Dicing with the Dangerous Lord - By Margaret McPhee Page 0,46

yet there just the same. Linwood saw his sister and her husband, too, his gaze sliding from the younger woman across the floor back to Venetia.

And even though the expression on his face was more closed than ever she knew that he had not expected Lady Marianne’s presence. He showed not one sign of embarrassment, although the situation could be nothing other for him. The presence of his sister and his...inamorata. The word whispered a tingle down her spine that she deliberately ignored. It was hardly a fitting description of what she was to Linwood, but it was the impression that the ton was labouring under.

‘You did not know your sister would be here.’

‘I did not.’

‘A trifle awkward for you...and for her,’ she murmured.

Linwood said nothing, but she saw the tiny betraying flex in the line of his jaw. She should be glad of it, revelling in it, using the tactic to her best advantage. But when his eyes met hers she saw beneath the strong silent guise and it was not gladness or a sense of triumph that she felt but the uneasiness of his discomfort as surely as if it were her own.

‘Linwood...and the divine Miss Fox.’ Razeby’s cheerful voice broke the moment as he sauntered up.

‘Razeby.’ Linwood gave a curt inclination of his head.

‘If you will excuse me for a moment, gentlemen.’ She drew her eyes from Linwood, glad of the interruption. ‘I must powder my nose.’

She threaded her way through the crowd, smiling in amusement at the shocked disapproving stares from the ton’s matrons and the wistful lascivious ones of their husbands. Linwood would certainly be black-marked for bringing her here, she thought. That he had defied their wrath to have her here with him was not something that she wished to dwell upon. Although the room was crowded a path opened up before her, some ladies and even the odd gentleman turning their backs to her. Venetia was not bothered in the slightest. She was well used to it; she was, after all, an intruder here in a place that was their territory. They would equally well have been just as unwelcome in the demi-monde.

When she walked into the retiring room the two matrons in there herded their young charges out, scowling, noses in the air, while the girls tried to steal surreptitious glances at the scandalous woman in their midst. The door closed with a resounding slam just in case she was not aware of their disapproval at her audacity to invade their world.

She had no need to use the chamber pots behind the screens. Instead, she stood before the large peering glass that had been set up within the room and reminded herself of what she had spent the past three days thinking. There was an attraction between Linwood and herself; she could no longer deny it. But what she felt for him was lust. And lust, no matter how strong, could be conquered. She was not some weak-minded, feeble-kneed woman to let herself be dangled like a puppet from the fingers of any man, and especially not Linwood. He had murdered Rotherham. The only reason she was here by his side tonight was part of this game to lure him into revealing the truth. There were questions to be asked, a tongue to be loosened, a murderer to be caught.

She fixed her hair and, removing a small pot of rouge from her reticule, applied a little to her lips.

The door opened.

Venetia did not even glance round, expecting the huff of disapproval and the slam, but there was only the quiet click of the door closing and the soft rustle of silk.

Within the peering glass, Venetia’s eyes slid from her lips to the space behind her and saw Linwood’s sister.

Lady Marianne did not look surprised to find her here. Their eyes held for a moment before she walked to stand by Venetia and share the peering glass. The reflected Lady Marianne smoothed a hand over the pale pink silk of her skirt. Venetia finished applying the rouge to her lips.

‘So you are the famous Miss Fox.’

‘And you are Lady Marianne.’ Venetia offered the rouge pot to the girl with a slight arch of her eyebrow.

‘Thank you, but, no,’ Lady Marianne declined most graciously.

‘Lord Linwood’s sister,’ said Venetia.

‘I own that privilege.’

‘I do not think your brother would approve of you talking to me.’

‘Probably not.’ Marianne smiled.

The two women looked at one another. Lady Marianne had the same eyes as her brother, eyes that showed