A Secret Surrender - Darcy Burke Page 0,14

to greet her.

“Good evening, Lady Gresham. I’m pleased to see you were able to attend.” He forced his attention away from her, which he found strangely difficult, and smiled in greeting to the petite young woman at her side. “You must be Miss Whitford.”

The younger lady curtsied, dropping her hazel gaze briefly before lifting it to meet his once more. Golden-blonde curls grazed her temples and cheeks. “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Sheffield. I just met Lord and Lady Aylesbury downstairs and thanked them for the invitation, but I understand I really have you to thank.” Deep dimples formed when she smiled, giving her an aura of youthful exuberance.

“I’m happy to have helped. How are you enjoying London?” he asked politely. This sort of usually mundane social discourse was a primary reason he avoided these events. It was one thing to talk with people he knew or with just one other person away from a crush—such as he’d done with Lady Gresham on two occasions now, and another to make idle conversation with someone with whom he wasn’t already acquainted. He glanced toward her and wondered at her almost surreal calmness. She wasn’t like everyone else who attended these sorts of activities. They were typically humming with enthusiasm and glee.

“It’s a lovely city,” Miss Whitford said, her eyes sparking with enthusiasm. “We’ve been to Hyde Park, to Astley’s, and of course shopping on Bond Street. I am hoping to visit Vauxhall and that I might be fortunate enough to obtain a voucher to Almack’s.”

“I wish you luck with your endeavors.” He caught sight of his two younger sisters heading straight for them. Blast, what were they about?

Rachel smiled wide in greeting. “Harry, are these the ladies you invited this evening?”

“Allow me to present Lady Gresham and Miss Whitford.” He looked to their guests. “These are my sisters, Lady Fitzwilliam and Mrs. Hayes.” He gestured to Imogen first because her rank was higher and then to Rachel, who’d married the second son of a viscount. That made Harry wonder what Lady Gresham’s rank was. He ought to look her deceased husband up in Debrett’s, but probably wouldn’t bother.

Everyone exchanged curtsies, and when both of his sisters rose with broad, sparkling smiles, he grew suspicious.

“Did I hear you mention Almack’s?” Rachel asked Miss Whitford.

“Yes. I was just telling Mr. Sheffield that I hope to be fortunate enough to receive a voucher.”

“That can be difficult,” Imogen said. “But not impossible. We shall endeavor to assist you.”

“Do you go to Almack’s?” Lady Gresham asked Harry.

“No.”

“Not even once,” Rachel clarified, as if it mattered. “Our other brother at least did that.”

“Neither one of them is on the Marriage Mart, much to our parents’ chagrin,” Imogen said sweetly.

“I hardly think Lady Gresham and Miss Whitford care to hear about our family, er, matters.” He darted a look at Lady Gresham and saw that she was watching him with a bit of…humor?

Rachel and Imogen exchanged a look, and then Rachel spoke. “Lady Gresham, might we borrow Miss Whitford for a bit? It would be our pleasure to introduce her to some of the guests.”

“We are excellent chaperones,” Imogen assured her.

Harry coughed. Once, long before any of his sisters had wed, Delia had led all three of them on an excursion to Hyde Park alone. They’d made paper boats and had wanted to set them afloat on the Serpentine. Then they’d been seen by the bloody Duke of Holborn, of all people. A stickler for propriety, he’d marched them back home and given their father an earful. And that had been just the first of their unsupervised outings. Harry couldn’t imagine them as chaperones, excellent or not.

Even so, he said nothing because he found he was quite content to have Lady Gresham to himself.

Hell, was he?

“That would be wonderful, thank you.” Lady Gresham gave them an appreciative smile.

Imogen looped her arm through Miss Whitford’s, and they pivoted. Rachel looked from Harry to Lady Gresham and back again. “You should take a stroll in the garden. It’s a lovely evening.” She narrowed her eyes almost imperceptibly and gave Harry a fleeting smirk before turning and following the others.

Bollocks. They were playing matchmaker, the shrews. They’d—rightly—assessed the situation and determined Lady Gresham would be of more interest to Harry. Because she was of interest to him.

“Why are you frowning?”

Harry blinked and turned his head toward Lady Gresham once more. “I didn’t mean to. My sisters can be vexing.”

“I thought they were quite pleasant. Should I worry about Beatrix