Major Westhaven's Unwilling Ward

Because she did not know what else to do, she dropped her eyes and turned away, watching the dancers take to the floor again, needing a moment to compose herself.

When she looked back—simply because she could not do otherwise—he was talking to the gentleman next to him. In profile he was equally striking, slim about the hips yet broad shouldered, his strong features offset by a generous mouth that set Lily wondering, in a moment quite unlike her usual sensible self, what he looked like when he smiled.

Frowning slightly, she averted her gaze again before he caught her staring—what was she thinking, sizing him up so? Turning slightly away, she scolded herself for such foolishness—was this all it took—a handsome man to make eye-contact with her—for her to behave like a manshy debutante?

She needed something to distract her and, luckily, something presented itself in the form of a young admirer, bowing prettily over her hand and asking most courteously for a dance. Gratefully, she accepted and allowed him to lead her to the floor.

And yet, even while dancing, she was aware of the other’s eyes upon her, watching her every move, giving her a new feeling of self-consciousness. Telling herself she was imagining it, she smiled at her partner and applied herself to the dance.

But when she did glance back, just for a moment, it was to find those grey-blue eyes on her face once more. Lily looked down at her feet as she almost missed a step, the first glimmer of irritation growing in her.

Did he not know it was impolite to stare so? Was he trying to disconcert her? If he wished to make her acquaintance, why did he not simply seek an introduction? Must he stand there appraising her as if she was a horse he was minded to buy?

Even as annoyance flickered into life, Lily knew it was senseless to mind such attention. Was that not, after all, why she was here—to parade herself, an offering for the highest bidder? Was she not reliant upon one of these men being taken enough with her to ignore her lack of land and fortune and propose?

The dance eventually ended, to her relief and, thanking her young partner—it seemed increasingly that the men at such events were becoming ever younger—Lily slipped across to a refreshment table, picked up a drink, and cast her eyes about for Kitty Stanton, the friend who had accompanied her to the ball. She wished to ask about the stranger who still, she saw, glancing hastily across the room, stood where he had been throughout the last two dances, though his conversation partner had changed.

He was nursing a drink in one long-fingered hand, she noticed suddenly, making no effort to sip from the glass as he conversed idly with the older man now at his side. Though he listened and responded politely enough, nothing the gentleman said seemed to move him—or perhaps he was simply immovable. Lily, thinking of his inscrutable gaze, bit her lip in thought.

Who was he? Why did he stand there so, expecting people to come to him?

As she watched, another gentleman and a lady joined his small party, a girl that Lily vaguely knew, and her brother. Introductions were completed, with the stranger still polite but impassive. It was not, Lily mused, that there was anything lacking in his manners—there was just no warmth in anything he did; he held himself at a distance from proceedings, almost.

The lady was gesturing to the dance floor now, casting her large eyes up at the stranger, imploring. Lily could almost hear the exchange—it was very charmingly done—and she hid a wry smile.

But the stranger was shaking his head, looking detachedly regretful. He gestured to the girl’s brother, then to the floor. The insinuation was obvious even to Lily, standing several metres away from them, out of earshot. He was refusing to dance, inviting them to continue without him.

Lily could not help a disapproving frown appearing between her brows. Why would he not dance, when asked so prettily? Could it be, she mused, taking in his flawless appearance, that he did not wish to rumple his clothes? She could not abide men who took themselves so seriously—why attend a ball if you had no intention of taking to the floor? Surely it was a gentleman’s duty to stand up with the ladies?

The lady and her brother were leaving him now, proceeding to the dance floor. Lily thought it was a shame that the young girl had been forced to ask for her own dance and been refused—such an indignity, and all at the hands of this enigmatic stranger.

Almost as if he had heard, he glanced up.

Their eyes met, and she did not have time to replace the frown with a more benign expression. For a long moment he just looked at her. Then, slowly, he raised his glass in greeting, a silent toast across the room that no doubt looked innocent—and probably even charming—to those around. But Lily did not miss the sardonic tilt of his lips, a halfsmile tempered by something else entirely in his eyes—something guarded, almost hostile.

Confused, blushing once more, she dropped her gaze.

Now he was mocking her! What gave him the right to look at her so, when they had not even been introduced? And then to make her feel ashamed for watching him? Who was he?

Gritting her teeth, she turned her back on the dance floor. She was not engaged for the next two dances—and she needed to take some air.

Let him stare at some other poor fool while she was gone.

Daniel Westhaven could not quite believe his eyes.

Robbie Pevensey’s sister was every bit as spoilt and feather-brained as every other simpering powder puff of a woman in this place. He had watched her for most of the evening: speaking to gentlemen, dipping her lashes and smiling winsomely, dancing, flirting and sparkling her way about the ballroom in a dress that told of indulgent expense in its deceptive simplicity of line.

It had taken her a long time to notice his interest, so absorbed in herself had she been. But once she had seen him looking, it was obvious she was trying to impress him.

And then, when he had caught her watching him, he had seen it—disapproval writ clearly on her face. She wondered, no doubt, at his seeming unwillingness to dance and make merry. Like all her kind, pleasure was all she lived for.

His fingers tightened around his glass. This was not what he had expected—he had heard that there was interest in her, that she was out in society again after the death of her brother…But somehow, he had expected the sister of his friend to be different. If not serious, exactly, then with a little intelligence at least.

He sighed inwardly. It did not matter. He was not looking for approval, and God knew he did not expect her to become fond of him. He had survived to keep his promise, against the odds, and now he had a duty to perform—that was all. He would do so, for Robbie.

He did not have to like it.

‘Lily! I have been searching for you!’

Standing in a trance before the fish pond in Lady Langley’s elegant garden, Lily looked round dazedly to see the sweet face and button nose of Lady Katherine Stanton peering out at her from behind a row of potted palms.

‘Kitty.’ She smiled fondly. ‘I was dreaming.’

‘Of a handsome gentleman to whisk you away?’ Kitty, two years her junior and the liveliest of the little group of ladies Lily called her friends, came forward, eyes sparkling. ‘There are many here tonight, for sure.’

‘Have you seen anyone in particular?’

Kitty considered, head on one side. ‘No one as handsome as my Tom, of course. But I have just made the acquaintance of a very dashing gentleman, or, should I say, he made mine. I had fancied him the perfect husband for you at first, but he’s ancient—definitely over thirty. Nevertheless, he seems awfully eager to meet you, so I promised to facilitate the introductions—do come along!’

Lily hid a smile. ‘Ancient indeed.’ She frowned. ‘Why does he wish to meet me?’

Kitty rolled her eyes. ‘Because he is enraptured by your beauty, of course!’

‘He said that?’

‘He had no need to!’

‘Kitty, really.’ Lily ran her hands over her gown, knowing it could not hope to approach the cutting-edge fashion displayed within by the confident, wealthy daughters of the ton.

The younger girl flashed her a wide smile. ‘Forgive me—I am just so excited that the Season is begun at last! Surely this year we shall find you a husband!’

Lily shook her head indulgently. What would Kitty say if she knew the resolutions she had made earlier tonight? And yet, could she not allow herself to hope, surrounded by all this glitter and style, that she would find love along with her much-needed husband?

Such dreams were foolish, she knew. Yet, though she was older than many of her similarly unmarried peers, she could still feel, occasionally, the girlish thrill of a handsome man paying her attention. This year she had looked forward, despite herself, to the round of balls and parties. There was peace to be found in trivial things: chatting with her friends, discussing which gentleman was most handsome, and dancing her way through the long summer nights helped her forget the darker thoughts she experienced, and her fears for the future. These past few years had not been easy ones, the last in particular heavy with sadness.

Kitty, who had been snapped up by the dashing Lord Stanton almost as soon as she had made her début last Season, always tried her best to cheer her, however. Despite her married status, Lily increasingly thought of her as a younger sister—and the girl was regarding her now with approval. ‘You do look lovely tonight, Lily. I am quite jealous.’

Lily looked down at herself, touched at the compliment. ‘You are kind to say so.’ She smiled. ‘But you know you have nothing to be jealous of.’ Small and girlishly lovely, with abundant shining dark hair and huge brown eyes, Kitty had a dramatic effect on men, who seemed to want to sweep her up and protect her. Her husband had faced stiff competition before he had at last carried away his prize.

Kitty grinned impishly. ‘Come, let us go in so you can flirt with Major Westhaven. He looks like he could do with cheering up.’

Lily sighed. ‘Honestly, Kitty!’

‘I will go and fetch him. Count to ten, then follow me.’

‘Very well.’ Lily could not help smiling at her friend’s flair for the dramatic.

She lingered on the steps up to the terrace, patting her hair to make sure it was in place and pinching some colour into her cheeks. If this man was as attractive as Kitty said, she wished to make a good impression, ancient or not.