Page 16 of Presenting Miss Letitia (Once a Wallflower 1)

“Indeed. I hope you’ll permit me another dance, Miss Bromley.”

She took Boyce’s proffered arm and sighed inwardly. It was to be hoped that Arietta, who had proved adroit at handling overeager bucks, would rescue her.

And thankfully, she did. Mr. Boyce was politely and firmly informed that the rest of Letty’s dances had been promised.

“I shall call on you tomorrow,” he said undaunted.

“Oh dear, what does that mean?” Letty asked Arietta after he’d gone.

“It is customary for him to call, my dear. I expect we shall receive morning calls from several gentlemen tomorrow. Boyce was not to your liking?”

When Letty shook her head, Arietta nodded. “That is not surprising. He is a little too staid for someone with your passion for life.”

Letty was surprised Arietta thought that about her. But the same could not be leveled at Mr. Cartwright. He made her breath catch without any effort on his part. She did not expect a morning call from him, which was just as well as the man was precisely the sort her aunt warned her about, and a spy to boot. What might he be doing with Lady Fraughton? Was it merely rakish behavior, or something else? She would need to curb her curiosity, for he wasn’t likely to tell her.

Her busy fingers smoothed her gloves to the elbow while she was forced to admit that Cartwright had a certain appeal. But if a rake, her virtue would be safe in his company as he showed no eagerness to pursue her. She was surprised by a twinge of disappointment. Rakes were dangerous, she could quite see that. They drew women to them like bees to honey, even sober Aunt Edith had grown pink at the mention of them. Letty firmed her shoulders. She would never succumb to a rake’s charm. Forewarned was forearmed.

She danced the waltz with Lord Craven, a gentleman of some fifty years who had a tendency to count under his breath. As she stared vacantly over his shoulder, impatient for the music to end, Cartwright danced past with Lady Fraughton in his arms. When he turned the lady, her eyes met Letty’s. Beneath furrowed brows, she stared daggers at her. Letty gasped. What had she done to deserve that?

Brandon danced Lady Fraughton over the floor, but his mind was not on his partner. Instead, he was preoccupied with Miss Bromley, who looked extremely attractive tonight. Delicious in fact, with her creamy-skinned bosom and the slender column of her throat bared to his view in the low-cut gown. Her large eyes were like chocolate velvet, soft, except when she gazed critically at him, which she tended to do quite often. She was a good deal too interested in him, however, and that, he suspected, had nothing to do with his charm, although it did little for his ego to admit it. Brandon reminded himself of the job assigned him. He had no time for flirtations with young ladies. He’d made it plain amongst the marriage-mad mamas that he was not in the market for a wife. Getting too close to Miss Bromley would be a mistake. He gave himself a mental shake. These thoughts would hardly assist him to gain the information he needed from the lady in his arms, who seemed to welcome his interest. Recovering himself, he smiled down at her.

“I’m surprised that young, dark-haired debutante has come to your notice,” Lady Fraughton said waspishly. “She is fresh from the country without an ounce of Town bronze.”

“You have met Miss Bromley?”

“No. But debutantes are all from the same mold. They are too inexperienced for a man such as yourself. They don’t know how to play the game as they are merely intent on finding a husband. Green girls are so dreadfully dull. And some will do almost anything to trap a man. The stories you hear!”

He looked over to where Miss Bromley, obviously bored stiff, danced with Craven, and stifled a chuckle. She wasn’t at all dull. In fact, she was a good deal too bright. He hoped she would soon meet a man who held her interest, otherwise, his dealings might come under her scrutiny again. It was the last thing he needed.

The dance ended.

“The night is warm.” He led the lady from the floor. “Shall we stroll on the terrace?”

She smiled. “It is fortunate that my husband isn’t present tonight.”

Nor her nouvel amant, Marston, Brandon thought. With a clear field he needed to act quickly. “Is Fraughton out of town?”

She cast him a coquettish grin. “Why do you ask?”

“I should feel uncomfortable with him breathing down my neck.”

She laughed.

Outside, another couple stood at the far end of the terrace enjoying the night air. Brandon rested a hand on the balustrade, the stone cool through his glove. “Surprising for your husband to miss one of the most prominent balls of the Season.”

She shrugged, her slim shoulders encased in blue silk and lace. “What Fraughton does is of no interest to me.”

“And is what you do, madam, of no interest to him?”

“It would appear not,” she said in an acerbic tone. “He is at a meeting at Lord Elford’s home.”

“He advised you of his direction?”

“No, he did not see fit to tell me. I discovered it for myself.”

“Is this meeting a matter of great importance? Or was that beyond your powers of discovery?”

She cast him an arch look. “Nothing is, if it interests me enough. Apparently, one of his cohorts has just returned from France. A Mr. Descrier.”

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