Last Dance in London (Rakes on the Run #1) - Sydney Jane Baily Page 0,87

Marshfield.”

“Maybe. After all, he is amusing, good company, and as attractive as Adonis.” She might as well be truthful.

“But what good is all that when he’s amusing some other woman two minutes before and two minutes after you?”

Sarah was right. Instead of wondering what to wear to the ball, Julia ought to tell him to go to the devil.

But his kisses were so delicious, and his hands and his ... other parts were so—

“You just sighed again.”

“I did, didn’t I? I suppose the problem is I haven’t seen a spark in any other man this Season. Marshfield is the only one with dash-fire.”

“That’s because you have spent all your time in the bedrooms and dressing rooms of London’s finest lords and ladies, rifling through their jewels. Luckily, I have managed to get myself invited to Lady Macroun’s house party over the Twelvetide. I intend to return some of what you took.”

Julia sat up straighter. “That’s impossibly dangerous for you.”

“I know. It’s rather exciting.” Sarah had a little pink in her cheeks as if the danger pleased her. “In any case, having days to reunite the pieces with their owners shall certainly be easier than what happened last time. I didn’t tell you I was nearly caught and had to scuttle under the Marquess of Fairway’s bed with his ring in my mouth. And I quickly discovered his chambermaid is not nearly as good as ours.” She scrunched her pretty face as if reliving the dusty experience.

Julia’s mouth dropped open. “What if you’d been caught?”

Sarah raised an eyebrow. “I hope I am as careful as you.”

Julia ought to tell her sister how many times she had, in fact, been discovered, but she hated to receive another lecture.

“Besides,” Sarah continued, “you’ll never guess our good fortune. Four of your hapless victims will be in the same place. I’ll simply drop each one’s bauble in a shoe or pocket and they’ll think it was there all along. Even that poor old Lord Devonshire will be there, the one who made such a fuss in the papers about his ring going missing.”

“Don’t go marrying him,” Julia said, trying to lighten the discussion. “However, I should be the one to do it,” she protested, thinking how relieved she would be to get her own ring back. “Let me go to the party with you.”

“Would you promise not to take anything else?” Sarah asked.

“I would never put you at risk.”

“Then I’ll see if I can secure another invitation. I had to play the lonely widow who desperately wants to get out of London for a bit. Perhaps you can come along as my companion with whom I can’t bear to be parted.”

“Dear God, we sound like a couple of maiden aunts — a lonely widow and her companion! But what about Father?”

Sarah gave a little shrug. “We shall see him in the new year instead.”

“CAN YOU ACTUALLY BE angry at me?” Jasper looked bewildered by her expression, as they stood by the tall windows of Apsley House, overlooking Hyde Park.

Looking as ridiculously handsome as ever, he’d come to collect her along with Mrs. Zebodar. Behaving perfectly, he was in a good mood, smiling and charming, as they rode the short distance to the Marquess of Wellesley’s gracious home, and it had grated on Julia’s every last nerve.

The grand home was situated in a prominent place beside the main southeast gate to Hyde Park. That night, the red brick house was lit from the many oil lamps around its exterior. Inside, shuffling slowly with the other guests through a grand entrance hall into a smaller chamber, Julia and Mrs. Zebodar changed into their dancing slippers while Jasper dropped off their coats. Then Julia placed her hand on Jasper’s arm, and they ascended the U-shaped staircase, her chaperone trailing behind them.

Upstairs, the main reception room had been transformed into a glittering ballroom for the event. Julia tried to enjoy her surroundings, but felt increasingly in a snit, as Jasper smiled at one lady, nodded to another, bowed to a duke, and shared a quick word with Lord Wellesley, their host. His wife, the former French actress Hyacinth-Gabrielle was not evident. Instead, the marquess’s young mistress Elizabeth Johnston played hostess, offering Jasper a warm welcome and her hand to kiss.

All this before they’d even made it across to the ceiling high windows on the other side of the grand room. So much for Lord Stridewell’s threat over Jasper being cut from society! The man could get away with anything,