LITMIR.BIZ

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to have been ignored.

      He took himself off to the card room, reluctant to let Lady Sara see him standing waiting on her, watching her. If she wanted to play games, he was not going to join in, at least, not too obviously. But how to approach her now? Flirtation would be acceptable, he was certain, but anything else was another matter. This was not some dashing widow on the fringes of society.

      * * *

      When the set finally came to an end he was back in the ballroom, Mr Flyte at his side.

      ‘Lady Sarisa.’

      She turned at the sound of the Master of Ceremonies’ voice, the movement wafting her scent to Lucian’s nostrils. Definitely sandalwood, with an overtone of citrus, an undertone of pepper and a stimulating frisson of warm female skin, although that last might have been his fantasies at play.

      ‘Mr Flyte.’ The smile on her lips curved them into a seductive bow and her grey eyes seemed to pick up green glints from the emeralds at her ears and throat.

      ‘May I have the honour of presenting Mr Dunton of Hampshire to your ladyship as an eligible partner? Mr Dunton, Lady Sarisa Harcourt.’

      Lucian bowed, she curtsied. Mr Flyte retired beaming.

      ‘Lady Sarisa.’

      ‘My lord.’

      For a moment he thought he had misheard her, then he saw those grey eyes were alight with mischief. ‘Just who do you think I am, madam? I confess that you have me confused.’

      ‘I know exactly who you are. The Marquess of Cannock. Do you intend to ask me to dance, my lord? I am unengaged for the next set.’

      ‘I would be delighted,’ he said grimly, offering his hand as the musicians signalled the start. ‘We need to talk, Lady Sarisa, but not here.’

      ‘No, indeed. I will show you our seafront terrace after this set. It is delightful on such a warm evening as this.’

      ‘I am sure it is.’ Lucian made himself concentrate on the dance, a complex country measure that kept him busy negotiating the steps and gave little opportunity for speculation on the games eccentric young ladies might play on moonlit terraces.

      ‘There is no reason we may not converse about general matters,’ Lady Sarisa remarked as the convolutions of the dance brought them together for a moment. ‘Unless you are a nervous dancer, of course, in which case I will observe strict silence. You only have to give me a hint. Do you intend a long stay in Sandbay, Mr Dunton?’

      ‘My nerves will withstand a little conversation, I believe. I had planned on a stay of a few weeks, Mrs Harcourt.’

      She chuckled softly as the measure separated them and he remembered with a jolt that this was not some game between the two of them, but something much more serious. She knew he was keeping his sister from society, that there was something very wrong and he had no idea at all whether he could trust her discretion. Who did she know and, more importantly, who might she gossip to? If he had any hope of saving Marguerite’s reputation then she must make her come-out next Season in good health and spirits without a whisper of suspicion that anything had gone amiss. Even then, it was going to be hard enough finding a suitor willing to overlook what had happened if it ever came to a proposal of marriage.

      But he would cross that bridge when he came to it. For now, there was this woman to deal with. This infuriating, teasing, beautiful woman.

      By the time the set had finished Lucian was quite ready to scoop up Lady Sarisa and dangle her over the waves if that was what it took to ensure her promise of silence. Somehow he managed to wait until they were off the dance floor and to make his words a suggestion, not a demand. ‘Madam. Would you care to take the air?’

      ‘That would be delightful. The terrace is this way.’

      The Assembly Rooms building stood at one end of the promenade with its back to the sea at the point where the sweep of sand tapered into the beginning of low cliffs. At high water, which was the present state of the tide, the waves broke against the foot of the sea wall along which the terrace had been built. In a high wind they would have been drenched. As it was, with only the lightest breeze, and the moonlight enhancing the glimmer of lanterns set along the balustrade, it was a welcome escape from the heat and noise of the ballroom.

      Lucian scanned the terrace along which at least half-a-dozen couples were strolling. ‘We are adequately chaperoned, I see.’

      ‘We will be alone soon enough, but I am not quite so careless of my reputation as to come out here when it is deserted to begin with, my... Mr Dunton.’

      ‘If your reputation can survive spending half your time as a shopkeeper, Lady Sarisa, I would suggest it could stand most things.’

      ‘Sara, please. Anywhere else it would not, of course, but Sandbay is not the resort of the ton, nor even the smarter set. One day soon it will begin to come into fashion and then I will have to become respectable all of the time or leave.’ She lifted her hand from his arm and strolled to the balustrade.

      Lucian felt as though he had stepped away from a warm hearth. ‘You do not fear that irreparable damage has already been done by your masquerade as a shopkeeper?’

      Lady Sara turned in a swirl of skirts and leaned back, both her elbows on the stonework. The amber silk settled into soft folds that hinted at the slender limbs and feminine curves beneath. He kept his eyes on her face with an effort that he feared was visible.

      ‘It is not a masquerade. I am a shopkeeper, just not all of the time.’ She sighed. ‘I see I was right about you, Mr Dunton—you are one of those men who believe a woman begins and ends with her reputation and that what defines good and bad reputation is dictated entirely by the whims of society.’

      ‘Hardly whims. The conventions uphold moral standards and protect the lady concerned from insult.’ Lord, but I sound like some crusty old dowager.

      ‘You believe that running a shop as I do somehow degrades my morals?’ Sara seemed genuinely to expect him to answer such a shocking question. ‘If I were running a milliner’s and whoring out my assistants, which is all too common, then, yes, I would agree with you. It seems to me that society is too lazy to apply judgements on a case-by-case basis and so must make sweeping statements that mean nothing and only serve to imprison women.’

      ‘The rules are there to protect women, not imprison them.’

      ‘They do little to protect women who are without money or influence, those who have to work for their living. They trap ladies.’ The passionate belief throbbed through her voice.

      He could have shaken her because she was so mistaken. ‘It is the duty of gentlemen to protect ladies. A matter of honour. You know your father and brother would say the same and your husband would have agreed.’

      ‘Oh, yes, he agreed with them. In the end.’ A tremor shook her voice and for a moment he thought she blinked back tears, then she was on the attack again. ‘When you come right down to it this is all about men’s honour because we are your possessions.’

      ‘Ladies need protection.’ Lucian stalked over to the balustrade and stood a safe six feet away. Shaking the provoking creature would not be a good illustration of his case, kissing her even worse. ‘How did you get here this evening, for example? These streets and lanes are dark, anyone could be lurking.’

      ‘By sedan chair with the same two reliable, burly chairmen I always use. They will come and collect me later. And should desperate footpads leap out and manage to fell both of them, then I can defend myself.’

      ‘How? With sharp words?’ he demanded and took two strides to stand in front of her, his hands either side, pinning her back against the balustrade. ‘Men are stronger, more vicious, than you could imagine.’

      ‘Also more vulnerable,’ she murmured. ‘Look down, my lord. It is not only my words that have an edge.’

      He did, just as he felt a pressure against the falls of his evening

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