Page 23 of When the Viscount Seduces
Lazarus snorted. “That can’t possibly happen again, not after Droxford and Bane.”
“Just becareful,” Shefford pleaded.
Nodding, Lazarus waved at them as he turned to go downstairs. Entering the ballroom, he was struck by how grand everything looked. The club had outdone itself tonight with the medieval festival theme. There were flowers and greenery, and a dais with two chairs made to look like thrones. He had no idea what they were for, but they’d never been there before. They must have something to do with the theme.
And a great many of the attendees had embraced the medieval aspect, their costumes hailing from another time. There were more women than men who were dressed appropriately, but that was to be expected.
He scanned the ballroom and located Mrs. Price. She was not difficult to spot as she was taller than most ladies and always oneof the most elegantly dressed. Tonight, her attire was flawless, with an exceptional medieval headdress and a golden velvet gown with flowing sleeves. Miss Price was not with her, however. Lazarus wondered if she might be dancing.
Pivoting, he looked toward the dance floor and found her. Shewasdancing. And she was also spectacularly garbed in an emerald gown with a matching circlet atop her head. Her sable hair hung down her back, a stunning style of curls and braids beneath a sheer veil. Isaac realized their costumes matched, which they, of course, had not planned.
He saw that her brow was puckered as she concentrated on the steps. He found himself murmuring what she should do, as if she could hear him. Perhaps they should have practiced dancing at their meeting yesterday. Tomorrow, he would suggest it.
Suddenly, she turned the wrong way and bumped into one of the other people in her set. Lazarus winced. He ought to walk away because watching her was rather torturous—he wanted to rush in and save her. However, he stayed rooted and continued to think the steps in his mind as if he could convey them directly into her brain.
“Somerton.”
Turning his head, Lazarus saw Gwen’s brother, Evan, heading toward him. He had a near-olive complexion like his mother along with her ink-dark hair. He was also wearing medieval dress, perhaps because his mother had insisted.
“Evening, Price,” Lazarus said.
Stopping alongside him, Price followed his gaze. “Are you watching my sister dance?”
“Not your sister in particular, but I do see her.”
Price frowned. “Are you courting her?”
Lazarus tried not to betray anything. He kept his focus on the dance floor. “Not at the moment.”
“That’s a strange answer.” Price turned toward him. “I thought we were friends. I should like to know your intentions toward my sister.”
Exhaling, Lazarus looked at Price and inclined his head toward the wall. Silently, they walked to the perimeter of the ballroom. “I am merely trying to help your sister by paying her attention. I am not planning to court her.”
The gold flecks in Price’s eyes seemed to catch fire. “She bloody well thinks you are.”
She did?Shit.Lazarus glanced toward the dance floor. No, she didn’t. She couldn’t. They had an arrangement. She could not mistake what they’d agreed to. “Did she say that?”
Price frowned. “No. But my mother keeps talking about your interest.”
“Your sister isn’t expecting my courtship. She knows I am helping her. My goal is to ensure her Season is not a failure.”
Price blinked, appearing nonplussed. “Why are you doing this?”
“Because I wanted to.”
“It’s just…you risk your own reputation by paying her attention as you have.”
“I’ve been judicious in how much time we spend together,” Lazarus explained. “I have no plans to dance with her tonight or even speak to her.” Then why had he been ogling her as she danced as if he were a hungry kitten who’d just spotted a bowl of cream?
He’d only been watching her out of concern. He wanted her to be successful.
And how was his observing her going to ensure that?
“I confess I’m surprised you would go to all this trouble to help my sister,” Evan said bemusedly. “But I do appreciate your assistance. Provided it really doesn’t amount to anythingbetween you. I mean no offense, but I don’t think you’d be a good match.”
Lazarus wanted to ask why, but he already knew the reasons. His reputation, for one. And her brilliance, while he was generally regarded as unserious and perhaps even doltish. What she really ought to do was frequent literary salons. The perfect gentleman for her would likely be found there. Lazarus pondered a way to introduce her to such people. Could young unmarried ladies on the Marriage Mart even attend such salons?
“Rest assured that I have no marital intent toward your sister,” Lazarus said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve rounds to make so I may surreptitiously compliment your sister and draw attention to her considerable attributes.”
