A Rake's Guide to Seduction - Caroline Linden The Reece Family Trilogy

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said Jane, while Mary nodded.

      “But he’s a dreadful bore,” Celia replied. “He began by saying he adored me.”

      “A fine beginning,” someone murmured. Celia nodded.

      “True. Fine enough. But then”—she glanced around to make certain no one nearby would overhear—“he asked if I adored him.”

      Jane looked at Mary, who looked at Louisa. Louisa shrugged. Celia suspected she admired Lord Euston more than the rest of them. “And I couldn’t say yes, because of course I don’t, even if he is handsome and a wonderful dancer.”

      Even Louisa had to admit one could not lie about that to a gentleman, no matter how well he looked or danced.

      “Then he wanted to speak to my brother.” Celia almost rolled her eyes but caught herself in time. “Of course Exeter would have told him no, but…well, I didn’t want the poor man to go to the trouble when I didn’t want to marry him.”

      “Not at all?” asked Louisa, as if she could hardly believe it possible.

      “No,” said Celia helplessly. “Not at all.”

      “Did he appear distraught? Did he beg you to reconsider?” Jane’s nose was almost twitching with interest.

      Celia grimaced again. “Then he tried to kiss me. Make me immortal with a kiss, he said.”

      “Oh, that’s Shakespeare,” exclaimed Louisa. “How romantic!”

      “It is not Shakespeare, it’s Milton,” Jane told her.

      “Milton?” Mary’s nose wrinkled. “Didn’t he write that horrid poem about Lucifer? Was he comparing Celia to a devil? Or to an angel?”

      “It’s Marlowe,” said Celia, saying a silent thanks to Anthony. She hadn’t been quite certain herself, but if anyone would know a love poem, it would be Anthony Hamilton. “And I didn’t find it very romantic. He seized me by the hand and wouldn’t let me go.”

      “How did you escape?” All three girls turned to look at her again, poetry forgotten. Celia opened her mouth, then closed it. She liked her friends very much, but she also knew they liked to gossip even more than she did. She didn’t dare link her name to Anthony’s, not even after he had been so kind to her and there was nothing at all improper about his actions or hers.

      “Someone came by then, and Lord Euston let me go,” she said. “He returned to the ballroom, as did I a moment later.”

      Her friends all looked suitably impressed. “At least he didn’t ask you in front of everyone,” Mary said. “Sir George Lacey offered for Martha Winters in a theater box full of people. Imagine how hard it would be to refuse a gentleman, then.”

      Celia nodded. “I never thought Lord Euston would propose marriage, not last night. I would never have walked out with him if I had.”

      “It does every girl good to get one offer of marriage she must refuse,” said Jane with authority. “My mother says so.”

      “Oh dear. Here he comes,” whispered Mary.

      “Who?” Jane craned her neck in the direction Mary was facing, then jerked back to answer her own question. “Lord Euston!”

      Celia recalled the strength of his grip and shuddered. She also recalled that he had not been pleased to leave her alone with Anthony Hamilton, even if only for a few minutes. She dared a peek over Louisa’s shoulder. He didn’t look like he was coming to apologize for his actions; he looked petulant and a little bit angry. Celia took the coward’s way out. “I feel the need to visit the ladies’ retiring room,” she whispered.

      “Shall I go with you?” Mary asked. Celia shook her head.

      “Don’t fear, Celia, we’ll keep him from following,” Jane said. “We’ll try to get him to dance with Louisa.”

      Celia slipped away through the crowd as Louisa exclaimed in indignation. Keeping her head down, she made her way to the room set aside for the ladies to rest and repair themselves.

      Anthony saw her slip out of the ballroom just as he was about to enter the card room. A quick glance along her wake showed Euston talking to the young ladies who had been Celia’s companions only a few moments ago. Anthony’s steps slowed, then turned. “Excuse me,” he murmured to his companions as he walked away from them and headed out the same door she had taken.

      He didn’t know what he meant to do. The sight of her golden hair had caught his eye, and the furtive way she left had pricked his interest. She was avoiding Euston—small wonder there, he thought as he climbed the stairs, following her blue-gowned figure. She might not be pleased that he was following her, either, but Anthony continued up the stairs.

      At the top of the stairs she turned into the ladies’ powder room. Anthony stopped short. Of course; he should have guessed she was taking refuge where Euston unequivocally couldn’t follow. Nor could he. And lingering outside the powder room to talk to her would only cause the sort of scene she was doubtless hoping to avoid. Tamping down the flicker of disappointment in his chest, he turned to go back to the card room.

      “Hamilton,” growled a voice behind him. “I’d like a word with you, sir.”

      Anthony turned, his features falling automatically into a disinterested expression. “Yes?”

      The man stepped closer, until their toes almost touched. Sir George Howard, a baronet with a modest fortune and an ambitious wife. Not among Anthony’s usual associates. He put his face up close to Anthony’s. “What business do you have talking to my wife?”

      “I suppose you’ve asked her already,” he said in neutral tones. Lady Howard was difficult to avoid; Anthony would have sworn she was lying in wait for him, so often had he seen her of late.

      Howard reached out and caught the front of his jacket, twisting it tight. Anthony let himself be yanked forward and shaken, only pulling back his head with an expression of distaste. Sir George looked as though he were just waiting for any excuse to call him out. “That’s not what I asked,” Sir George snapped. “I want to hear it from you.”

      Anthony sighed as if the whole thing bored him, even though the man was putting a severe strain on his clothing. Sir George was a few inches shorter than Anthony, but he was squat and broad and built like a bull; he had the fists of a pugilist. There was nothing at all to gain by provoking him, especially not when the only witnesses were a few of the baronet’s friends. “Nothing but polite conversation,” he said.

      Howard gave him another shake, his eyes glittering. He was half-drunk, unless Anthony was very much mistaken. “Rubbish. Polite conversation doesn’t take place with so many little smiles and end with three thousand pounds missing from my accounts.”

      Anthony raised one eyebrow. Three thousand pounds? Lady Howard had given him only two thousand, and that was after vowing her husband would never notice. “Are you accusing me of theft?”

      “Not directly.” Howard glowered at him. “Stay away from my wife.”

      Anthony inclined his head. “As you wish.” The corridor was relatively empty, but the people who were about were watching as Howard continued to hold him by the jacket. Didn’t the fool realize this would attract even more scandal to his name than any contact Anthony had with Lady Howard?

      The vein in Howard’s temple began to pulse. “I mean it,” he said, his voice rising. He thrust his fist into Anthony’s face and shook it. “Stay away from my wife!”

      Now people were openly staring at them. Ladies going into the powder room and ladies leaving the powder room were standing, agog with interest. Anthony lowered his voice. “Let me go, Howard. I’ve never touched your wife.”

      “I don’t believe you.” One of Sir George’s companions stepped forward, murmuring into his ear. Sir George shook like a wet dog. “Damned seducer,”

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