against such flirtation. She was herself distracted by Lord Walsh. But it was lowering to be abandoned when the fragile, pale-complected beauty at the far end of the table crooked her finger at Miles with an endearing smile.
“Please excuse me. There is someone I must speak to,” Fletcher was all politeness. “It will only take a minute.”
Even such a mannerly parting deflated her confidence. The dark beauty was well-placed at the table. With Lord Walsh on the one hand and an older gent with stars in his eyes on the other, why must she lure away Miles Fletcher as well?
The swan raised her porcelain perfect cheek for a kiss when Fletcher reached her side. In so doing, she turned her head in Aurora’s direction. An enigmatic smile touched her bow-shaped mouth. Aurora could see by the surreptitious glances in her direction, that she was the topic of conversation when the young woman whispered in Fletcher’s ready ear.
His gaze strayed her way as well.
To remain the subject of gossip was too insulting to bear! Rather than sit meekly wondering what was said about her, Aurora deserted the table.
“How goes it with your Amazon, little brother?” Grace whispered when Miles bent to salute her cheek. “I expect an introduction before the evening’s out. She is a taking thing, though something must be done about her clothes, surely! Your goddess sublime is quite disguised in such an outfit. Gracious, Miles, wherever is she running off to?”
Aurora’s place at table was now vacant. Her back retreated briskly through the door that led into the hallway.
“I’ve no idea,” he said.
Aurora turned her back on a table still laden with half-emptied plates, turning her nose up at the cloying odor of an overabundance of rich food and the mélange of overpowering perfumes. Through the doors that led outside she plunged, that she might drink in the cool, damply fresh smell of the grass-lined channel. She walked in the moonlight wondering why it should matter to her in the least that Miles Fletcher left her side at the slightest beckoning of another woman.
He was not bound to her in any way. Her object was Lord Walsh, not Miles Fletcher. Miles knew she pursued Walsh. It should not matter to her in the least whether or not the weasel, or popinjay, or whatever beast he was, cared for the dark-haired tabby at the other end of the table. In fact, if the tabby’s attentions were diverted from Walsh, she might have more opportunity to win his affections. Yet, if a fellow who fawned over her was so easily distracted from her charms, how could she hope to attach the lasting affections of a gentleman such as Walsh?
The lonely complaint of a grebe carried eerily from the far side of the channel. The acrid tang of tobacco smoke drifted in the breeze.
Aurora shivered and turned from the water toward the sound of footsteps. The dark silhouette of a gentleman descended the steps from the hall. A cigar glowed between his lips. Lord Walsh! He had spotted her. She would have had to turn in her tracks to avoid facing him. Aurora had never been one to shrink from confrontation. Walsh did not look particularly pleased to see her, but she approached him nonetheless, back straight, chin high.
“Lord Walsh.”
He blew a pungent cloud of tobacco smoke and said coolly, “Ah! The very dangerous Miss Ramsay, is it not? I suppose you mean to encourage me not to befoul the air in a lady’s presence by tossing me bodily into the channel? No, need. I willingly put the thing out.”
He was on the verge of flicking his cigar into the moonlit water when she stopped him with an undemonstrative, “Nothing of the kind. I do not mean to discommode you, nor will I bend your ear with mindless commonplaces. I am sure you came here to enjoy your smoke in solitude. I wish only to call a truce between the two of us, and to assure you I regret each of our past encounters. I regret crashing to the floor in the ballroom and I deeply regret having
“Please excuse me. There is someone I must speak to,” Fletcher was all politeness. “It will only take a minute.”
Even such a mannerly parting deflated her confidence. The dark beauty was well-placed at the table. With Lord Walsh on the one hand and an older gent with stars in his eyes on the other, why must she lure away Miles Fletcher as well?
The swan raised her porcelain perfect cheek for a kiss when Fletcher reached her side. In so doing, she turned her head in Aurora’s direction. An enigmatic smile touched her bow-shaped mouth. Aurora could see by the surreptitious glances in her direction, that she was the topic of conversation when the young woman whispered in Fletcher’s ready ear.
His gaze strayed her way as well.
To remain the subject of gossip was too insulting to bear! Rather than sit meekly wondering what was said about her, Aurora deserted the table.
“How goes it with your Amazon, little brother?” Grace whispered when Miles bent to salute her cheek. “I expect an introduction before the evening’s out. She is a taking thing, though something must be done about her clothes, surely! Your goddess sublime is quite disguised in such an outfit. Gracious, Miles, wherever is she running off to?”
Aurora’s place at table was now vacant. Her back retreated briskly through the door that led into the hallway.
“I’ve no idea,” he said.
Aurora turned her back on a table still laden with half-emptied plates, turning her nose up at the cloying odor of an overabundance of rich food and the mélange of overpowering perfumes. Through the doors that led outside she plunged, that she might drink in the cool, damply fresh smell of the grass-lined channel. She walked in the moonlight wondering why it should matter to her in the least that Miles Fletcher left her side at the slightest beckoning of another woman.
He was not bound to her in any way. Her object was Lord Walsh, not Miles Fletcher. Miles knew she pursued Walsh. It should not matter to her in the least whether or not the weasel, or popinjay, or whatever beast he was, cared for the dark-haired tabby at the other end of the table. In fact, if the tabby’s attentions were diverted from Walsh, she might have more opportunity to win his affections. Yet, if a fellow who fawned over her was so easily distracted from her charms, how could she hope to attach the lasting affections of a gentleman such as Walsh?
The lonely complaint of a grebe carried eerily from the far side of the channel. The acrid tang of tobacco smoke drifted in the breeze.
Aurora shivered and turned from the water toward the sound of footsteps. The dark silhouette of a gentleman descended the steps from the hall. A cigar glowed between his lips. Lord Walsh! He had spotted her. She would have had to turn in her tracks to avoid facing him. Aurora had never been one to shrink from confrontation. Walsh did not look particularly pleased to see her, but she approached him nonetheless, back straight, chin high.
“Lord Walsh.”
He blew a pungent cloud of tobacco smoke and said coolly, “Ah! The very dangerous Miss Ramsay, is it not? I suppose you mean to encourage me not to befoul the air in a lady’s presence by tossing me bodily into the channel? No, need. I willingly put the thing out.”
He was on the verge of flicking his cigar into the moonlit water when she stopped him with an undemonstrative, “Nothing of the kind. I do not mean to discommode you, nor will I bend your ear with mindless commonplaces. I am sure you came here to enjoy your smoke in solitude. I wish only to call a truce between the two of us, and to assure you I regret each of our past encounters. I regret crashing to the floor in the ballroom and I deeply regret having
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