Geoffrey’s gaze deflected, then he threw Tony a speaking glance and made haste to bow and shake Alicia’s hand. Others made hay of his distraction and reclaimed Adriana’s attention. Tony noted that while she showed no partiality to those anxious to gain her approbation, she did sneak swift glances at Geoffrey, engaged by her sister in the customary social niceties.

Content to observe, he made no attempt to extricate Geoffrey. Instead, he listened to Alicia Carrington craftily confirm all he’d told her, and elicit a few details more. Her protectiveness toward her younger sister, her determination to ensure she was in no way taken advantage of, rang true and clear. Not one of the men gathered about Adriana could doubt it; her sister would always stand as her protector.

With her single-minded focus, she reminded him of a lioness watching over her cubs; woe betide any who dared threaten them. She was calm, determined, sensible, and strong-willed, mature yet not old; she was as chalk to cheese to the young misses he’d been exposed to over the past weeks—the contrast was a blessed relief.

Via the groom he’d sent to chat in the mews near Waverton Street, he’d learned that Mrs. Carrington hired her carriage from the nearby stables, and also that, as was her habit, she’d sent her evening’s instructions to the coachman at midday. Armed with the information, he’d arrived early, much to Lady Mott’s delight; he’d been in the ballroom waiting when Alicia Carrington had walked in.

He’d watched her for an hour before he’d approached; in that time, he’d seen her dismiss without a blink three perfectly eligible gentlemen who, as he did, found her quieter beauty, with its suggestion of maturity and a more subtle allure, more attractive than her sister’s undeniable charms.

As with all else she’d revealed in response to his probing, her dismissal of marriage rang true. She was truly disinterested, at least at present. She was focused on her task… the temptation to distract her, to see if he could…

He refocused on her; she was still interrogating Geoffrey who, to Tony’s educated eye, was finding the going increasingly grim.

He’d done his duty. He’d convinced himself that his first impression of Mrs. Carrington had been accurate; she hadn’t slid a stiletto between Ruskin’s ribs, and he could see no reason to doubt her assertion that she had known Ruskin only socially. There was nothing there to interest Dalziel.

Mission accomplished, there was no reason he couldn’t retire and leave Geoffrey to his fate. No reason at all to remain by Alicia Carrington’s side.

The distant scrape of bow on string heralded the return of the musicians and an impending waltz. Geoffrey straightened, stiffened, then threw him an unmistakable look of entreaty. Man-to-man. Ex-boyhood-rival-to-rival.

Tony reached for Alicia’s hand. “If you would do me the honor, Mrs. Carrington?” He bowed.

Alicia blinked, startled by the sudden clasp of Torrington’s hard fingers on hers. As he straightened, she glanced at Lord Manningham only to discover his lordship had grasped her single moment of distraction to turn to Adriana, who, from her smile, had been waiting, having already granted him this dance.

She opened her lips—on what words she didn’t know—only to find herself whisked about. “Wait!”

“The dance floor’s this way.”

“I know, but I wasn’t going to accept your offer.”

He threw her a black glance, not irritated but curious.

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want to waltz.”

“Why not? You’re passably good at it.”

“It’s got nothing to do with… I’m a chaperone. Chaperones don’t waltz. We’re supposed to keep an eye on our charges even while they’re waltzing.”

He glanced over her head. “Your sister’s with Manningham. Unless he’s changed beyond belief in the last ten years, he’s no cad—she’s as safe as she can be, and you don’t need to watch.”

They’d reached the floor; the musicians had launched into their theme. He swung her into his arms, then they were whirling down the room.

As before, she found breathing difficult, but was determined not to let it show. “Are you always this dictatorial?”

He met her gaze, then smiled, an easy, warming, simple gesture. “I don’t know. I’ve never been questioned on the subject before.”

She threw him a look she hoped conveyed total disbelief.

“But educate me—I’ve been away from the ton for more than ten years—should your sister be waltzing at all? Wasn’t there some rule or other about permission from the hostesses?”

“She had to get permission from one of the patronesses of Almack’s. I spoke to Lady Cowper, and she was kind enough to give her approval.” Alicia frowned. “But why have you been away from the ton for ten years—and more? Where were you?”

He looked at her for a moment, as if the answer should be obvious, tattooed on his forehead or some such, then his smile deepened. “I was in the army—the Guards.”

“Waterloo?”

The concern in her face was quite genuine. It warmed him. “And the Peninsula.”

“Oh.”

Tony watched her digest that. Despite the fact he waltzed well—always had—the waltz wasn’t his favorite dance; with a woman in his arms, he’d much rather be involved in a romp that heated up the sheets on some bed, rather than a sedate revolution about some tonnish ballroom.

And in this case, the woman in his arms teased and challenged on a level he’d forgotten what it was like to be challenged on. For too many years, women, ladies and all, had come to him easily; generally speaking, he’d only had to crook his finger, and there’d always been more than one willing to slake his lust. He was an accomplished lover, too experienced to be anything other than easy and generous in his ways.

Too experienced not to recognize when his senses were engaged.

Taller than average, supple and svelte, she was less buxom than those ladies who normally caught his eye, yet she hadn’t just caught his attention, she’d fixed it— quite why he couldn’t say. There seemed a multitude of small attractions that made up the whole—the sheen of the candlelight on her perfect skin, a soft cream tinged with rose, a very English complexion, her eyes and their green gaze—direct, without guile, amazingly open—the lush, heavy locks of her dark mahogany hair, the way her lips set, then eased and lifted.

He wanted to taste them, to taste her. To tempt her to want him. And more. With her in his arms, his appetite, along with his imagination, was definitely inclined toward a bed.

Alicia was conscious of an escalating warmth, one that seemed to rise from within her. It was pleasant, even addictive—her senses responded with a wish to wallow and luxuriate. It was something to do with him, with the way he held her, whirled her so easily down the room, with the reined strength she sensed in him but which triggered her innate defenses not at all—that strength was no threat to her.

His effect on her, however, might be; she wasn’t experienced enough to know. Yet it was just a dance—one waltz—and she’d never waltzed like this before, never felt quite like this. Surely it couldn’t hurt. And he was a military veteran, an ex-Guardsman, and a viscount.

Quite what that said of him she wasn’t sure, but it couldn’t all be bad.

He swung her through the turns at the end of the room; her heart leapt as his thigh parted hers. Letting her lids fall, she concentrated on breathing—and on the warmth her senses seemingly craved.

The music slowed, stopped, and they halted. And she realized just how pleasant—how pleasurable—the dance had been. She glanced at him, met his black gaze, and thought she saw a fraction too much understanding in his dark eyes. How black could seem warm she had no idea, but his eyes were never cold…

She looked to where Adriana’s court waited, and saw Adriana on the arm of Lord Manningham ahead of them, moving that way. Torrington took her arm and steered her in their wake.

As seemed normal for him, he didn’t offer his sleeve or ask her permission…

And, as was starting to be normal for her, she’d let him.

She frowned. Not once during the waltz had she thought to check on Adriana and Manningham—her distraction had been that complete.

The man on whose arm she was strolling was dangerous.

Seriously dangerous; he’d managed to make her forget her plan for a full five minutes, in the middle of a ton ballroom, no less.

Tony saw the frown form on her face. “What’s the matter?”

She glanced up. He looked into her green eyes, watched as she debated, then decided not to tell him the truth—that he was disturbing her, ruffling her senses, undermining her equanimity—as if he didn’t know.

Frown deepening, she looked down. “I was just wondering whether my demon brothers had behaved themselves tonight.”

He felt his brows rise. “Demon brothers?”

She nodded. “Three of them. I’m afraid they’re quite a handful. David is a terror—he pretends to be a pirate and falls out of windows. I don’t know how many times we’ve had the doctor to the house. And then Harry, well, he has a tendency to lie—one never knows if the house really is on fire or not. And as for Matthew, he is only eight, you understand, if we could just stop him from locking the doors after people, and slipping around the house at night—we’ve lost three parlor maids and two housekeepers, and we’ve only been in town for five weeks.”

Tony looked into her face, into her green eyes so determinedly guileless, and struggled not to laugh. She was a terrible liar.

He managed to keep a straight face. “Have you tried beating them?”

“Oh, no! Well, only once. They ran away. We spent the most awful twenty-four hours before they came home again.”

“Ah—I see. And do I take it these demons are your responsibility?”

Head rising, she nodded. “My sole responsibility.”

At that, he grinned.

She saw. Frowned. “What?”

He lifted her hand from his sleeve, raised it to his lips. “If you want to scare gentlemen off, you shouldn’t sound so proud of your three imps.”

Her frown would have turned to a scowl, but her sister came up on Geoffrey’s arm and effectively distracted her. Adriana’s court trailed behind; within minutes they were once more part of a fashionable circle, within whose safety Alicia remained, shooting the occasional suspicious glance his way until, deeming his duty on all counts done, he bowed and took his leave.




THREE

HE REPAIRED TO THE BASTION CLUB.

With a sigh, he sank into a well-stuffed leather armchair in the library. “This place is a godsend.”

He exchanged a glance with Jack Warnefleet, ensconced in another chair reading an issue of The Sporting Life, savored a sip of his brandy, then settled his head against the padded leather and let his thoughts roam.

To his life—what it used to be, what it now was, most importantly what he wanted it to be. The past was behind him, finished, brought to a close at Waterloo. The present was a bridge, a transition between past and future, nothing more. As for the future….

What did he truly want?

His mind flashed on snippets of memory, a sense of warmth in company, of rare moments of closeness punctuating long years of being alone. Of camaraderie, a sense of shared purpose, a passion for life as well as justice.

Dalziel and his mention of Whitley had brought Jack Hendon to mind. The last he’d seen of Jack he’d been firmly caught in his lovely wife’s coils, trooping, gesticulating and protesting, at her dainty heels. A vision of Kit with their elder son in her arms, Jack hovering protectively over them both, swam through his mind. And stuck.

Jack and Kit were coming down to London this Season; they’d be here within a few days. It would be good to

see them again, not only to renew old friendships but to refresh his memory, to sense again how a successful marriage worked.

The restlessness that for a few hours had been in abeyance returned. Draining his glass, he set it aside and rose. With a nod to Jack, who returned a salute, he left the library and the club.

At that hour London’s streets were quiet, the last stragglers from the balls already at home while the more hardened cases were ensconced in their clubs, hells, and private salons for what was left of the night. Tony walked steadily, his strides long, his cane swinging. Despite his self-absorption, his senses remained alert, yet none of those hanging back in the shadows made any move to accost him.