Chapter 12

Vander's mother smiled at him as they strode into Lady Waldegrave's ballroom. "This is such a treat, Vander. It's not every day that you accompany me to a ball."

"Surely it's not that rare," Vander said, scanning the room. They had arrived fashionably late, as was his mother's habit, and it was already close to midnight. Letty could be anywhere by now…

"You do sometimes appear for five minutes in order to collect one of your friends, no doubt to drag him off to someplace much seedier. But I can count on one hand the number of times you stayed long enough to dance. Speaking of which"—she tugged on his arm, pulling him sharply to the right, and abruptly switched from Persian to English—"Letty, my dear! There you are."

Letty, who was standing near the refreshment table with her friend, Emily, stepped forward and kissed his mother on the cheek. "Good evening, Mrs. Beauclerk. You remember my friend Emily, don't you?"

"Of course, of course! Miss Arbuthnot, so lovely to see you again. And may I offer my congratulations on your engagement to Lord Trundley?"

Emily curtseyed deeply. "Thank you so much, Mrs. Beauclerk."

His mother pressed her bejeweled fan against her heart. "A wedding is such a wonderful thing! Are you having a new gown made for the ceremony? How dearly I should like to hear about your plans."

"And how dearly I love to talk about them!" Emily looped her arm through his mother's, pulling her from Vander's side. "I'm sure I've bored Letty to tears, nattering on about flowers and fruitcakes. Why do I not tell it all to you instead, Mrs. Beauclerk, and give her a respite?"

"Yes!" his mother cried. "I want to hear every detail." She turned to Vander, her eyes aflame. "Well, Vander?"

He blinked at his mother, uncomprehending. "Well, what?"

"Aren't you going to ask Letty to dance?" she hissed.

Dear God. Could his mother possibly be any more embarrassing?

But… it happened that he did want to speak with Letty.

Only so they could discuss the next young lady to whom he would like to be introduced. Dancing with Letty would give them the chance to converse. It was the pragmatic thing to do. Nothing more.

Horse shit, whispered a little voice in the back of his head.

He quashed that voice and bowed to Letty. "Lady Leticia, may I have the honor?"

"O-of course," she sputtered, her cheeks turning a becoming shade of pink.

Then, they were crossing the ballroom together, his mother and Emily having scurried away, leaving them alone.

Vander had been to Lady Waldegrave's house several times before, but he had never noticed how beautiful her ballroom was. Tonight, its Wedgewood-blue walls were complemented by urns overflowing with white carnations. The parquet floor seemed to sparkle in the light of the six crystal chandeliers glinting overhead.

And Letty, smiling shyly up at him, looked lovely in a dress of jonquil yellow silk with red satin roses ringing the hem.

Funny—he'd always thought he hated balls. Yet, here he was, happier than he'd been in weeks.

Months, that little voice whispered. Quite possibly years.

The dance was a Scotch reel, which meant they were too busy skipping and kicking and hopping from foot to foot to accomplish any conversation. Three furious minutes later, the dance ended, and they were both breathing hard.

Vander looped his arm through Letty's and started toward the French doors that led out onto the balcony. "I could use some air after that."

"Me, too." Letty pressed her free hand to her chest. "Could we get some punch first?"

Without breaking stride, Vander snagged two glasses of champagne from the tray of a passing footman, carrying them in one hand. "I believe we can do better than punch."

She shook her head, but she was smiling. "You're a bad influence, you know."

"Of course, I am." They stepped out onto the balcony, and Vander led her over to a spot along the stone balustrade. "But you could use a bad influence in your life." He handed her a glass. "Cheers."

"Cheers." Letty clinked her glass against his, then hummed with pleasure as she took her first sip.

The sensual sound went straight to his groin. Suddenly he couldn't tear his eyes from the neckline of her dress. It was wide, baring a hint of shoulder, and skimmed across the upper swells of her breasts, giving a tantalizing hint of the curves concealed by her corsetry.

"So," Letty said, resting her glass upon the balustrade, "what did you think of Miss Seymour?"

Miss Seymour? Who the hell was Miss Seymour?

Then he remembered—Miss Seymour, the woman he had met that very afternoon. The one he had ostensibly brought Letty out onto this balcony to discuss.

Wait… there was no ostensibly about it. The entire reason he was here was to discuss Miss Seymour and his next prospective bride. He hadn't come out here to do… other things.

Horse shit, that irritating little voice whispered again.

Vander cleared his throat. "Although she was a significant improvement compared to Miss Peabody, I'm afraid we would not suit."

"No?" He would have expected Letty to look irked that he had rejected yet another of her candidates, especially as, he had to admit, Miss Seymour had met his requirements quite admirably.

Instead, she looked… relieved.

"What was the matter this time?" Letty asked.

"We had nothing in common. The topics in which she held an interest I found a bit dull, and vice versa. And what was worse, I made a remark that was slightly—and I mean slightly—suggestive, and she looked to be on the verge of swooning."

Letty laughed. When she glanced up at him, her eyes were twinkling with mischief. "And goodness knows, your future bride must possess a high tolerance for innuendo."

"Precisely. A leopard cannot change its spots. I'm not going to transform into some choirboy the moment I take my vows."

"Fair enough. So, let's see, you want someone who is beautiful, intelligent, and, let us say, sophisticated." She turned toward the darkened gardens, leaning against the rail. "My task grows more difficult by the day."

Vander took up a place on the balustrade next to her. "Not so difficult, surely. I really just want someone I can talk to." He nudged her with his shoulder. "You know, the way I can talk to you."

Come on, Vander, that vexing little voice whispered. You were third wrangler. You're not an idiot. If the woman you can talk to is Letty, the woman whose company you enjoy is Letty, and the woman whose bosom you can't stop staring at is Letty, then the woman you should marry is—

He ruthlessly quashed that thought. Because he absolutely could not marry Letty! She deserved someone better than him. And David. He couldn't forget about David.

Just about everything in his life was going to hell right now. If he went and ruined his friendship with David by dangling after his little sister, he wouldn't have anything left.

Beside him, Letty's shoulder stiffened. "Someone you can talk to as you can talk to me, just not me. I understand you perfectly." She said it lightly, but her cheerfulness sounded forced. She looked at him at last, and her smile did not reach her eyes. "We're going to Vauxhall tomorrow night. If you will consent to join us, I'll see if I can arrange your next introduction."

"That would be wonderful. Thank you." Vander cleared his throat. He hadn't meant to steer the conversation into such awkward territory. He sought a change of subject. "So, how are things with your suitors? Have you taken my advice?"

Letty's cheeks went scarlet, and she jerked her gaze back to the gardens below. "Y-your advice?" she stammered. "You mean, about kissing them again?"

Well, shit. So much for steering the conversation out of awkward territory.

Vander found that he wasn't much in the mood to discuss Letty kissing Strickleton or Throckmorton, but it was too late to change course. "Er… yes. Did you find a chance to kiss Strickleton, or—"

"At the British Museum?" Letty's laugh was slightly wild. "What was I supposed to do, pull him inside one of the sarcophaguses?"

That startled a chuckle out of him. "Well, I'm sure someone must've done it before."

"I highly doubt it," Letty muttered. "Kissing someone inside a sarcophagus sounds like the plot of the world's most ridiculous novel. But, to answer your question, no, an opportunity did not present itself for me to kiss Mr. Strickleton—"

Good, growled the voice in his head.

"—but I took your advice with regards to Lord Throckmorton this very evening," she said in a rush, cheeks aflame.

What the hell? He could admit—grudgingly—that Strickleton had a certain appeal. But why the hell would Letty want to kiss a stuffy old man like Throckmorton?

Because those are the choices she has. We've been through this, Vander. Try to keep up.

He gripped the balustrade with white knuckles. "And how was it?" he asked, his voice strangled.

Letty kept her gaze fixed upon the gardens. "Suffice to say, the experience did not improve with repetition."

Good.

No. No, it wasn't good. Letty might very well spend the rest of her life kissing Throckmorton. Did he want her to be miserable? What kind of uncharitable churl was he?

If he was a decent fellow, he would help her.

And there was only one way he could think of to help her.

Vander glanced around and found the balcony deserted. Grabbing Letty's hand, he hurried toward the stone steps that led down into the garden.

"Vander?" Her voice was breathless. "Wh-what are you doing?"

He towed her down a graveled path toward an arched door. "The problem is, if you've never had a proper kiss yourself, you have little hope of coaxing either of your suitors into doing better."

They passed through the door into a walled garden. It was quiet back here, the sounds of the ball diminishing to a distant thrum. The path led beneath a series of arched trellises upon which red roses were just starting to bloom. More flowers in yellow and blue filled the beds lining the path.

Letty tugged him to a halt beneath one of the trellises. "What, exactly, are you suggesting?"

One of his hands came up, brushing the fringe back from her forehead and curling behind her ear. When he spoke, his voice was pitched an octave lower than usual. "Do you not want me to?"

He could feel her pulse fluttering beneath his fingers at the place his hand had settled upon her neck.

She swallowed thickly. "I think you're right. It's the sensible thing to do."

He brought his other hand up and framed her face. "Sensible. Precisely."

That's all this was. He was kissing her because it was practical. It was the most efficient way for her to learn. He was only trying to help her.

As a friend.

Horse sh— that irksome little voice started to say.

But Vander silenced it by bringing his lips down upon Letty's.