Last Dance in London (Rakes on the Run #1) - Sydney Jane Baily Page 0,7

The musicians were warming up, and with the early guests who’d already arrived, one could smell the familiar fragrances of citrus, rose, lavender, and the pervasive bay scent.

The distraction of a crowded ball would be perfect. Julia could accomplish her task before the midnight meal and then relax and potentially enjoy herself.

“You look lovely,” Mrs. Zebodar added, gesturing to Julia’s blue satin dress. “I shall begin at once my task of securing you a husband.”

“Oh,” Julia said, stopping in her tracks. “I thought you would simply keep me company and make sure I didn’t wander out into the garden with some ne’er-do-well.”

The matron nodded. “Those are my tasks, too. But any good chaperone must help secure an appropriate beau for her charge. Matchmaking is definitely under my purview, and I relish the notion.”

“Really?” Julia would have to take this up with Sarah when she got home. She didn’t want to be Mrs. Zebodar’s charge, nor was she interested in the woman’s matchmaking abilities. If she wanted a man, why, she could simply turn around and smile at the first one she laid eyes on.

Testing out her theory, Julia turned and spotted the Earl of Marshfield bearing down upon her, looking purposeful despite a pleasant expression. A delicious frisson of excitement sizzled down her spine.

“Miss Sudbury, how delightful to see you again,” he said, his dark gaze locking with hers, as he took her gloved hand in his and bowed over it.

“Lord Marshfield, we meet again.”

“Tut, tut,” Mrs. Zebodar said. “This is highly inappropriate.”

“No, it’s quite all right,” Julia explained. “I was at the earl’s home for dinner recently, so we’ve already been introduced, and nothing could be more appropriate.”

“My lord, you should have spoken to me first,” Mrs. Zebodar insisted, bristling and staring the earl down. “Nor should you have so freely taken the young lady’s hand.”

At this, Julia pulled her hand free from his warm grasp.

“Truly,” the earl said with a frown. “But I am already acquainted with Miss Sudbury, while you and I have not yet been introduced. For all I know, you are in your first Season and she is your chaperone. You cannot be more than sixteen, surely.”

Julia nearly groaned at the bold flattery. However, the matron put a hand to her chest and blatantly blushed, her mouth forming a pout and her eyelashes fluttering.

“Very well, sir. I suppose mistakes can be made and forgiven. I am the young lady’s chaperone, Mrs. Zebodar.”

He took the woman’s hand and bowed over it.

Julia stared at the woman. As a chaperone, Mrs. Zebodar was probably useless, easily won over by a notorious rake or undoubtedly any man with a smooth tongue. And that was a good thing, for while she wanted the protection of keeping a good reputation, which Sarah’s’ married friend could provide, she didn’t want to be under anyone’s thumb.

“Are you here to ask for a dance with my charge?” Mrs. Zebodar was quick to begin her matchmaking duties.

Julia cringed at the word, as if she were a two-year-old on leading strings. Moreover, back in Chislehurst, a dance in someone’s country home was a great deal less formal.

“Yes, in fact, I am.” His glance looked amused as if he knew she didn’t like all this fuss.

After all, she’d already told him she wasn’t born to this world. In truth, Julia hadn’t given much thought to dancing, far more interested in escaping to the private apartments of their hostess on the next floor up. However, she was interested enough in Lord Marshfield, especially after her sister had warned her away from the man, that she nodded in agreement.

“Do you have a pencil, sir?” Mrs. Zebodar asked, fishing in her own reticule. “For I shall keep track of Miss Sudbury’s partners in my little keepsake book.”

“Alas, my valet does not usually provide me one,” he confessed. However, reaching into his pocket to confirm his words, he opened his palm to reveal an ivory toothpick-case and a few stray anise comfits.

The tools of a rake who did a lot of kissing, Julia supposed. Lifting her glance to his, she was certain his cheeks flushed slightly, as if he knew she assumed he had a pocket full of things to keep his teeth clean and breath fresh for the sole purpose of kissing.

“Never mind, I have found one,” her chaperone commented into the silence.

The earl dropped the items back into his coat pocket.

“And since we are known to one another, I suppose it would be entirely appropriate,” he added, turning his