Last Dance in London (Rakes on the Run #1) - Sydney Jane Baily Page 0,38
do, yes, but even more a desire to get my pennies into the hands of as many flower girls as possible.”
Finally, he had an explanation for the many posies he’d seen upon his two visits inside old Worthington’s house. She was a good soul, even if he thought it a naïve effort.
When he bid her good day on her doorstep with the promise of seeing her at the upcoming Wendelsons’ ball, Jasper couldn’t help thinking how easy it had been to keep her in good humor and how much he’d enjoyed doing so.
Flagging down a hackney, he knew if he could get her into his bed as adeptly, his own enjoyment would be complete.
“WHY ARE YOU COMING to this ball?” Julia all but whined when she discovered Sarah was attending instead of the negligent Mrs. Zebodar. She didn’t learn this fact until she came out of her room, ready to go, dressed in a diaphanous cream gown with a Pomona green bodice.
And there was her sister wearing violet satin.
Sarah stared at her. “Whyever not?”
Julia snapped her mouth closed as there was no good reason why her sister shouldn’t go out into the world. Her mourning was long past.
“Are you hoping to see Viscount Denbigh?”
“No,” her sister proclaimed, and instead of her cheeks blushing pink with happiness, her mouth became a thin, firm line. “I am no longer interested in him, but you and I shall have a splendid evening.”
It would make it more difficult, but not impossible to go about her usual endeavors. Although, she supposed she could take a break and simply enjoy one event without worry.
Particularly since Lord Marshfield would be in attendance. She came to the conclusion she was more excited to see him than she should be. Despite sticking up for him to her sister and despite what a gentleman he’d been at Lord’s Cricket Ground, he had earned his reputation over at least the past four years. He wasn’t going to shed the skin of a rake in a couple of weeks. Certainly not for her.
A penniless miss from Chislehurst.
Not only that, she was a thief and potentially in scorching hot water. Julia was worried daily about that wretched reticule incident, waiting for something further to occur.
Yet none of that mattered when the Earl of Marshfield boldly crossed the room to greet her and her sister.
With the speed and expediency of a royal officer, he commandeered a table for them. By the time the music began, Sarah had obtained a partner, and they all convened for a quadrille. Simply for the ease of doing so, Lord Marshfield asked Sarah for the next dance, and Julia danced with her sister’s partner.
After that, however, when the men went to do their duty securing other partners, Sarah and Julia awaited the onslaught. It happened quickly and soon Julia found herself with a gentleman she knew she’d met previously, but with whom she couldn’t quite recall ever dancing.
“Your hem is holding up this evening,” he remarked.
She started slightly, realizing he was one of those she’d left on the floor when going about her stealthy business.
“It is,” she agreed amiably. “A better seamstress, to be sure.”
For the midnight supper, her sister was quite satisfied to be escorted by the man she was lately partnered, and as Julia had hoped, Lord Marshfield appeared in time for the dance just prior, and thus, offered her his arm to go into the dining room.
“What a surprise?” he quipped drolly when the one and only course arrived. “White soup.”
“Easy to make in large quantities and filling, all in one course,” she defended the ubiquitous dish she’d encountered during the Season. “I confess I never had it before I came to a private ball, but I’ve grown very fond of it. And look, there’s bread and butter, too.”
He glanced at her, seeming amused. “Then for your sake, I’m glad of the pottage, and I shall watch you lick the last drop off your spoon.”
His words sent a thrill through her. What a scoundrel!
However, not wanting to disappoint, she did in fact turn to him as she licked the last drop, and their eyes met. Her insides went as hot and liquid as the soup, and again, she wanted to experience a particular pleasure for the first time with this specific man.
To that end, after dinner, she accepted his invitation to go for a stroll in the dimly lit garden.
“Your sister would have my tallywags in a sack,” he quipped.