Free The Curious Rogue by Joan Vincent Page A

to Tretain. “Why must they be such questioning creatures?”
    “That is what makes us interesting,” Lady Juliane returned. “I have a delightful surprise for you this eve.” She flashed a large smile.
    “Something tells me you had better beware,” the earl told Cavilon. “When a woman gets that tone, it can only mean...”
    “My lord. My lady.” Their butler Homer stepped into the ballroom. “Coaches are arriving.”
    “To your duties.” The comte waved them off. “I shall inspect the wines and make myself comfortable.”
    “You had better... while you are able,” Tretain tossed over his shoulder as Lady Juliane hurried him from the ballroom.

* * *
    Lord Adrian and Lady Juliane were respected and liked by the majority of London’s beau monde. Their social affairs were always well attended, and this eve the crush was even greater than usual. The heat of the many candles, the large number of guests, and the exertions of the dance drove many to the cooler evening air of the veranda, which ran the length of the ballroom’s outer wall.
    The many doors leading to it stood invitingly open. Comtede Cavilon led Lady Juliane through one of these at the conclusion of the second set of country dances.
    “Your ball is an enviable success,” he commented as he led her to a nearby bench. “I have been commanded to see that you rest.” The comte motioned for her to sit.
    “Truly, I do not feel a bit fatigued.” Lady Juliane’s eyes strained to see the latecomers entering the ballroom.
    “Are you expecting someone of import? Prinny himself?” Cavilon teased.
    “I don’t believe so,” Juliane said, giving him an annoyed frown. “But you are certainly dressed to receive royalty this eve,” she said eyeing his immaculate white raiment. His appearance was startling but ultimately handsome.
    White from his moderately powdered periwig to the silver buckles gleaming on his white cloth-covered shoes, the comte was readily noticeable. The French silk of his jacket and breeches was flawless in fabric and fit. His sequined waistcoat dazzled to the eye. Studying his face, Lady Juliane noticed that he had not used as much powder or rouge as had become his habit. Why, even his affectations are not as pronounced this eve, she thought.
    “Do you see something amiss?” Cavilon questioned. He flicked his kerchief at an imaginary speck on his sleeve.
    “Indeed not, my lord Cavilon,” she smiled. “You are the best dressed gentleman present... but for my husband, of course.”
    “Why, thank you, my dear,” Lord Adrian told his wife, joining them with an older man at his side and a woman of like age upon his arm. “You recall Sir Henry Jeffries. This is his sister, the Marchioness of Waddington, Lady Madeline. My wife, Lady Juliane.”
    “Most pleased,” Lady Waddington smiled. “It was so kind of you to extend an invitation to us, my lady. Elizabeth—” She turned to motion her niece forward and found no one there. “I don’t understand,” she smiled nervously. “Elizabeth was with us a moment ago.”
    “I am happy to learn that Miss Jeffries did come with you.” Lady Tretain glanced pointedly at the comte. “I am looking forward to meeting her.”
    “She is a sweet young woman,” Lady Waddington said, also looking to the comte. “My lord Cavilon, I wish to thank you for your assistance at the time of our mishap.
    “And you also, Lord Tretain.
    “My dear,” Lady Madeline turned hack to Lady Juliane, “they were such a tremendous aid. I am certain matters would have been far more serious had they not been present.”
    “Which reminds me,” Sir Henry spoke up. “It was not necessary for you to send me a box of peruke powder.” His eyes twinkled merrily as he studied Cavilon.
    “But of course it was,” the comte drawled. “As Lady Waddington says, the matter would have remained serious if we had not been present. I could do no less for the diversion than replace your powder. Let us forget it,” he