The Season

five

This whole process is really quite ridiculous, isn't it?" Alex stepped from her scalding bath, receiving a large linen bath sheet from Eliza, who, seeing her charge wrapped in the dry cloth, wasted no time in guiding her to sit by the roaring fire on the other side of the room.

"Head down." Alex flipped her hair over toward the heat of the flames, and Eliza went to work combing the long auburn tresses free of snarls and knots as the fire dried the wet curls. "Ridiculous?" the maid queried.

"Quite," Alex said, her voice muffled by the curtain of her hair and the strange contortion of her body. "I mean, how long was I in that bath? An hour?"

"No' even a quarter of that," Eliza said, unable to keep the humor from her tone.

"Well, it felt like an hour," Alex said grumpily. "I feel as though every inch of my skin has been scrubbed off. And all for what?"

"For beauty," the maid spoke, focused entirely on her task. "The Prince shall think you the most beautiful lady he's ever seen."

Alex replied wryly, "Let's hope that's not the case, Eliza. History teaches us that things never end well when royalty set their eyes on 'the most beautiful lady' they've ever seen. Have a care; if you perform your tasks too well, I could be haunting the Tower of London without a head, alongside Anne Boleyn."

She looked up through her tresses at Eliza, eyes dancing with amusement the maid did not share — and received another shove, reminding her to keep her head down.

"Fine. For beauty, then," she continued, waving one arm, her tone rich with boredom. She stayed quiet for a few moments, all owing the scent of the lavender soap Eliza had used so forcefully to envelop her before picking up her head and continuing, "Am I nearly done?"

"Nay. Head down."

Alex sighed. "I hate this."

"Yer in a funk."

"I am not in a funk."

Eliza made a noncommittal sound and Alex lifted her head to look at the maid, only to have her hair tugged. "Ow!"

"That wouldn't 'ave happened if you'd kept your head down."

Alex snorted in disbelief but kept her head still. The truth was, she was in a funk. Eliza was right. Eliza was always right. Just three years older than Alex, Eliza had grown up alongside the Stafford children in the Essex countryside, the daughter of the cook and the stable master at Stafford Manor. While the difference in their stations was always clear, when the two girls were alone, they were as equal as they could be. From their earliest days together, the young maid had always had the uncanny ability to understand Alex's moods — often before Alex understood them herself.

"Why don't you tell me why you're in such an ill humor?" Eliza prodded, continuing to comb Alex's hair, which was drying quickly in the burning heat.

"I don't really know," Alex admitted. "I am rather dreading this day, this presentation, this... pomp and circumstance."

"Whatever for? It's your first day as a real lady. I've ne'er seen your mother so... well... she's proud as a peacock. I should think you'd be excited. Up."

Alex sat up and spun around on the little stool upon which she was perched, repositioning herself to dry the rest of her hair. Eliza kept combing the long tresses until they shone brightly.

Alex scoffed. "My first day as a real lady. What on earth does that mean? And my mother is excited because I'm one step closer to being married off."

"You know that is no' what she is thinking."

"Not consciously. But it is there. Lurking in the background. A smart match is the future she's always wanted for me. And today is the beginning of that future." She paused, stretching out her legs and leaning back into the heat of the fire. "If only I wanted it as much as my parents do."

"Perhaps tonight you’ll meet someone who’ll make you want it that much."

Alex rolled her eyes at the idea. "It's a night at Almack's, Eliza, not an enchanted ball. Let's not get too carried away."

"You never do know, luv."

"I know." Up.

"Finally!" Alex jumped up from the stool and paced across the floor of the bedchamber, happy to be freed from the tedious task of hair drying. "Now what?"

"Well " — Eliza tilted her head and looked thoughtfully at Alex — "I'm thinkin' it won't do for you to meet the Prince draped in damp linen."

Alex grinned broadly. "Likely not."

"Stockings." Eliza pointed to two pieces of silk that were hanging over the top of the dressing screen, and Alex moved to pull them on while the maid went searching in the wardrobe for the rest of the garments necessary for this, the "biggest day" of a young woman's life.

Just as Alex had finished tying her garters at the tops of her stockings, Eliza emerged, an enormous stack of white cotton and linen in her arms. Alex rolled her eyes again, saying aloud, "The things we are required to do in the name of fashion."

Eliza was not considered to be one of the best lady's maids in the history of the Stafford family for no good reason, however. She took little interest in Alex's distaste for the process of dressing and handed her mistress a set of drawers. Alex pulled them on, letting the linen towel go and turning to give Eliza access to the tapes and ribbons on the pantaloons so they could be fitted to her waist and hips.

As the maid worked, Alex spoke. "Tel me something fascinating." Eliza always had some terrific piece of gossip that she'd been saving up to share at just such a moment.

"Well, I do have something, but I don't know how reliable my sources are."

"Gossip from unreliable sources is always better than from reliable ones, Eliza," Alex said with a wide smile. "Go on." She leaned forward toward the pile of undergarments and pulled the wide-shouldered chemise over her head, letting it fall around her in a voluminous swath of fabric. This particular piece had little shape to it, and Alex was always rather amused by how thoroughly unfeminine a garment designed specifically for females could be.

Eliza set herself to arranging the chemise to Alex's figure, folding the fabric here, pinning it there, as she said, "Well, it seems that John Coachman is smitten."

"Really?" Alex had trouble envisioning her father's coachman, an immense giant of a man who rarely spoke to anyone but the horses, smitten. "With whom?"

"Margaret, the butcher's daughter."

"Truly?"

Eliza nodded, snatching up a stiff whalebone corset from where it lay on Alex's bed. From a small box on the dressing table nearby, the maid selected a large corset needle, threading it expertly with a length of cord as she returned to Alex. "I must say, he does seem to be more will in than usual to drive the kitchen maids down to the meat market."

Alex took hold of the corset, centering it on her torso and passing the sides back to Eliza, who deftly threaded the two halves together as they talked.

"And does she reciprocate?" Alex held the rigid stays to the natural curve of her waist, waiting patiently for Eliza to finish her task.

"I'm no' certain, but Mary, the kitchen maid...?" Alex nodded in recognition. "She says that Margaret always has an extra sweet for John when he's there, and that she always asks about him when he's not. Hold on."

"Excellent! Love comforteth like sunshine after rain! Oof!" Alex reached out and grabbed hold of the bedpost as Eliza began tightening the corset laces.

"I told you to hold on." Eliza kept tugging, the stays growing tighter and tighter as both girls began to breathe heavily. "I thought you didn't believe in love."

"I never said that!" Alex exclaimed, her emphatic tone lost as she struggled for air. "Of course, I believe in love."

"Oh? Breathe."

She took one last deep breath, feeling the stays tighten to the point of pain, and couldn't help herself from swearing roundly. "Enough!"

"Finished." Eliza turned to retrieve the next layer of clothing. "I'm goin' to forget that you just cursed like a dock-side sailor."

"Blame my brothers." Alex gasped for air, perching on the edge of the bed. "It's too tight."

"It will loosen. You know that."

She did know that. "I hate fashion." Alex scowled.

"Tel me about this new belief in love," Eliza said, distracting Alex and holding open a circle of petticoats. This piece was more elaborate than any of the others Alex had donned, a Madame Fernaud creation in cambric and linen with a stunning swath of beautiful green fabric affixed to the bottom, designed to match the dress Alex would wear that evening.

Alex paused to admire the delicate rosebuds that had been painstakingly added to the undergarment before all owing Eliza to throw the piece over her head. "Not new. It's not love I'm opposed to. It's marriage! The first reminds women that they're free to be as they wish — because someone loves them for it," Alex said, her voice coming from inside a mass of fabric as she pushed her way through the petticoats toward the light of the room. "And the other takes away that freedom."

Eliza began securing the top of the petticoat, tying a small row of bows that ran down the bodice of the garment. "Seems to me that the right kind of marriage could increase that freedom, nay?"

Alex tilted her head to one side, thinking on Eliza's point. "I suppose so... but how many of those have you ever witnessed?"

"Yer parents have one like that, I'm thinkin'... and yer grandparents before them." The maid moved to the bed and lifted the rich green ball gown, giving it one final shake to loosen the folds of satin fabric before holding it out for Alex.

"That's different," Alex replied, stepping into the dress and helping Eliza to pull it up over her arms to fit her now perfectly shaped torso. Holding the bodice straight while the maid fetched a buttonhook and began fastening the long row of buttons on the back of the gown, she continued, "My mother and grandmother were notorious beauties with brains to match. And my father and grandfather were men who were not afraid to take wives who equaled them in intel ect. There aren't men like that outside the Stafford family."

Eliza snorted, "Of course, you would say that. Yer a Stafford. But truly, Alexandra, I just cannot imagine that in all of history there has only been one man in each generation willing to let his mate blossom." Her fingers flew across the buttons, expertly closing them.

Alex then sighed, waving a long arm. "Fine. However, my point is that there aren't many men like that. And I am simply not interested in taking the risk."

"Look here." Eliza waited for Alex to turn to face her, then smoothed out the lush green skirts of the gown. "Well, Alexandra, you’ll be taking a risk this evening, I daresay — because any young man who sees you in this dress shan't know what to do with himself. Yer just as much of a beauty with brains to match as the Stafford women who came before you." Eliza pointed to the dressing table nearby. "Sit."

Alex sighed again, knowing that she was in for another long stretch while Eliza tamed her long, auburn curls, piling them just so on top of her head and applying the finishing touches prior to her presentation to the Prince. Before she could follow the maid's instructions, however, Alex caught her reflection in the looking glass next to the wardrobe. She was unable to stop herself from gasping at what she saw.

There she stood, bathed in the golden sunlight that poured through the windows of her bedchamber, hair shining like silk, cheeks rosy from the heat of her bath and the exertion of dressing, in a dress that had been made for her in every way — the cut, the color, the fabric, all of it. For a brief moment, she couldn't believe her eyes; she was the beauty in the looking glass.

Like it or not, this night was one she would not soon forget.

The Duchess of Worthington placed an elegantly gloved hand on her daughter's knee and spoke quietly, "We have arrived."

In the dim light of the large carriage that muffled the sounds of the street beyond, Alex took hold of her mother's hand. She turned glittering green eyes on the older woman and offered an uncertain smile. "And so it begins."

"Indeed. You will be wonderful."

And, as if on cue, the door opened to reveal a livery-clad footman, and the Duke climbed down from his seat across from them in the imposing black carriage emblazoned with the Worthington crest. Once on solid ground, he turned back to reach up and hand the duchess down from the transport; she gave Alex's hand a quick, reassuring squeeze before accepting her husband's assistance.

Then, it was Alex's turn. She scooted across the velvet-draped seat, focused on her father's smiling, pride-filled eyes, and took his hand. His grip was firm and steady as he helped her down to the street, and Alex was encouraged by it — no matter how she felt about this day, making her parents proud couldn't be such an awful thing, could it? When her feet touched the ground, she found herself assaulted by all the sights and sounds of the legendary Almack's.

The first thing that Alex registered was the noise. There was a cacophonous din of chatter, louder than anything she'd ever heard out of doors, which enveloped her immediately. She couldn't make out much of the conversation for the sheer amount of it — punctuated with bursts of laughter and shrieks of recognition from ladies and gentlemen of the ton who were all enjoying this... the first major event of the 1815 season.

The building itself was unimpressive — a simple stone structure that, at most times, provided little indication of being one of the most important locations in the life of London's high society. Alex had passed this place dozens of times before and had never given it a second thought. It appeared, however, that on Wednesday nights during the season, all that changed.

Looking back at the coach, Alex felt an intense desire to return to it, to clamber inside and swing the door shut behind her and simply wait there until her parents finished making their rounds. Instead, she stood tall, revealing none of her trepidation, and looked down the length of King Street, jammed with carriages and coaches all with a common goal — to deposit the most well-respected members of the ton on the steps of the Assembly Rooms, leaving them to an evening of seeing and being seen. Light from the scores of carriages flooded the sidewalks and steps to the building, lending a dazzling brightness to the moment, as if even the sun couldn't stay away from the beautiful people who filled the street.

Alex drew a shaky breath, feeling a knot of apprehension twist in her stomach. She hadn't fully realized until this moment how much she dreaded this, her first official night in society. That afternoon, she had been presented at Buckingham House to the Prince Regent, a charming older man with a reputed eye for the most beautiful women and the best parties in London. And, while the ceremony had been filled with all the pomp and circumstance befitting a visit to the Royal Court, it hadn't made Alex nearly as uncertain as she felt right now, surrounded by throngs of London's finest, all pushing madly toward the entrance to the assembly. After all, everyone knew it was really the Lady Patronesses of Almack's whose opinions were most valued in matters relating to society.

With a sigh, she turned back and caught her father's quick smile as he leaned down and proffered his arm. "Terrifying, isn't it?"

"Quite." She took the offered arm and matched his grin with one of her own. "How do you ever survive it?"

With a brief, almost imperceptible nod toward her mother, who had turned from her position just steps ahead to wait for them, he answered, "'Tis a Duke's duty to make his Duchess happy, moppet."

Alex's smile broadened at his answer. Her mother spoke quietly as they reached her, her voice traveling only far enough to be heard by the two of them.

"To your right, Alexandra, is Lady Jersey." Alex turned her head to get a look at the petite, rather unattractive woman who was nicknamed The Queen of London for her position as the most discerning of Almack's patronesses, before her mother added in exasperation, "Do attempt to be discreet, Alexandra. Ladies do not stare."

Alex snapped her head back and offered a sheepish apology to her mother, then lowering her voice to a whisper and speaking close to the duchess's ear, "That woman turned away the Duke of Wellington?" referencing the legendary piece of gossip that would certainly afford Lady Sarah Jersey a place in the annals of London's aristocratic history. The Duke of Wellington — a war hero of the first water and a duke no less — had been set down by this wisp of a woman? Denied entry to Almack's? A place made famous by satin flounces and weak lemonade? What kind of rules was this society perpetuating?

"Indeed. He arrived wearing trousers instead of knee breeches."

Alex couldn't help rolling her eyes at the ridiculousness of such a perceived infraction. Her father noticed and spoke drily, "Never fear, moppet. My understanding is that Lady Jersey's lesson has served him well in battle. He wouldn't dream of meeting Napoleon in anything less than the most current of fashions."

"And thank goodness for that," Alex responded, her feigned seriousness drawing a bark of laughter from her father.

"I do wish you wouldn't encourage her," the duchess said to him, covering her obvious amusement with an exasperated sigh before turning back to her daughter. "Are you ready for your debut, Alexandra?"

"Do I have the option of saying no?" she asked, the hint of sarcasm in her voice drawing a quelling look from her mother.

"Not in the least. I've been waiting for this moment for far too long. You are going to..."

"Yes, yes. Set the ton on its ear." Alex interrupted, taking a deep breath and shoring up her confidence. It was time, whether she liked it or not. "Well, then. I rather think we should get started, don't you?"

"What a crush!"

Alex took hold of Ella's hand and pulled her friend into an alcove off the main ball room of Almack's, away from the mass of London's nobility. "And people do this every week?" Making sure they were tucked away behind a significantly sized potted fern, Alex leaned against a marble column. "I'm never coming here again if I can help it."

Ella chuckled and leaned close to her friend with an impish gleam in her eye. "And now I am at Almack's, the more fool I; when I was at home, I was in a better place!"

Laughing at her friend's rendition of a line from her favorite Shakespearean play, Alex then completed it. "But travelers must be content! Oh... what I wouldn't give to be in a forest far away from titles of any kind!" She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "If I am cornered by Lord Waring one more time, I shall have to feign sickness. I may counterfeit a swoon to avoid having to speak to him again!"

"I shall keep my smelling salts at the ready." Ella peeked through the plant to be certain no one was listening to them. "I noticed him mincing after you.

Your mother must have been happy to see it. He is, after all, a marquess."

"Indeed. The Marquess of Excruciating dullness. Lord 'Waring' is right. He's wearing on my patience."

The girls laughed a touch too loudly, checked themselves, and grinned. Ella spoke. "You shall see us both into a grip of trouble if you keep on like that, Alex. What will our mothers say if we are discovered laughing too loudly! And mere hours after being presented to the Prince Regent!"

"I thought I heard you two laughing!" Vivi poked her head around the plant. "I was wondering where you were hiding." Taking note of the nook, she tilted her head in approval. She tucked herself into the small space and gave a mock appraisal. "Very nice. Quite spacious!"

"There is still more room than out there," Alex said with an unladylike cock of her head. "Is it getting any better?"

"Not remotely. But it's just eleven, which means no one else can enter — so that's something." Vivi peered through the leaves of the palm, scanning the room. "Why anyone would look forward to an evening at Almack's is beyond me. I've had my toes stepped on twice, the Dowager Duchess of Lockwood poked me with her walking stick — on purpose — and I narrowly avoided a lemonade mishap at the hands of Lord Waring." She sighed and looked back at her friends. "You don't appear to have been doing much better!"

Resuming her overview of the ball room, Vivi took note of a tall, handsome young man and lifted an eyebrow at Alex. "However, I did happen to see you laughing with Lord Stanhope during a quadrille. Is there something you would like to tell your dearest friends?"

Alex shook her head. "I'm afraid nothing of note. I've known Freddie for years. He and Will were at school together. He was just being kind and making certain that I had my dance card filled." She peered over her friend's shoulder through the plant to see the object of their conversation offer one of the grande dames of the ton a glass of lemonade, with a bold grin. "He is charming, though." She paused. "And fun."

"And quite attractive," Ella chimed in.

Alex turned to her friends. "And an inveterate rake."

Vivi nodded. "Truer words were never spoken." The young Earl of Stanhope's reputation preceded him. "But if anyone's safe with Stanhope, it's you, Alex. Your brothers would have his head if he overstepped his bounds."

"Speaking of..." Ella was peering through the fern, "Your brothers have arrived. All of them." Laughter edged into her voice. "And they're being swarmed."

"Really?" Alex turned and joined Ella at her lookout post. And there they were, all three of her brothers surrounded by a gaggle of cloying mothers and decorated daughters, all clamoring for an introduction.

Nick, ever the gentleman, was doing his best to appear interested. Kit was looking terrified, eyes darting this way and that, obviously desperate to escape. It was Will, however, who caused a giggle to escape Alex. As the future Duke, he was surrounded on all sides by eager females. But the eldest Stafford wasn't the young star of the War Office for nothing. Alex could see him working out a strategy for retreat even as he was enchantée-ing his way through the crowd. Within seconds, he had backed up to another gentleman, deftly shifted the attention from himself to his unsuspecting mark, and moved away toward their mother, who was waving him over.

"Remarkable," Alex whispered. It was a tactical disengagement that would have made Wellington proud. Taking a moment to admire her brother's skill at dealing with the ton, Alex made a mental note to ask him for a tutorial when next she saw him. Redirecting her gaze to the mass of femininity he had escaped, Alex waited for Will's replacement to turn his face toward her. She wondered who could so easily capture the attentions originally directed at an heir to a dukedom — or was Will just that skilled with such evasive maneuvers? Whoever it was stood at the same height as Nick and Kit, towering above the women around him. The way he was positioned made him impossible to recognize, but Alex couldn't help but notice his broad shoulders and blond hair falling attractively over the collar of his waistcoat.

Alex checked herself. Since when did hair fall attractively? Irritated with herself for noting something so inane, she turned away from her spying to resume her conversation with Ella and Vivi, who were consulting their dance cards.

"Are you ready to reenter the fray?" She asked a touch too quickly — hoping that her friends wouldn't notice.

The girls agreed it was time to come out of hiding, for fear someone might find their spot and ruin it for future nights. As casually as possible, Vivi exited the alcove, followed by Ella, with Alex bringing up the rear. The madness began immediately.

"Lady Vivian! I thought perhaps you had left! I was nigh perishing at the thought." Vivi was virtually accosted by the eldest, and one would hope most dramatic, son of Viscount Sudberry.

Ella found herself instantly distracted by Lord Sumner. "My dear Lady Eleanor, I have been searching for you everywhere. Never say you haven't a free dance on your card?"

"Lady Alexandra! I believe this is my dance!" Alex turned toward the nasal voice and, hiding her grimace, pasted a bright smile on her face. "Why, Lord Waring, I believe you are right." Turning back to her friends, she mouthed, Rescue me! Vivi leaned in close and whispered, "Meet us on the other side of the room after the cotillion." With no time to respond, Alex was escorted to the dance floor.

For the next few minutes, she gave special thanks to her maker that country dances were the rage in London this year — the cotillion involved multiple sets of paired partners, so she was able to, for the most part, avoid tedious conversation with Lord Waring. When, at the end of the dance, he suggested that they take a turn about the ball room, she swallowed a quick NO! and instead replied, "That sounds lovely. However, I find that I am quite parched.

Would you mind terribly escorting me to the refreshment rooms?"

Instead, eager to please, Waring offered to take her directly to Ella and Vivi, who had somehow escaped their suitors and were deep in conversation on the sidelines of the ball room. From there, he insisted, he would fetch her lemonade — and anything else she required — for fear she would find herself too parched from the walk all the way to the refreshments. Recognizing a boon when she saw one, Alex swallowed her snide response to his theory that an additional ten feet of walking would put her out of commission for the evening. Graciously accepting Lord Waring's offer, Alex refocused her attention on her friends and the man with whom they were conversing.

It was the same man she had noticed through the potted fern. He still had his back to her, but she was getting to know that side of him quite well. His shoulders were broader still than they had seemed when she was spying on him. They were certainly a defining characteristic, and she noted with appreciation the way his tailor had fitted his black jacket to them like a second skin. Taking in the cut of the garment drew her attention back to his hair, which she realized was a more golden shade of blond than she had first thought.

She mentally shook herself, growing irritated with her own idiocy. She'd spent most of her life around men and, from the looks of him, this one was no different from her brothers in age or station. Why was she being so silly? Who was he, anyway? How did he know Vivi and Ella?

As Alex and Waring drew closer, Vivi saw them and turned a brilliant smile in their direction. Taking his cue from Vivi's distraction, the man turned and Alex skipped a step in surprise. She lost her grip on Waring's sleeve and, in an attempt to save herself from a devastatingly embarrassing moment of clumsiness, instead caught herself on the arm of the golden-haired, broad-shouldered object of her interest.

Looking up through her lashes, she met his gaze — eyes she knew as well as her own — which just happened to be laughing down at her.

"Blackmoor." The name came out on a shocked whoosh of breath. Blackmoor? Truly? Blackmoor was the man she'd been noticing? Surely that couldn't be right. Could it? Looking up into his grey eyes, Alex could feel heat flooding her face. She pressed a cool, gloved hand to her face, willing the blush away. She never blushed. What had gotten into her? She pasted a smile on her face and looked at the others in the group. Vivi was attempting to manage a serene smile despite her clear desire to laugh, and Ella was looking at Alex with an odd expression, as though she were some creature to be studied in a laboratory.

Attempting to regain her composure, she looked up at Blackmoor and spoke, her voice sounding foreign even to her. "Lord Blackmoor. Good evening."

"Lady Alexandra, as always, the evening is made more entertaining by your arrival." He made certain that she was upright and stable before removing his arm. "Waring." He nodded in greeting to his old acquaintance.

"Good evening, Blackmoor, Lady Vivian, Lady Eleanor. you’ll have to excuse me. If Lady Alexandra is well enough for me to leave, I have promised to fetch her some lemonade. May I bring some for you as well?"

Vivi responded, "In fact, Lord Waring, Lady Eleanor and I were about to take a turn about the room. We shall join you as far as the refreshment rooms, that is, if you can suffer our company."

Ever impressed with her friend's grace and tact, Alex watched, a trifle dumbfounded, as Vivi wove her tale for Lord Waring — ensuring that he could not refuse to walk with her and Ella without appearing the most boorish type of man. Of course, presented with Vivi in all her gentle graciousness, Alex would wager that Waring would forget her within moments of departing with his new charges. Vivi's skill at reshaping men's desires was uncanny, but Alex was too grateful for her friend's intervention with Waring to question it more than in passing. Instead, she simply offered a silent prayer of thanks for Lady Vivian Markwell and her unwavering talent.

So caught up in her friend's deftness, Alex forgot that she had been unceremoniously left with Blackmoor. Almost forgot, that is. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him take a breath; he was about to speak. She steeled herself for what she was certain would be a teasing remark about her clumsiness and attempted a look of polite disinterest in preparation for his comment.

"Would you care to dance, Alex?"

Polite interest switched to confusion. That was not what she had been expecting. Before she could find words to respond, Blackmoor had led her onto the dance floor and wrapped her up in his arms for her first waltz of the evening. Her first waltz ever with a man who was not her brother. They were twirling across the room when she finally found her tongue.

"I would, indeed, care to dance, Lord Blackmoor," she said wryly. "How kind of you to ask. Would you like to see my dance card?"

Ignoring her sarcasm, he deftly avoided another couple and spun her out of their way. "You can't have expected me to let your first ball go by without dancing with you, Alex. Considering your obvious attempt to escape Waring, it seemed there was no time like the present. Don't you think?"

"I fail to see that I had much of a choice, frankly," she said with a smile. "But I suppose it could have been much worse."

"Oh? How?"

"You could have stepped on my gown — Waring did it twice."

He gazed down at her attire, letting a few moments go by before he spoke, his voice quieter, more thoughtful than usual. "Criminal. 'Tis a stunning gown."

Even Alex couldn't ignore the way his appreciative comment made her feel. Tempering the urge to preen, she smiled up at him. "Why, thank you, my lord. I'm rather fond of it myself."

He cleared his throat almost inaudibly and said, "You look beautiful, Alex. All grown up." Blackmoor's grey eyes darkened, narrowing on the garment in question, then rising to meet her gaze. The look in his eyes was one she'd never seen before, and it sent a tremor of excitement through her as she felt heat rising in her cheeks again.

He looked away, then back again, and the emotion she had seen there was gone, so quickly that she couldn't be certain it was ever there to begin with.

She forced a smile, attempting to bring the conversation back to the realm of the comfortable. "Thank you, my lord."

"If I may speak frankly?"

"Certainly."

"I know you want to try out all your lessons, but take care with whom you test your skill s. I noticed how Stanhope was looking at you earlier."

"Lord Stanhope was a charming partner." Alex met Blackmoor's eyes, daring him to disagree. "I'm certain I don't know to what you are referring."

"I think you know all too well to what I'm referring. Any man would have to be blind not to notice you. This dress is designed to lure a lion. I assure you that particular lion will bite."

"What are you saying?"

"Simply that I would prefer not to have to play protector tonight. I merely caution you to think twice before getting wrapped up with Stanhope, or any like him."

Alex's spine stiffened in response. Her tone turned frosty. "As usual, my lord, your caution — or shall I say interference? — is unnecessary. Need I remind you that I've been managing Freddie Stanhope since he was in short pants?"

His chuckle held no humor. "Take my advice, Alex. Your 'Freddie' is no longer in the schoolroom. And you're out of your league if you think you can, as you say, 'manage' him. Just because you wear a gown that marks you as all grown up doesn't mean you are prepared to take him on."

Alex's temper flared. "I require neither your advice, nor your opinion, my lord. I would thank you to remember that, besides the fact that you're not that much older than I am, I already have a father — and three brothers. I hardly need another overbearing male telling me what to do and with whom to do it."

"More like what not to do. And with whom not to do it."

She inhaled in a sharp intake of air, eyes narrowing, and made a move to leave him mid-waltz. To an outside observer, nothing changed about their movements — but Alex felt Blackmoor's arms turn to stone around her. He held her fast, and tight, and his voice lowered. "You will finish this waltz with me, Alexandra. I will not allow you the pleasure of giving me a set-down at your first ball."

Recognizing how damaging leaving him on the dance floor would have been to his reputation, not to mention her own, Alex remained in his arms, thoughts reeling. Why was she responding to him so strangely tonight? Ordinarily, she would have laughed off his concern. Clearly something was amiss. After all, hadn't she noticed the cut of his waistcoat, the width of his shoulders? In seventeen years, she had never noticed anything special about Gavin. And yet, even now, through her irritation and her anger, she was acutely aware of his hand on the small of her back, the heat of his gloved palm through the silk of her gown, the feel of his fingers resting against hers. What was wrong with her?

Alex looked up at him, searching his gaze for a hint of what he was really thinking. He was usually so unflappable, so calm, and yet — he had been tight with anger at the thought that Stanhope might have been interested in her. Was it possible he was experiencing the same mix of bizarre feelings that she was tonight? Could it be that he, too, had felt the tremor of emotion pass between them? Now his grey eyes were unreadable behind a mask of civility.

"I don't know what to say." She spoke quietly. "The excitement of the evening seems to have addled my brain a bit."

His gaze softened. "I shouldn't have taken such liberties. You are, of course, right. I am neither your father nor your brother. Let's not think of it again."

There was something about his comment that left Alex feeling even more unsettled. They'd always been as close as siblings; was he pulling away? She shook herself mentally. This new world was already turning her into a cabbagehead, and she'd only been a part of it for an evening. "That," she said, pushing her disquiet to the back of her mind, "sounds like an excellent idea."

He smiled and took a deep breath. "I forget, sometimes, that you aren't that little girl stuck up in a tree, Minx. It's hard not to jump in to save you whenever I think I should."

There was a pause before Alex could think of a retort. "Well, don't go shirking your duties as savior altogether." Her smile turned into a knowing grin.

"After all... who else will save me from eager suitors with leaden feet?"

The couples around them turned to look as he laughed — entirely too loudly.