Free As Rich as a Rogue by Jade Lee

Rimbury. “You said you’ve known him for years?”
    â€œSince we were boys.”
    â€œAnd you’ve remained friends?”
    â€œFor the most part.”
    â€œThen there was no woman to destroy your friendship? No harpy who tore you apart?”
    She hadn’t thought it possible. Suddenly, Lord Rimbury’s face drew in tight, and his eyes looked deeply sad. Always he was dramatic in his expression, but never with this quiet dread. “Not yet,” he said softly. “But the evening is still young.”
    She meant to ask him to explain, but at that moment the musicians began their first dance. Mr. Hario escorted his daughter Isabelle onto the floor. The girl was dressed in white with deep blue ribbons for accents. It was a perfect come-out gown for a young lady who couldn’t stop grinning. This was her night, and Mari smiled to see the delight in the child’s face.
    â€œAre there dots on this dress, or did you spill something on it?” a rich voice said. Lord Whitly, of course. His tone was matter-of-fact, almost dismissive, but he had one of those voices that rumbled excitingly on the ear no matter what he said.
    â€œDots,” she snapped. “It’s a pattern.” She hadn’t meant to sound quite so shrewish.
    â€œIt looks like you spilled milk on it. The dots aren’t even regular.”
    â€œThat’s part of the pattern .”
    â€œI think it looks bloody ridiculous. Why wear a pattern that doesn’t look like a real pattern, especially since almost no one can see it?”
    â€œBecause it’s not wayward, you oaf!” Less than one minute in his company, and she was on the verge of screaming. Fortunately for her, Lord Rimbury was standing in earshot and suddenly burst out laughing. And when both she and Lord Whitly looked at him, he shrugged.
    â€œI told you,” he said, still chuckling. “We can’t help it.”
    â€œAsh,” Lord Whitly grumbled, “what are you going on about?”
    â€œPeter,” Lord Rimbury returned in exactly the same tone, “whatever possessed you to come to a ball in such a state?”
    Lord Whitly looked down at himself. “Is this not the right fashion?” Then he smoothed down his hair. “Have I got it wrong?”
    â€œYou look most elegant,” Lord Rimbury said with a grin.
    â€œIt’s your behavior that is lacking, my lord,” Mari clarified.
    At which point the man frowned at her, then his cheeks pinkened. She wouldn’t have believed it if she hadn’t seen it. He appeared embarrassed, perhaps even ashamed.
    â€œI beg your pardon,” he said, and she could detect no lie in his words. Then he stepped back and executed a handsome bow. “Miss Powel, a pleasure to see you this evening.”
    She dropped into a curtsy. “Lord Whitly, I see you have returned to London.”
    â€œYes.” Then he stood there, staring at her as the conversation lagged. Finally she decided it was incumbent upon her to speak.
    â€œWas your trip successful? You didn’t tell me where you were going.”
    â€œSuccessful?” He reached back, likely to rub a hand over the back of his neck, but was stopped by his clothing. He ended up upsetting his hair instead. “I suppose in a way.”
    â€œWhere did you go? You never said.”
    â€œTo the family estate in Lincolnshire.” His expression softened. “It’s beautiful this time of year. Actually it’s beautiful every time of year. I’ve missed it.”
    â€œIndia did not compare?”
    â€œTo the green fields of Kesteven? Not in the least.”
    The set was forming up, and her partner came to her side, bowing perfectly before her, his expression fashionably bored. He acted the proper gentleman, and she found him much less interesting than Lord Whitly. Still, she must keep to the proprieties.
    â€œIf you’ll excuse me. I believe Mr. Midean has come to