Free The Wicked Guardian by Vanessa Gray

least she would be grateful if the fragile gauze overlay sustained no damage.
    She examined it as well as she could, and was gratified to find no great rent in it. A snag, where one of the spangles had caught on something, but—
    “I am gratified to see,” said a well-known voice in her ear, “that this time at least your gown has remained whole.”
    “Lord Choate!” she breathed, mortified beyond measure to be caught in such an undignified posture. But even more so to remember the incident that was clearly in his mind.
    “I had not expected to find you unescorted,” he said. “But perhaps you will trust me enough to give me your hand for the next dance?”
    Scarcely knowing what she replied, she found herself led out on the small dance floor by Lord Benedict Choate, surely tonight the handsomest man in all of London!
    He was dressed in black, with snowy ruffles edging his sleeves, his satin breeches and striped hose in the first line of fashion.
    She soon discovered that he danced as elegantly as he looked, leading her through the intricate steps with ease. She found that she was nearly floating on the strains of the stringed viols that were hidden in an alcove.
    His accomplished grace soon lured her into incautiousness. She did not have to mind her steps as much as usual, and her thoughts strayed, arriving sooner than advisable at impishness. “I do know, Lord Choate, that I am very young, and inexperienced in the social ways of London...” she began.
    “I have no wish to argue that point,” he said with grave civility. “We are agreed.”
    “And yet it seems to me that I have been told that it is customary to exchange a few words while one dances?”
    His eyes flashed, telling her that he understood her. But he was not inexperienced in flirtation. “I feared to distract your mind from your dancing,” he said. “I see now,” he added handsomely, “that I need not have been anxious. You dance well.”
    She did not know precisely what a great compliment she had just received, but she did think he probably did not give such praise to everyone.
    If she had been content to bask in the attention of Lord Choate, letting him take her back to Lady Thane when the set was finished, all might have gone well.
    Lord Choate himself precipitated events unwittingly. “You will be returning to Dorset soon?” he said smoothly.
    “I am?”
    “Of course I would expect that you would. Your grandmother must be satisfied, now that you have had a taste of London society, even though I wonder at her sending you at such a tender age.”
    “It is your affair?” said Clare, biting her lip to hold back a retort that she feared might be tear-laden.
    “Insofar as I am of some kin to you, I take an interest.”
    “Believe me, nothing could make me regret our kinship more than you do. But at least my Uncle Horsham will be easier to get along with than you are.”
    She had succeeded in startling him. “What does he have to do with this?”
    “If Grandmama is unable to deal with my affairs, as I fear may soon be the case,” said Clare, her eyes shiny with tears, “then Uncle Horsham is to be my guardian. And so, you see...”
    Benedict suddenly fell into thoughtful silence. The set ended, and he made his mistake. Leading her back toward the conservatory, where he expected to find Lady Thane, he said to Clare, “I don’t envy Horsham a whit. But if you take care, and don’t step over the line again, I think you may do very well. Once you have a bit of polish, that is, and begin to look as though you had left the schoolroom behind.”
    Clare, stung, retorted, “I can’t help the way I look!”
    ‘True, but very unfortunate,” said Lord Choate. “Although time will mend all things, so I am told.”
    Clare breathed heavily. She knew no one who could make her quite so angry, with just a supercilious lift of his heavy black eyebrows. She wished above all things to throw something—something very hard and unbreakable—at Lord