“It’s rather stifling in the ballroom, is it not, Lord Thorne?”
He returned her polite smile with a bemused one. “Er. Yes, it is.”
The elder Lady Lovelace peered at him through her quizzing glass. “You danced with Lady Prestwick this evening.”
“The lady was kind enough to grant me the privilege,” he said, expecting the conversation had run its course.
She nodded. “She is a lovely young woman with a generous heart.”
Is she implying dancing with me is an act of charity?
“I didn’t realize you were friendly with Lady Prestwick,” Celeste said. The sardonic twist of her mouth left no doubts what she was implying.
“The lady is friendly with my sister,” he lied, although it wasn’t a complete fabrication. She had been friendly with Eve outside St. Saviour’s.
The older woman’s drawn-on brows rose on her wrinkled forehead. “Mercy. I had no idea Lady Prestwick and Miss Thorne are close friends. I must speak with Lady Eldridge and insist she invite your sister to the next charitable society gathering. Lady Eldridge is hosting next week.”
Sebastian blinked, certain he had misheard her. Eve never received invitations to anything.
The footman entered the foyer from outside. “Ladies, your carriage has arrived.”
The younger Lady Lovelace ushered her mother-in-law toward the door but stopped at the threshold to peer back at him. Her gaze traveled the length of his body and she tossed a smile in his direction. “It has been a long time, Lord Thorne. I hope our paths cross again very soon.” She mouthed the word Tonight.
He was tempted. This type of unwritten invitation hadn’t been extended to him in quite a while, but he’d already agreed to meet Lady Prestwick this evening. And her invitation proved most intriguing.
Nine
Helena had changed into a comfortable day gown and requested the lamps lit in the drawing room in preparation for Lord Thorne’s arrival. She glanced around the small space with a nagging sense something was missing. Her gaze landed on the empty fireplace. Perhaps a little ambiance would be nice, but it was too warm for a fire.
“Oh bother!” She made a dismissive flick of her wrist, disgusted with herself. Ambiance would be nice if the baron were set on seduction, not blackmail, which, now that she’d had more time to think about it, seemed like the most logical scenario.
Many gentlemen with titles and entailed estates needed money. The baron probably saw her as an easy target. The question she had been asking herself since the ball was would anyone believe him?
She’d heard the gossip about Lord Thorne tonight. The words “insane” and “family trait” had circled the room more times than the dancers. Only she didn’t believe for one second he was unbalanced. His eyes were too clear and sharp. He was intelligent. Cunning. And he would make a formidable foe if she crossed swords with him.
Paying him seemed the wisest course, but it made her tremble with repressed rage. No doubt the baron expected her to play the frightened victim, and blast it all, she was afraid. Afraid of losing her standing in Society, of never being able to give her youngest sister the life she deserved.
But Helena would be damned if she admitted her fear to anyone.
Fergus entered the drawing room without knocking and crossed his arms over his broad chest. She didn’t want to hear his warnings against receiving the baron.
“What do you think?” she asked, feigning cheerfulness. “Should I set out the cordial?”
His shaggy brows dropped dangerously low over his forest-green eyes. “You shouldna be receiving him at all.”
“It is either now or later. I would prefer to hear his terms as soon as possible and send him on his way.”
Fergus yanked the dagger from the holster at his hip. “Highlanders do no’ extend hospitality to blackmailers. The vermin are greeted by the sharp bite of metal between their ribs.”
The last thing they needed was a dead lord on the Aubusson. “You will not raise a hand toward the baron unless you want both of us sent to the gallows. This is not Scotland. You cannot kill a lord willy-nilly.”
His frown deepened, but he replaced the dagger. “Aye. A wee bit of planning first is sensible, lass.”