has sent his apologies for tonight. He is gone out of town. However, Parham expects to see him at the Renwicks’ soirée tomorrow.’
‘How very tiresome,’ said Eloise. ‘If we had known we need not have come.’ She tucked her hand in his arm. ‘Let us go now.’
‘Are you sure? You will disappoint any number of gentlemen if you leave now: they all hope to stand up with you at least once.’
Eloise shrugged. If she could not dance with her dark stranger she did not want to dance with anyone.
‘There will be other nights.’
She concentrated on disposing her diaphanous stole across her shoulders rather than meet Alex’s intent gaze.
‘What has occurred, Elle? I mislike that glitter in your eyes. Did your last partner say anything to upset you?’
She dismissed his concern with a wave of one gloved hand.
‘No, no, nothing like that. He was a diversion, nothing more.’
‘He was very taken with you.’
‘Did you think so?’ she asked him, a little too eagerly.
Alex frowned.
‘Does it matter to you that he should?’
Eloise looked away,
‘No, of course not. But it is very flattering.’ She tried for a lighter note. ‘He was very amusing.’
Alex looked back across the room to where the tall stranger was standing against the wall, watching them.
‘I think,’ he said slowly, ‘that he could be very dangerous.’
‘Hell and damnation!’
Jack watched Lady Allyngham walk away on Mortimer’s arm.
It would not have taken much to have Parham present him to the lady. That had been his design when he had first arrived, but the sight of Eloise Allyngham had wiped all intentions, good or bad, from his mind.
He had carried Allyngham’s locket with him for the past year and was well acquainted with the tiny portrait inside, but he had been taken aback when he saw the lady herself. The painting only hinted at the glorious abundance of guinea-gold curls that framed her face. It had not prepared him for her dazzling smile, nor the look of humour and intelligence he observed in her deep blue eyes.
He had intended to find the lady, to hand over the bequests and retire gracefully, but then Lady Allyngham had collided with him and when she had turned her laughing face to his, every sensible thought had flown out of his head. He had prowled the room until she returned from the supper room and by then his host was nowhere to be seen, so Jack seized the moment and asked her to dance. He should have told her why he was there, but he could not resist the temptation to flirt with her, to bring that delicious flush to her cheeks and to see the elusive dimple peeping beside her generous mouth.
He pulled himself together. It had been a very pleasant interlude but he had a duty to perform. He sought out his hostess.
‘Lady Allyngham?’ She looked a little bemused when he made his request. ‘My dear Major, I would happily introduce you to her, if it were in my power, but she is gone.’
‘Gone!’
‘Why, yes, she took her leave of me a few minutes ago. Mr Mortimer was escorting her back to Dover Street.’ She gave him a knowing smile. ‘He is a very attentive escort.’
Disappointment seared through Jack. He tried to convince himself that it was because he wanted to hand over Tony’s ring and locket and get out of London, but he knew in his heart that it was because he wanted to see Eloise Allyngham again.
Jack took his leave and made his way to St James’s Street, where he was admitted into an imposing white stone building by a liveried servant. White’s was very busy and he paused for a while to watch a lively game of Hazard, refusing more than one invitation to join in. Later he wandered through to the card room where he soon spotted a number of familiar faces, some of whom he had seen in Lady Parham’s ballroom earlier that evening. A group of gentlemen were engaged in a game of bassett. One looked up and waved to him.
‘Had enough of the dancing, Clifton?’
Jack smiled. ‘Something like that, Renwick.’
He looked at the little group: Charles Renwick was an old friend and he recognised another, slightly older man, Edward Graham, who had been a friend of his father, but the others were strangers to him—with one exception, the dealer, a stocky man with a heavily pock-marked face and pomaded hair. Sir Ronald Deforge. A tremor of revulsion ran through Jack. At that moment the dealer looked up at him from beneath his heavy-lidded eyes. Jack saw the recognition in his glance and observed the contemptuous curl of the man’s thick lips. As he hesitated a gentleman with a florid face and bushy red side-whiskers shifted his chair to make room for him.
‘Doing battle in the ballroom can be as hellish as a full-scale siege, eh, Major? Well, never mind that now. Sit you down, sir, and we’ll deal you in.’
‘Aye, we are here to commiserate with each other,’ declared Mr Graham. ‘Come along, Deforge, deal those cards!’
‘Oh?’ Jack signalled to the waiter to fill his glass.
‘Aye. There was no point in staying at Parham House once Lady Allyngham had left.’ Edward Graham paused, frowning over his cards. ‘Hoped to persuade her to stand up with me later, but then found she had slipped away.’
Jack schooled his features to show no more than mild interest. Sir Ronald cast a fleeting glance at him.
‘It seems Major Clifton was the only one of us to be favoured with a dance.’
The whiskery gentleman dug Jack in the ribs.
‘Aye, Sir Ronald is right, Major. You lucky dog! How did you do it, man? Are you well acquainted with her?’
‘Not at all,’ Jack replied, picking up his cards and trying to give them his attention. ‘I know very little about the lady.’
‘Ah, the Glorious Allyngham.’ Jack’s neighbour raised his glass. ‘The whole of London is at her feet. She would be a cosy armful, for the man that can catch her! We are all her slaves, but she spreads her favours equally: a dance here, a carriage ride there—keeps us all on the lightest of reins—even Sir Ronald there is enthralled, ain’t that right, Deforge?’
A shadow flitted across the dealer’s face but he replied indifferently, ‘She is undoubtedly a diamond.’
‘Rumour has it she is on the catch for a royal duke.’ A gentleman in a puce waistcoat chuckled. ‘Ladies don’t like it, of course, to see their husbands drooling over another woman. They’ve christened her the Wanton Widow!’
‘So they have.’ Mr Graham sighed. ‘But I wish she were a little more wanton, then I might stand a chance!’
Ribald laughter filled the air, replaced by good-natured oaths and curses as Sir Ronald Deforge displayed his winning cards and scooped up the little pile
