Last Dance in London (Rakes on the Run #1) - Sydney Jane Baily Page 0,29

ladies’ retiring room. He barely glanced her way but seemed to be waiting for her to get to safety before he returned to the ballroom.

Wishing he would send her a compassionate look while knowing he wouldn’t, Julia entered the sanctuary to seek assistance.

When she returned to the ballroom, she had gathered her emotions and her wits and hoped she looked wholly respectable. Crossing to where her chaperone awaited, she couldn’t help searching for the earl.

“You took so long getting your hem fixed, or was it your hair?” Mrs. Zebodar asked, frowning as she scrutinized the slightly different coiffure done by the viscountess’s maid. Then the woman shook her head. “As I said, you took so long, two partners have been over here grumbling at your absence.

Pasting on a smile, Julia said, “One cannot dance with a loose hem. By any chance, did the Earl of Marshfield speak with you?”

“Yes, looking quite grim tonight. When I expressed concern at your absence, he said he’d noticed you entering the retiring room.”

“That was kind of him to ease your mind. I would like to reward him with a dance.”

“Impossible,” Mrs. Zebodar said. “He left immediately after speaking with me. I saw him depart.”

“I see.” Obviously her voice had betrayed some emotion, for her chaperone gave her a second look.

“Come, my girl. Don’t set your cap at that one. The earl is the last person a nice young woman like yourself should sigh after. He may have just done you a kindness, but he is a rake through and through, and would as soon take advantage of you as not.”

Julia knew that to be a lie but bit her tongue.

“I have a terrible megrim.”

Her chaperone’s eyes opened wide. “Truly?”

“Yes.” In fact, her temples were starting to throb. “Luckily, I didn’t speak with many gentlemen tonight so only one or two will be disappointed if we leave.” She glanced down at her reticule — or where it should be. Her wrist was bare! And there was only one place the bag could be.

On the Viscountess of Chandron’s bed!

Chapter Nine

“Lord M__ was seen entering the Hanover Square home of Lady W__ AGAIN this week! Is it possible the two are coming to some understanding? Or is our rakish earl merely enjoying a widow’s company without being caught in a parson’s mousetrap?”

-The Morning Post

Earlier than usual for polite society, at half past eleven in the morning, Jasper had his driver stop outside the Worthington house. His footman delivered his card with the message he was waiting outside. Although knowing it was rude to drop by uninvited and demand an audience — not to mention announce one’s intent to wait in one’s carriage — neither infraction of civility deterred him for a moment.

He knew, if home, Miss Sudbury would agree to see him.

Within minutes, he was standing in the deceased earl’s drawing room. He was struck by how recently he’d been there, sharing a kiss with her. Yet, it also seemed as if it were long ago when he still thought her a delightful innocent.

He paced the room. Old Worthington’s young widow wasn’t wasting his money on redecorating, for it looked a little dated if not shabby unlike the homes of many of his peers, who were forever changing the décor in order to be utterly pink of the mode.

Yet it was comfortable and strangely full of little bunches of flowers. More posies in one place than he’d ever seen outside a flower stall littered the surfaces. He might have noticed a few scattered around when he’d been invited to dinner, yet his attention had been all on Miss Sudbury.

Glancing at the sofa, he recalled exactly how comfortable it had been when he’d had her in his arms.

And then the door opened, and she entered.

He let her curtsy, thinking it a little too deep at this stage. Moreover, her demure gown didn’t afford him a view of her cleavage, not with some dreadful filmy thing lying across her décolletage. Ridiculous waste of a fine bosom, which, in his opinion, ought to always be on show for men to admire as much as decently possible. Elsewise, why be a beautiful woman with such splendid breasts?

Bowing shallowly in return, he nearly apologized for showing up unexpectedly but restrained himself. After all, the last time he’d barged in on her, her skirts were up and a man was trying to—

“Are you well?” he asked into the silence.

“Yes, thank you. And you?”

Jasper frowned. He’d been referring to her experience of the night