Free Seducing an Angel by Mary Balogh

ma’am,” Elliott said, bowing and looking as if it were anything but.
    “Your grace.” Lady Paget inclined her head and grasped her fan as she stood. She looked instantly aloof and haughty.
    “May I have the honor of dancing the next set with you, Lady Paget?” Elliott asked.
    “You may,” she said, and set her hand on his proffered sleeve.
    She did not look back at Stephen.
    There was a grayish film on the surface of the untouched tea in their cups, he saw. Only two items had gone from her plate, none from his. Just a few years ago it would have seemed an unpardonable waste.
    He had better go and claim his next partner before the dancing started again, he decided. It really would not do to be late.
    Was he really going to sleep with Lady Paget tonight?
    And perhaps begin a longer-term liaison with her?
    Ought he not to know more about her first? More about the death of her husband and the facts behind the very nasty rumors that had preceded her to London and made an outcast of her?
Had he been seduced after all?
He feared he had.
Was it too late to change his mind?
He feared it was.
Did he want to?
He feared he did not.
He strode off in the direction of the ballroom.
    The Duke of Moreland was the man who had been standing with the Earl of Merton when Cassandra had arrived at the ball. He was the man who looked very like yesterday’s devil—Mr. Huxtable.
    But the duke’s eyes were blue and he looked somewhat less devilish than Mr. Huxtable and considerably more austere. He looked as if he might be a formidable adversary if one did something to cross his will.
    She had done nothing. It was he who had asked her to dance. But he was, of course, a brother-in-law to Lady Sheringford and was doing what he could to contain the potential disaster of her appearance at his sister-in-law’s ball. Perhaps he had also thought to rescue the Earl of Merton from her clutches.
    Cassandra set her slightly scornful smile firmly in place.
    The set was a lively one and offered very little opportunity for conversation. What little there was they spent in an exchange of meaningless pleasantries about the beauty of the floral decorationsand the excellence of the orchestra and the superiority of the Marquess of Claverbrook’s cook.
    “May I return you to your … companion, ma’am?” the duke asked her when the set was at an end, though he surely knew that she had none.
    “I came alone,” she said, “but you may safely leave me here, your grace.”
    They were close to a set of open French windows. Perhaps she would slip outside and stroll awhile. She could see that there was a wide balcony out there and not too many people. She suddenly longed to escape.
    “Then allow me,” he said, taking her by the elbow, “to introduce you to a few people.”
    Before she could excuse herself, a brightly smiling older lady with a sober-looking gentleman approached them unbidden, and the Duke of Moreland introduced them to Cassandra as Sir Graham and Lady Carling.
    “Lady Paget,” Lady Carling said after they had exchanged bows and nods, “I am positively green with envy, if you will excuse the pun, over your gown. Why can I never find any fabric half so gorgeous whenever I look? Not that I would look good in that particular shade of green. I do believe I would fade into invisibility behind it. But even so … Oh, dear, Graham’s eyes are glazing over, and Moreland is wondering when he can decently escape.”
    She laughed and linked an arm through Cassandra’s.
    “Come, Lady Paget,” she said. “You and I will stroll together and discuss dress and bonnet fashions to our hearts’ content.”
    And, true to her word, she led Cassandra off on a slow promenade of the perimeter of the ballroom floor as couples gathered on it for the next set.
    “I am Lord Sheringford’s mama,” Lady Carling explained, “and I love him to distraction—though if you ever quote me on that, Lady Paget, I shall stoutly deny it. He has led me a merry dance