as well. May I suggest we talk about what a lovely day it has been.”
“Why not?” he said with no enthusiasm and turned his attention back to the ribbons.
One unimportant subject was as good as another.
He had promised to behave, and he would, but why couldn’t he bear the thought of never kissing her again?
Seventeen
“The robbed that smiles steals something from the thief.” Someone should tell this to Lord Dunraven. The earl seems to be getting more ill-humored with each passing day that the family raven is not returned to its nest. It’s on good authority this one reports that in an outing to Hyde Park, Lord Dunraven rebuffed Lady Lambsbeth, a lady he once admired, and left her to catch his carriage dust.
—Lord Truefitt, Society’s Daily Column
Millicent stood in a far corner of the ballroom, trying not to watch Chandler. He was on the other side of the dance floor talking with his good friends Lord Chatwin and Lord Dugdale, handsome gentlemen with affable smiles and charming manners. She’d had the pleasure of meeting both of them earlier in the week.
She had caught Chandler’s eyes glancing her way more than once tonight. Her stomach had quickened each time his gaze swept over her.
It had been a week since their ride in Hyde Park, and, much to her surprise, Chandler hadn’t made any attempts to meet her in secret. She was conflicted with a mixture of gratefulness and disappointment because he had finally decided to respect her wishes and not pursue her. She should have been relieved, but that’s not what she was feeling.
They’d managed a few snippets of conversations during the evenings while dancing at the various parties they had attended during the week. Sometimes the dances were so lively it was impossible to talk. Other times it would be a dance where they had to change partners so it was difficult to have a conversation of any merit.
In the end she had a short list of the tallest ladies to keep an eye on each evening, and Chandler had a long list of gentlemen to watch. She hoped to hear tonight that he had news from Mr. Doulton’s inquiries into the list of names Chandler had given him, but the evening was growing late and he hadn’t approached her.
She scanned the fringe of the room again, hoping no one noticed her eyes lingered on Chandler far too long. She found herself thinking, “If only, if only, if only,” in time to the music that filled the crowded room. There was no use in going over the if onlys again. She’d been through them all a number of times and nothing was going to change her position or his.
Chandler was a confirmed bachelor. She’d heard that from several members of the ton. When and if he married, it wouldn’t be to a young lady who had spied and written gossip. He would make a love match with someone like the beautiful Miss Pennington or an astute business match with a young lady like the approachable Miss Bardwell.
Millicent had resigned herself to finishing the gossip Season for her aunt, who was well on her way to recovering. Each day she looked better and sounded stronger. With Emery’s help, she was getting out of bed and spending most of the day sitting in a chair.
In another week or two Aunt Beatrice would be testing her leg to see if she could walk with a cane. Because of her aunt’s improvements, Millicent felt sure she would be back in Nottinghamshire by September—and doing what?
She turned away from the area where Chandler stood and started a slow stroll around the crowded room, greeting the people she passed, but hardly seeing them. Millicent hadn’t considered what she would do when she returned home. She hadn’t wanted to. She couldn’t bear the thought of settling down to marriage with any of the eligible gentlemen in her town. After Chandler, how could she accept another man’s attentions?
How could she enjoy or even tolerate another man’s kisses and caresses when Chandler was the only man who had ever stirred wanton desires inside her? Desires that threatened to—
Someone bumped her arm, breaking her train of thought. And thank goodness, she chided herself.
Her task had been forgotten. She needed to look around and locate Viscountess Heathecoute, Lady Lynette, Mrs. Honeycutt, and Mrs. Moore. She truly didn’t believe any of the ladies were connected to the Mad Ton Thief anymore than she was, but someone had to be taking the