Worth Any Price (Bow Street Runners #3)(70)

Nick was disgruntled by his wife's clear desire to be rid of him. "Fine," he said curtly. "I'll go to the billiards room."

Lottie shot him a provocative glance from beneath her lashes. "Promise you will come find me for the first waltz?"

Realizing that he was being adeptly managed, Nick grumbled an assent and watched Lottie glide toward the group of waiting women. To his astonishment, he stood there feeling completely bereft. He was so mesmerized by one small woman that he could scarcely think straight. He, who was so eternally self-assured, was in danger of being led around by the nose by his own wife.

Brooding over the alarming discovery, Nick heard his brother-in-law's deep voice beside him.

"It happens to the best of us, Sydney."

Nick turned to face Sir Ross. Uncannily, Sir Ross seemed to understand exactly what he was feeling. His gray eyes gleamed with amusement as he continued in a tone that was not unsympathetic. "No matter how strong our resolve, we eventually find ourselves enslaved by the compulsive preference for one particular woman. You've been caught, my friend. You may as well reconcile yourself to it."

Nick did not bother trying to deny it. "I was going to be so much smarter than you," he muttered.

Sir Ross grinned. "I prefer to think that intelligence has nothing to do with it. For if a man's intellect is measured by his ability to remain untouched by love, I would be the greatest idiot alive."

The wordlove made Nick flinch. "What would it take to make you shut your gob, Cannon?"

"A glass of 1805 Cossart-Gordon would probably do it," came the amiable reply. "And if I'm not mistaken, they've just brought out a case in the billiards room."

"Let's go, then," Nick said, and they strode from the ballroom together.

"Lottie Howard!" Two young women rushed over to her, and they clasped hands tightly, sharing grins of barely suppressed glee. Were it not for their strict training at Maidstone's, the three of them would have squealed in a most unladylike manner.

"Samantha," Lottie said warmly, gazing at the tall, attractive brunette who had always been like a kind older sister to her. "And Arabella!" Arabella Markenfield looked exactly the same as she had at school...pretty and a bit plump, with strawberry blond ringlets that were perfectly arranged on her porcelain forehead.

"I'm Lady Lexington now," Samantha informed her with considerable pride. "I caught an earl, no less, with a good, sound fortune." Slipping an arm around Lottie's waist, she turned her slightly. "He's standing right there, close to the conservatory doors. The tall, balding one. Do you see him?"

Lottie nodded as she caught sight of a somber-looking gentleman who appeared to be in his early forties, with large eyes that seemed slightly out of proportion to his long, narrow face. "He looks to be a very pleasant gentleman," Lottie remarked, and Samantha laughed.

"Very tactful, dear. I'll be the first to admit that the earl is not much to look at, and he has no sense of humor. However, men with a sense of humor often tend to grate on one's nerves. And he is an impeccable gentleman."

"I'm so glad," Lottie said sincerely, knowing from past conversations with Samantha that such a marriage was very much what she had desired. "And you, Arabella?"

"I married into the Seaforths last year," Arabella confided with a giggle. "You've heard of them, I'm sure...do you remember, one of the daughters was in the class ahead of us..."

"Yes," Lottie said, recalling that the Seaforths were a great untitled family with a considerable quantity of rich farming land. "Don't say you married her brother Harry?"

"Just so!" The girl's ringlets danced merrily on her forehead as she continued with great animation. "Harry is quite fine-looking, though he's grown as round as a bait-pot since our wedding. And he is ever so charming. Of course I'll never have a title, but there are compensations...my own carriage...a real French lady's maid, not one of those Cockney maids who throw out a see-voo-play or a bon-joor every once in a while!" She giggled at her own wit, and sobered enough to regard Lottie with round, curious eyes. "Dear Lottie, is it true that you are Lady Sydney now?"

"Yes." Lottie glanced in the direction of her husband, who was walking from the ballroom in the company of Sir Ross, their long legs matched at an equal pace. She felt an unexpected rush of pride at the sight of him, so virile and graceful, his bold good looks displayed to their best advantage in the elegant evening clothes.

"Handsome as the devil," Samantha commented, following her gaze. "Is he as wicked as they say, Lottie?"

"Not in the least," Lottie lied. "Lord Sydney is as mild-tempered and obliging a gentleman as could be found anywhere."

It was a case of unfortunate timing that at that moment, Nick happened to glance in her direction. His gaze encompassed her in a smoldering sweep that threatened to singe her clothing to ashes. Knowing what that look meant, and what would happen in the evening hours after the ball, Lottie felt a thrill deep inside, and she struggled to maintain her composure.

Samantha and Arabella, meanwhile, had snapped open their fans and were employing them vigorously. "Good heavens," Samantha exclaimed in a low voice, "the way he looks at you is positively indecent, Lottie."

"I don't know what you mean," Lottie said demurely, though she felt her own cheeks heating.