowed her a chance to glance toward Julian’s corner again.

By the time it did, the knot of gentlemen had dispersed.

Julian was nowhere to be seen.

Curse etiquette. She walked away from the dance, pushing her way toward the area where she’d seen him last. Clustered around, small groups of guests talked and grumbled amongst themselves. At least, she assumed they were grumbling, given the stormy sets of their brows and the heightened color of their complexions. She caught words here and there—distressing phrases like “insufferable upstart” and “never again” and “cut direct.” Even their hosts, Lord and Lady Ainsley, stood beside one another, red-faced and pointedly avoiding one another’s gaze.

Lily spied Amelia’s oldest brother in the crowd. “Laurent,” she said, urging him aside. “Have you seen Mr. Bellamy?”

He made a chagrined face. “I believe he’s left. Or was made to leave.”

“Why would he do that?” she wondered aloud, more to herself than to Laurent.

“To avoid a duel, perhaps?” Laurent shook his head. “The fool just rattled through the list of men in this room he’s cuckolded.”

“But …” Lily felt as though she’d taken a punch to the stomach. “But it’s not as though his dalliances are a great secret.”

“Everyone knows about them, but they’re never discussed. It’s one thing to entertain ladies in private and quite another to boast of it in company, you know. He’s unleashed a veritable plague of marital disharmony. And if he values his own health, Bellamy won’t dare to show his face anytime soon. Even if he were invited, which is doubtful. Can you believe the man even said—”

Lily turned away, muttering her thanks to Laurent for the information. It really mattered little what, precisely, Julian had said—she understood why he’d said it.

That night will be your second London debut. And my own grand farewell.

Laurent’s reaction was exactly what Julian had desired. He meant to leave fashionable London society and cut ties, irrevocably.

Including ties with her.