Chapter 9
Colt surveyed the room for a suitable diversion.
The unmarried ladies he preferred to dally with had to exude certain qualities.
Foremost, they had to show a willingness to dispense with their chaperones.
This was pivotal to anything that came next.
Then, they had to look pleasing to him. They did not need to be diamonds of the first water, but a certain prettiness went a long way.
Confidence in their manner and carriage also attracted him.
Last, the ladies who caught his attention often had a glint of mischief in their eyes.
This factor alone usually meant they would be receptive to—even seeking of—his company.
This evening, as he sauntered through the crowds, chatting cheerfully with friends and acquaintances, he struggled to find a lady who met these criteria. He approached a long table and poured a generous glass of whiskey into a crystal tumbler.
From out of nowhere, a young damsel appeared beside him. She peeped up at him sideways as she filled a glass of water from a pitcher.
“Only water, Miss … ?”
“Coombes. Miss Emily Coombes.” She dropped into a curtsy. “And yes. Only water. My throat is a little sore after my prior dancing partner. I don’t believe he could hear well.”
Colt executed a confident bow over her hand, wondering what her relation was to Georgina’s friend, Arthur Coombes.
“Delighted to meet you. Lord Robert Coulthurst, at your service. We are not acquainted, but I have certainly seen you about town and have been quite desperate for an introduction.” A small untruth never went astray when it came to flattering ladies.
“Might I claim you for the next waltz, if you are not too fatigued?”
A blush spread across her cheeks, and her lips curved into a coy smile.
Miss Coombes agreed readily, and as the music began, he swept her onto the dance floor.
He was delighted she had not insisted they consult a parent or guardian, who would have certainly curtailed the suggestion. A promising start.
“You dance well, Miss Coombes,” he said. “So graceful.”
Miss Coombes cast her eyes away demurely.
His gaze rested on the angle of her throat, wondering if she had turned her head deliberately to display her neck to such advantage.
She looked back at him, and he became certain that she was watching for his reaction.
He smiled in appreciation, then allowed his eyes to sink over the soft swell of her bosom for a moment.
“Such a beautiful creature has no business being so modest.” He gave her a slight wink and a mischievous, dimpled grin.
Her eyes lifted to meet his, and her lashes fluttered.
Miss Coombes certainly displayed a penchant for flirtation. He pressed his thumb into her palm, and she did not shrink away, meeting his unspoken challenge. Colt thought this night may just have become interesting.
As one of the most eligible bachelors in the ton, Colt was well accustomed to the glare of envious onlookers. With her chin held high and a confident smile, Miss Coombes exuded happiness.
“It does not sound like you enjoyed your last dance, Miss Coombes?” Colt ventured as they glided through and amongst other couples.
She gave him an arch look. “How inappropriate it would be for me to criticise one gentleman to another. Though I will say that I am glad the previous dance is at an end. I am sure Mr Dalrymple is a pleasant fellow, but his hearing issue makes it more challenging to exchange words.”
Colt lifted a brow. “Dalrymple. I met him briefly yesterday in my club, with his guardian. I must say, he seemed perfectly able to hear me.”
Miss Coombes’s cheeks suffused with colour. “He seemed only to respond to me when I spoke loudly.”
Dalrymple must have been trying a rather unique method of wooing. “Perhaps he was merely jesting, my dear.”
When Miss Coombes’s face contorted into a pout, he added quickly, “Or, your beauty nonplussed him, and he struggled with what to say.”
Mollified, Miss Coombes sighed. “Indeed, I believe you are right. Mr Dalrymple barely talks at all, anyway. At least, not about anything interesting.”
Colt snickered. “That is not for me to say. Fortunately, no one has ever described me as a poor conversationalist, so hopefully we shall rub along nicely.” Colt stared serenely into her pretty, upturned face. “And how are you enjoying your first season?”
“I am rather green, I fear, my lord, with so much to learn. For example, I just discovered one should not pay a morning call in the morning. How absurd. Another thing that baffles me is whether it is ever respectable to go walking with a suitor without an attendant, or only when one is married or more mature?”
“I daresay that will depend upon whom you ask,” Colt sympathised. “I suspect your mother would insist that you are never in the company of a suitor without a chaperone. If you asked me, I would encourage you to walk alone with gentlemen at every opportunity. Particularly if I were the suitor.”
“Oh, I infinitely prefer your advice, Lord Coulthurst.”
He could not believe his luck. The twinkle in her eye practically invited him to dally with her.
“Would you care to try? I am happy to smuggle you away from the ballroom, so we might enjoy a walk together—though I understand if you would rather not. Going against one’s matriarch requires rare courage. Dare you?”
“Oh, I certainly dare,” she countered.
Joy rippled through Colt as the steps of this all too familiar dance fell into place, not unlike the waltz they presently enjoyed. He waited until a lively conversation occupied Miss Coombes’s parents before he grasped the lady’s hand and led her out through the doors onto the balcony.
As Colt escorted Miss Coombes across the terrace, he kept his hand on the centre of her back, gently propelling her out into the dark evening.
“I believe you know a good friend of mine, Miss Georgina Pace? She is well-acquainted with Mr Arthur Coombes; is he your brother?” he said conversationally, steering her to the stone railing where they could gaze out across the garden.
Lanterns were strewn throughout the property, allowing glimpses of the yard below.
The aroma of rose petals wafted on the evening breeze.
One needed a wrap, cloak or strong arms to stay warm in the cool weather.
Hence, the terrace presently remained free of other guests.
The perfect spot for a romantic interlude.
“My family has known Miss Pace and her family for many years. I recall her from when I was but a child. She always had more time for Arthur than for me,” Miss Coombes replied, with a slight curl of her upper lip.
“Arthur reminds George of her brother,” Colt responded, then instantly regretted his utterance. Georgina would not appreciate her private affairs being discussed.
Fortunately, Miss Coombes displayed little interest in the subject. She gave an involuntary shiver and edged closer to him so his broad frame might protect her from the draft. He caught a note of her subtle fragrance on the breeze. A hint of sweet musk, he mused.
“How thoughtless of me to draw you outside where you might catch a chill, Miss Coombes,” he murmured, his voice husky. “Shall we go in?”
“Please, call me Emily. And I should be an insipid creature indeed if I let the weather stop me from stealing a few moments in your company, my lord.”
“Surely you must know what scandal lies ahead of you if someone discovers you alone with me, Emily?”
Her little rosebud lips pouted. “You would not ruin me, would you, my lord?”
Colt tossed his head back and laughed. “I do my best not to ruin young ladies.”
“And yet, I know your reputation well,” she admitted, her eyes kindling.
“And yet, you still walked with me,” he parried. He enjoyed watching the colour steal over her cheeks.
“I confess, I had heard that you have a remarkable art for… .” Emily’s words tapered off.
Colt raised a brow and took one step closer. “For … ?”
“Opening the eyes of less experienced ladies to the assorted pleasures of the world … prior to them settling into matrimony.”
Emboldened by her words, Colt slid a hand around her waist.
Emily gasped at this action, and a giggle erupted from her.
“Is that what they say about me? That’s quite a testimonial,” he growled. “And you find this notion appealing?”
When the pretty creature smirked back up at him in response, a small spark of hesitation glimmered inside him. He disregarded the qualm as quickly as it emerged, however, and drew her closer towards him.
“My lord, what if someone were to happen upon us?” She turned away slightly, scanning their environment.
“Devil take them.” Colt waited for her eyes to return to his, then bent down and kissed her neck fiercely.
Emily rubbed her hands up along his chest as a squeal of delight burst from her throat.
“What a sweet taste you have,” Colt murmured, his voice muffled by her flesh.
Before he could even start to show her pleasure, however, the lady pushed back from him. “Please, my lord … no. We must not. My reputation!” Her voice was trembling.
Colt had barely a moment to register Emily’s words when they were interrupted.
“When a lady says ‘no,’ you really must heed her, Colt,” came a familiar voice from behind. It was none other than Mrs Sarah Fortes-cue.
Emily gasped, and Colt released her. She stumbled back and thankfully caught the railing for support. Colt straightened his jacket and fixed a pleasant expression on his face. He turned to address his friend.
Beside Sarah stood Lady Elizabeth Mortimer.
Emily, with a red face, stepped forward, though her hands fluttered around her forehead as though she might faint.
Sarah’s disapproving brown eyes lingered upon Emily for a moment before sweeping across to Colt. She arched one austere brow.
He flashed a defiant grin and dragged his fingers back through his hair. “Sarah, care to join us?”
Sarah exhibited no signs of amusement. “Elizabeth noted your departure from the room, Colt, and suggested an intervention might be pertinent.”
Colt glowered at Lady Mortimer. “Did she?” Apart from being prudish, her ladyship had a habit of meddling in affairs that in no way concerned her.
“I … I am very much obliged to you, Lady Mortimer,” Emily said in a small, breathless voice.
Colt saw all hopes of a liaison disappear before his eyes. To hell with interfering women. Emily had sought him out for her enjoyment.
“Not at all, child. We have all been young,” Lady Mortimer replied, offering her a smile.
Sarah, however, gave Emily an unyielding stare that Colt could not readily interpret. “Allow me to return you to your mother, Miss Coombes.”
Without waiting for a word of acquiescence, Sarah threaded her arm through Emily’s and returned her to the warmth of the ballroom.
Colt cast a scornful look towards Lady Mortimer before he took his leave. He distrusted Lady Mortimer, but his true issue was with his friend, whose disappointment made him feel uneasy. How Sarah perplexed him.