a man’s voice said, disastrously close, causing them to spring apart. Dragan stood, moving more decorously away from her, as the duke himself walked into the room with another man of similar age.
The duke scowled. “Griz? What are you doing here?” His gaze lashed Dragan, who bowed politely.
“Oh, just talking,” Griz said carelessly. “But don’t worry, we’ll leave you privacy for your own discussion. This is Mr. Tizsa, by the way. Sir, my father, the Duke of Kelburn, and Lord John Russell.”
Both gentlemen registered the introduction with brief nods, though both clearly had more important things on their minds. Dragan was not surprised. Lord John Russell was the prime minister.
“Your mother was looking for you,” the duke said pointedly.
“I expect she’s lost her fan again,” Griz murmured as they walked back into the drawing room.
Dragan, deliberately searching for Galbraith’s bright red coat, noted the direction of the officer’s gaze. At Griz.
“Lady Grizelda,” said a polite voice to their right.
Gabriel, Lord Horace’s man, was bowing to Griz, who responded immediately.
“Ah, Mr. Gabriel, how do you do?”
“Very well indeed. May I present to you my betrothed, Miss Derryn? Sir James Derryn’s daughter. My dear, Lady Grizelda Niven. And Mr. Tizsa,” he added with hurried disapproval.
Griz gave her hand to the other woman with perfect friendliness. “A pleasure to meet you, at last, Miss Derryn.”
“The pleasure is mine,” the lady said pleasantly. Her gaze seemed to have got stuck on Dragan, though she dragged it back to Griz in time to add, “Thomas has told me so much about you, it seems odd this is our first meeting.”
“Lady Grizelda is a little like you, my dear,” Gabriel said, “in that she does not spend all her life at parties.”
“Got bored with them in my first season,” Miss Derryn confided, adding hastily, “though this is most pleasant and so kind of Lady Trench to invite Thomas and me.”
“Oh, well, he and Horace work so hard together that Mr. Gabriel is like one of the family,” Griz said.
Is he? Dragan wondered curiously. The cold eyes and propensity for work did not inspire affection in him, and he couldn’t help speculating as to what had brought this odd couple together.
“Might I hope you will come to tea one day?” Miss Derryn asked Griz.
“How kind, I would love to,” Griz said warmly. “Oh, look, I think it is time for Azalea’s soprano…”
“Who is Azalea’s soprano?” Dragan murmured as they moved back into the room they had just left.
“Her musical discovery of the year. Don’t worry,” she added. “Azalea’s taste is excellent. She has helped several singers and musicians in this way.”
Griz was musical, too, he remembered. He would like to hear her sing and play. A whole intriguing world was opening up to him, with Griz at its center.
They remained together quite naturally until he realized they were approaching the duchess at the front row of seats. Griz introduced him without fuss, and the duchess gave him a gracious smile in return for his bow. For an instant, he wondered if it would cause too much comment if he sat beside her. And then he caught sight of the British officer, Galbraith, moving into the chair directly behind hers. Dragan sat down.
“Grizelda! I have not seen you in ages.” A woman took the chair next to his, talking across him.
The sister-in-law, Lady Monkton, who, by annoying Lady Trench, was indirectly responsible for his presence here. She was a proud, handsome woman, not quite thirty, he guessed.
“Good evening, Augusta,” Griz said cheerfully. “Do you know Mr. Tizsa?”
Lady Monkton smiled thinly as her gaze flickered over him. “I believe we have not been introduced.”
“My sister-in-law,” Griz murmured. “The Marchioness of Monkton. Where is Monkton?”
Lady Monkton waved one vague hand behind her. “Talking politics. So, Mr. Tizsa, you are one of Lady Trench’s admirers?”
It was, he reflected, a blatant way to warn Griz away from him. The woman must have seen them together before this. Although he did not care two hoots for her opinion and assumed Lady Trench more than capable of taking care of her own reputation, he did not want Griz hurt.
“Isn’t everyone?” he murmured.
Fortunately, there was no time for more because Lady Trench walked in front of them with a young woman dressed all in white, whom she introduced to the audience as “the finest singer I have heard in years.” An older woman at the pianoforte began to play, and the singing began.
Griz was right. The soprano was talented and a pleasure to listen to.