Uncle Robert was still smiling. ‘Now that Alexander is home, you need not fear loneliness.’
‘I am sure you will find him good company. You played together quite charmingly when children.’ Aunt Felicity was smiling as if there was little left to arrange but a suitable date and the menu for a wedding breakfast.
Although she worked very hard to retain control of her emotions, Verity could not marshal the small sigh that escaped her, on the mention of the Veryans’ son. She remembered him not as a good playfellow, but as a miserable little toad. Their recent meetings had done nothing to change her opinion of him. If the true reason for this visit was to isolate her from London Society to put the good character of Alexander Veryan in sharper relief, then she would make her brothers pay dearly for the trick.
Especially since, once they chose to marry, everyone around her had paired off in record time with people that would be considered far too unsuitable for her. Though his bride, Nell, was the sweetest girl in the world, Marcus had married beneath his station. Her sister, Honoria, had admitted in a particularly unguarded letter, that her new husband had only recently stopped smuggling and found honest trade. Even Diana Price, who had been a paragon of virtue while she had chaperoned the Carlow girls, had thrown propriety aside to marry the gambler Nathan Wardale.
Of course, brother Hal’s wife, Julia, was beyond reproach. But since Hal himself was incorrigible, his choosing such a worthy bride had been as surprising as the others’ selections.
It was clear that each of the matches had been made on the basis of an almost overpowering attraction. The parties involved had been swept away by their feelings, and had given over to actions that were most unlike their usual behaviour.
Then they had all turned to Verity, thinking that for her it would be different. She was to be the sensible one and listen to the wise counsel of people who were happy enough to ignore their own advice. She was expected to barter herself away to someone like Alexander Veryan, making a minimum of bother to her family. Everyone could then go back to their adoring spouses, secure in the knowledge that it was someone else’s job to worry about little Verity’s future happiness.
‘And here is Alexander, now.’ Lady Keddinton smiled with such pride at the approach of her son that he might as well have been Lord Wellington in full dress uniform. But all Verity saw was a young man graced with deficiencies in height and colouring, whose grey Veryan eyes seemed watery and cold in his pale face.
‘Verity.’ He bowed to her and reached for her hand before she could offer it. His own was soft and damp.
‘Alexander.’ Why could she not stop smiling, even when cool indifference was needed? Mother’s obsessive insistence that she be graceful and charming in all situations was no aid in putting off this most persistent of young men.
‘Are you free for the next dance?’
She glanced at the musicians, who were running through the first notes of a quadrille. Saying yes now would allow her to beg off later, should the dance master call for a waltz, or some other dance that required prolonged physical contact with her partner. She smiled again. ‘Of course, Alexander.’ She allowed him to keep her hand as he led her to the floor, hoping that he did not equate simple courtesy with a desire on her part for increased intimacy.
They formed up with three other couples to begin the intricate steps of the dance. And immediately, her pulse quickened and her fears of a sensible future with Alexander dissolved. She was looking across the square into the eyes of the most fascinating man she’d ever seen. The eyes in question were large and dark, liquid and bottomless, fringed with long black lashes, and set in an olive-skinned face. The man’s nose was straight, and his full lips curved in the faintest of smiles as he looked across at her, returning her admiration.
She walked around him, following the dance. It gave her an opportunity to admire the cut of his coat. He was almost too well dressed, his clothes narrowly missing foppishness, just as his face on another man might have been feminine. The darkness of his skin made his cravat and shirt seem blindingly white, and his deep blue coat was as soft and dark as the night.
There was a glint of silver at his wrist, when he reached for her hand, as though his shirt cuff concealed some bit of jewellery. What an unusual thing it was, to see a man ornamented in such a way. If she had truly seen a bracelet, there must be some story attached to it. Looking at the man, she was sure that the tale would be both exciting and romantic, and that she would very much enjoy hearing it.
The touch of his hand was warm and dry, and full of interesting roughness. She wondered just what he had been doing to cause those imperfections. Riding? Duelling? Or was he adept at some art or science that she knew nothing of? In any case, he was gentle to her, and the friction of skin against skin was delicate and exciting.
She returned with reluctance to her own partner, and he caught her hand again in his disappointingly moist grip.
So went the dance, with a series of brief and inviting touches from the gentleman opposite her that made poor Alexander suffer by comparison.
Through it all, the dark stranger smiled at her. There was no mistaking his interest. He was looking at her with curiosity and a bit of sympathy, as though he wondered how she came to be matched with the man beside her. And was she mistaking it, or was there longing there, as well? If she read the truth on his face, he wished he had been partnering her instead of the woman at his side. That woman was receiving only polite attention from him, much to her obvious chagrin.
Verity smiled back at him, wishing she had a fan to hide her blush and covertly signal her interest. If Lady Keddinton would allow an introduction, she was sure that he would turn out to be a horrible rake. He looked like just the sort of man that Diana would have singled out as the worst in the room.
And the hint of a sparkle in his eyes told her that he could see how he was affecting her. For all her previous and undesired poise, she could find no way to disguise her reaction to the stranger.
Verity felt another pang of loneliness. She needed the guidance of Diana and Honoria. Either of them would have prevented her from doing what she longed to do right now. Diana would have cautioned her against it. And Honoria would have very likely done it in her stead. But as Verity looked at the dark man, she felt the undeniable tug of curiosity. She wanted to talk to him.
When the dance ended, she asked Alexander to return her to Aunt Felicity, and go to fetch a lemonade. Once he was out of earshot, she asked Lady Keddinton, ‘Who is that man, standing there, by the musicians?’ She held her breath, taken by the sudden fear that he was an uninvited guest. Suppose he was the stranger she had been warned about, and his interest in her sprung from a desire to do her harm?
Lady Keddinton, who was many years married and far too sensible to do such a thing, blushed like a schoolgirl. ‘That is Lord Salterton. He is …’ She paused for a moment, as though trying to remember how she had come to invite someone more interesting than Alexander to Verity’s party. ‘A friend of my husband’s, I believe.’ She glanced around, seeking Uncle Robert’s agreement, but he was deep in conversation on the other side of the room. She returned her attention to the man they had been discussing. ‘He is recently returned to London, having travelled in the Orient.’ She gave the smallest sigh. ‘A most fascinating gentleman.’
Verity’s fears subsided. He could have no part in the family’s recent troubles, if he had been in the Orient when they happened. She gave a small, envious sigh. If she asked, would he share stories of his adventures? After looking into his eyes, she was sure that he had seen things that were wonderful, horrible and far more exciting than anything found in her limited experience. ‘It must be very educational to be so widely travelled. May I …’ Verity paused, trying not to appear too eager. ‘… May I be introduced to him? Or would that be too forward?’
Her