blond and handsome. He looked utterly at home in evening dress. His blue eyes seemed…speculative. That was the word that came to her. As if she’d well and truly caught his interest.
Elation bubbled through Verity’s veins. She’d sung before royalty, and people had cheered. She was wearing the most beautiful dress she’d ever possessed. She’d kissed Lord Randolph! And now here was an acknowledged rake at her disposal, just the sort of opportunity she’d hoped to find at Carleton House. He must be an adventurous man, to flout convention and do exactly as he pleased. And even if his exploits were only amorous, he would know all sorts of unconventional people. “You’re very kind,” she replied.
“Most people will tell you otherwise.”
“I suppose I can judge for myself.” She could spar with words. At this moment, she felt she could do anything.
“Do you?”
“You think women can’t make judgments?”
“I think most people don’t bother. And I know you have a beautiful…voice.”
His gaze roamed to other parts of her anatomy, but she wasn’t going to be flustered. “As does Lord Randolph,” she said.
Mr. Rochford made a throwaway gesture. “The Greshams have all sorts of talents. And there are so many of them. Have you heard about Hightower’s Brighton race?”
It took Verity a moment to place the name. Lord Randolph’s oldest brother was Viscount Hightower. She shook her head.
“I put him up to it, I fear,” said Rochford. He described a careening melee of high-perch phaetons, making her laugh more than once.
A rake would have to be charming, she told herself. It was no surprise that he was. But she was more interested in his taste for action. This race sounded promising. Aware that she had limited time, Verity asked, “Have you been to Africa?”
“What?”
“Or Egypt? Well, that is in Africa, I know, but I always think of it as a separate place. Imagine standing inside one of those ancient monuments.”
He looked bemused. “Sketches in travel journals are enough for me.”
“Do you like travel writing? I found Captain Cook’s voyages riveting.”
Mr. Rochford shrugged.
He wasn’t being very helpful. And Verity knew her conversation would be interrupted soon. “Are you a member of the Travellers Club?”
“I don’t know it.” His tone suggested it couldn’t be worth knowing, in that case.
“It’s new,” she told him. “For men who have journeyed five hundred miles from London. Or more, of course.”
“Nothing worth visiting is five hundred miles from London,” he declared. “Even Edinburgh is closer than that, for God’s sake.”
He obviously found this remark witty. To Verity it was merely disappointing. “Perhaps you have friends who have made great journeys?”
“My friends have good taste, Miss Sinclair.”
She supposed that was a setdown. She was too impatient to care. “Well, that’s useless.”
Mr. Rochford was visibly nonplussed.
Her mother’s friend Mrs. Doran appeared at Verity’s left side. Mrs. Doran’s boon companion, Fannie Furst, planted herself on the right. They stood close enough to brush Verity’s shoulders and glared at Mr. Rochford as if he’d insulted them.
“Ladies,” he said.
The defending duo stuck out their chins and said nothing.
Their outraged silence appeared to amuse him. “Did you enjoy the performance?”
Mrs. Doran grasped Verity’s arm and tugged. Verity resisted.
Thomas Rochford laughed. “Of course you must have. All the world did.” He gestured gracefully at the crowd around them.
“The infernal gall,” muttered Mrs. Doran.
Mr. Rochford did not roll his eyes, but he gave the impression of doing so. Then it seemed his amusement, or his patience, was exhausted. He produced a bow rather like a shrug. “Your servant, Miss Sinclair,” he said, and departed.
Verity’s unwanted guardians vibrated with pent-up emotion. She stepped back and slipped from between them before they could begin to scold, or whatever they planned to do. Moving quickly out of reach, she looked for someone she knew, and spotted Lord Randolph moving toward her. He was practically pushing people out of his way in order to reach her, and Verity felt a thrill at the sight. He was better looking than Rochford, she thought, in a completely different style. She smiled at him.
“You should not speak to men unless you’ve been introduced,” he said.
“What?”
“Rochford.” He spat out the name.
“I have been introduced to Mr. Rochford.”
This brought him up short. “Who dared do that?”
Verity didn’t intend to expose Olivia by explaining the circumstances. And then have to justify them. She waved the question aside.
“You mustn’t talk to him again.”
He put a hand on her arm. It felt proprietary. Verity shook it off. “Why not?”
“He is not a proper person for you to know.”
“Oh, don’t