Page 73 of Doxy for the Ton
Radham entered the ballroom, his diminutive wife on his arm—an exquisitely beautiful creature who, despite having recently emerged from her confinement, had managed to regain the figure that had once made her the toast of Society. Radham caught sight of Alexander and his expression hardened.
And well it might, given that Robert Staines—the man whose death Alexander had caused—had been Radham’s elder brother.
“Sawbridge.” He gave a curt nod, while Lady Radham clung to her husband’s arm, as if seeking protection from the vile beast standing before her.
“Radham”—Alexander bowed—“and Lady Radham. I trust you’re well.”
“Quite so, thank you,” she replied, after a pause, frost in her tone.
“We hadn’t expected to see you at a ball so soon after your…accident,” Radham said, his voice almost a snarl. “I trust your leg’s healing?”
“It still pains me a little.”
“And rightly so,” Radham said.
“Andrew.” Lady Radham spoke in a soft warning, and Radham turned to her. They exchanged a smile. Then he patted her hand and resumed his attention on Alexander.
“I trust you’ll be restored to full health soon,” he said through gritted teeth.
“Thank you,” Alexander said, “I’m ashamed to say that—”
“There’s Lavinia!” Lady Radham cried. “We must say how-do-you-do to our hostess. I wouldn’t have her think me uncivil.”
She steered her husband toward the opposite end of the room, where Lady Walton stood in conversation with one of the footmen.
No, Lady Radham—I wouldn’t have you uncivil to anyone other than myself.
“Decided to show your face again, Sawbridge?” a male voice asked.
Earl Thorpe stood before him.
“Thorpe,” Alexander said, offering his hand, which the man took, “your wife must have lost some of her fire if she’s given you permission to speak tome.”
“Henrietta’s at home with the children,” Thorpe said, “otherwise she’d insist I call you out.”
“I’ve done nothing against her honor.”
“Perhaps not, Sawbridge, but you’ve made quite a name for yourself.” Thorpe grinned and clapped Alexander on the back. “Don’t look so downhearted,” he said. “Give it a few months and the world will have forgotten your little transgression.”
“Hardly alittle transgression, seeing as I got my best friend killed.”
“He gothimselfkilled,” Thorpe said. “He chose to race a carriage while blind drunk. And you hardly escaped unscathed. I take it your dancing days are over.”
“My leg’s almost healed, but I don’t intend to dance tonight,” Alexander replied.
“Probably for the best—it’ll spare you the humiliation of rejection if you asked anyone to partner you.”
“There’s nobody here tonight with whom I wish to dance.”
“Then you’d better sit,” Thorpe said. “A gentleman standing at a ball is considered fair game for an unpartnered lady.”
“Even though any lady I asked would refuse?”
“The victory is in beingasked,” Thorpe said. “But I daresay there’s one or two more…forgivingladies inclined to accept you tonight. You might try Lady Walton, seeing as she was benevolent enough to invite you. But take care not to offend anyone. I’ll wager every man in the room is poised to call you out should you misbehave tonight. You wouldn’t want to find yourself at the point of a pistol at dawn.”
Alexander let out a snort. “A duel? I doubt half the men in the room, save Colonel Reid, perhaps, would know one end of a pistol from the other.”
“Which makes them all the more dangerous.”
