Page 10 of A Murder in Trinity Lane
I raised a brow. “And now?”
“Now,” Claire said dryly, “he’s very much back. He’s inherited everything—the title, the estate, the fortune. The previous marquis was a notorious miser, so the coffers are surprisingly full.”
She leaned into me with a conspiratorial murmur. “Don’t be taken in by those angelic looks. He’s had his share of . . . entanglements. Widows, mostly. Though there are whispers of married women as well. No one dares say it outright, but the gossip is there.”
In other words, a rake of the worst kind.
I glanced at Chrissie again. She was still staring at him, utterly captivated.
Nothing good could come of it. That much was clear.
Claire’s voice dropped further as she turned to me. “He’s not the sort of man a debutante should fall for. You’d do well to steer her clear.”
Before I could formulate a proper response to Claire’s warning, Lady Yarmouth began making her way across the ballroom, her jeweled fan fluttering like a pennant of mischief. And alongside her—of course—came Lord Sefton.
Chrissie stiffened beside me, her hand tightening slightly on my arm. I could practically feel the anticipation vibrating off her.
“Lady Rosalynd! Lady Chrysanthemum!” Lady Yarmouth trilled as she drew near, her voice pitched just loud enough to draw the attention of several nearby matrons. “How lovely to see you both. I simply couldn’t resist bringing Lord Sefton over to make your acquaintance. And, of course, you as well, Lady Edmunds.”
She turned to the blond gentleman beside her, beaming up at him like a matchmaking cat who had just dropped a still-twitching mouse at our feet.
“Ladies,” he said, bowing with elegant precision. “An honor.”
“Lord Sefton,” I returned coolly, managing a polite smile. “I trust you’re enjoying the ball?”
“Immensely,” he said smoothly. His gaze drifted toward Chrissie with lazy interest before sharpening to something more deliberate. “Though I find myself suddenly enjoying it even more.”
Chrissie’s flush deepened alarmingly.
“I hope your dance card isn’t full,” Lady Yarmouth said to Chrissie with exaggerated innocence, her eyes gleaming. “Lord Sefton was hoping for a waltz.”
“Unfortunately,” I said crisply, “Chrissie has been claimed for every dance.”
Chrissie cleared her throat, her voice a touch too high. “Actually, my next partner sent word just moments ago. He turned his ankle and begged off for the waltz.”
I turned to her, fixing her with a look. “Are you certain, darling?”
She nodded brightly, already lifting her dance card to Sefton. “Quite.”
After signing it, Sefton extended his arm. “May I have the honor, Lady Chrysanthemum?”
She took it with barely contained delight. “You may.”
And just like that, he swept her into the music, his hand resting lightly at her waist, his frame dangerously close to hers as they danced the waltz.
I watched them, every instinct in me bristling.
Lady Yarmouth—having achieved her goal—slithered away with a triumphant grin.
Claire sidled up beside me, her expression somber. “That was unfortunate.”
I exhaled sharply. “Lady Yarmouth should have been a general. Her strategic maneuvering would be advantageous in warfare.”
Claire frowned. “Let’s hope Chrissie doesn’t become a casualty.”
I was still watching Chrissie and Lord Sefton move through the figures of the waltz when a familiar voice—low, smooth, and threaded with amused challenge—sounded just behind my shoulder.
“I believe you’re glowering.”
