Free Raven's Ransom by Hayley Ann Solomon Page A

reflection that made her wide, green eyes widen just a fraction more than was usual. Just before she dropped her dark lashes in a sudden, wild, and quite stormy impulse of abandon, she felt her pulses quicken and her breathing become strangely shallow. When she looked up, the figure that had so silently assaulted her senses, had gone. Viscount Barrymore, similarly afflicted, had felt it wise to call up his horses. His situation was too desperate to take up a flirtation, however vivid, delightful, and thoroughly reprehensible the attraction. Despite Hoskin’s optimism, tomorrow, he was certain, he was bound for a debtor’s jail. He wondered gloomily what the pretty little snippet in the pearl white dress would say to that.
    It was a pity, of course, that he did not stop to ask her, for Lily would undoubtedly have waved his debts aside as airily as she did those of the other swain who had taken up her suit Indeed, she would have been confoundedly surprised had he been plump in the pocket, for so outrageously a handsome a rig as he was attired in must have cost a small fortune and everyone knew that gentlemen were always indebted to their hatters and bootmakers and the like. She sighed. She wished he had not disappeared so summarily! And now there was the clamor of people demanding the first waltz and she could not decide between them! Had it been Lord Alvaney or Mr. Campion to whom she had bestowed the honor? She wished she could remember, for both were approaching her forcefully and she rather hoped she could remember the steps. It was an age since she had practiced, and she’d never before danced the waltz at Almack’s, or indeed, even in the assembly rooms at Bath. Who was that man? Her thoughts were most abstracted as she curtsied delightfully to both Mr. Campion and the Earl of Alveney.
    On the west side, Daisy was fending off an almost equal share of admirers but, she, at least, had the presence of mind to remember that permissions had not yet been granted. The evening was sadly flat, for not one of the young bucks buzzing beside her bore the slightest resemblance to her dashing Barnacle Jack and that, of course, was damning enough. No one, she decided, without dark eyes and an imposing physique that was quite faultless without padding could move her in the slightest. Besides, without quizzical eyes and a slightly mocking mouth, whoever claimed her hand would undoubtedly be doomed to fail. She kept these thoughts to herself, however, as she declined the waltz very prettily and glanced around to remind Lily about the conventions.
    She was nowhere to be seen, but by the buzzing of gentlemen on the east side, she was probably to be located in that direction. The orchestra was tuning up and Daisy had the most sinking of feelings that Lily was going to forget. Oh, where was Primrose! She would remember and keep Lily from disgracing herself. But no, she had retired to the carriage, of course.
    Daisy hopped off her perch and tried to move toward the throng of people across the room. Her skirts were heavy, though, being trimmed with rosettes of velvet and pearls, so it was with resignation that she saw Lily place her gloved hand in that of Mr. Campion’s. There was no stopping it. Lily was about to commit the most unspeakable of social solecisms and with the first notes ringing loud in all of their ears, there was little anyone could do about it. Miss Chartley could hardly bear to look as she saw Lady Sally Jersey bearing down upon her sister. No doubt she was going to scold her mercilessly, for the patroness’s sharp tongue was positively infamous. Poor Lily!
    The youngest of the sisters, quite unaware of the sensation she was causing about the room, and of the jealous twittering of feminine fans as rival debutantes waited breathlessly for her downfall, stopped a moment to gaily smell some of the crimson hothouse roses that had been cultivated for the event. When she looked up, she startled, once more, for she was