His gaze turned to her mother. “The yellow plumes are quite fetching, Mrs B. All the other ladies here must be seething with envy.”
Her mother giggled behind her fan and muttered something about a shameless flatterer. Geoffrey turned to Lydia and said, “I believe this is our dance.”
What?
“I beg your pardon?” She could have bitten off her tongue. Philip Hartwell was obviously not coming so their plan had to be scrapped. And yet here was Geoffrey, the object of her every dream and heart’s desire, asking her to dance — and she demurred. Why did she not simply take his arm and be quiet?
He grinned, an endearing lopsided grin that was somehow both boyish and rakish at the same time, and had set her heart aflutter since she was fifteen. “Hartwell is detained indefinitely and asked me to take his place.” Turning his head so her mother couldn’t see, he winked at her.
Dear God, did he mean what she thought he meant? Was he to take Philip’s place in more than just the dance? No, surely not. Philip would not be so heartless, would he? But then, he didn’t know.
Geoffrey took her hand and placed it on his arm. With a little tug — she was almost rooted to the spot, barely able to think, much less move, and so needed that bit of physical encouragement — he gently led her to the centre of the floor where sets were forming. “Don’t worry, Lydia.” He kept his voice low so others would not overhear. Deep and soft as butter, it was a voice that always made her want to close her eyes and allow it to melt all over her. “I know you must be disappointed, but I will do my best. In fact, not to put too fine a point on it, but I daresay I can do a better job of it than old Hartwell.” He winked again, and her feet stopped working properly.
He placed his other hand firmly over hers and manoeuvred her skilfully across the floor without further incident. Surely he had noticed her falter, though he did not mention it. While they waited for the music to begin, he bent his head near hers and said, “Will you trust me to do the job properly?”
She took a deep breath to calm her nerves and decided to feign ignorance. “I have no idea what you mean.” Her voice sounded surprisingly steady, and she was rather proud of herself.
He smiled and gave her a little nudge with his shoulder. “No need to be coy, my girl. Hartwell told all. Had to, of course, since I was to take his place. But, quite frankly, Lydia, I was shocked to learn that you believed such a stratagem was necessary.”
“Oh dear. I suppose it does seem rather foolish.” More foolish than he would ever know.
“Indeed it does. I cannot imagine you have to work so hard to make some worthless chap take notice of you.”
“Worthless? You do not even know who he is.”
“Then tell me. It will make this easier if I know the object of this game.”
“No, I’d rather not tell who he is.” She’d rather die.
“It doesn’t matter. I know who he is.”
Panic prickled the back of her neck. “You do not. You can’t know.”
“I can and I do. He is an undeserving moron, that’s who he is. If he needs encouragement to notice your beauty, your charm, your wit, then he is certainly not worthy of you.”
His words sent a powerful yearning rushing through her veins. Did he mean it, truly mean it, or was he simply using flattery to squirm out of taking part in this fool’s errand?
“Does the fellow show an interest in some other young woman perhaps?”
“No one in particular, as far as I know.”
“And he pays you no notice whatsoever?”
She shrugged. “Very little. Or, at least not in … in that way.”
It wasn’t that he didn’t notice her, or that he ignored her. No, he was well acquainted with her. They had known each other for years, as he was one of Daniel’s closest friends. That was, perhaps, the problem. He treated her just as Daniel did, as a sister. Or worse. She sometimes wondered if he was even aware that she was female. He never looked at her as certain other gentlemen did, with a spark of interest in his eye, or the slightest hint of desire.
Yet, whenever she saw him, for her it was all spark and desire. Among her brother’s friends, Geoffrey was the only one who made her so thoroughly aware of his … maleness. She never much noticed how other men’s pantaloons stretched taut across a well-muscled thigh, or the impressive set of shoulders beneath their tight-fitting coats. But she had been noticing such things about Geoffrey for several years. The sight of him had been making her warm all over since long before she understood what it meant.
“Hmm.” His brow furrowed as he studied her. “And so I am to make this chap jealous?”
No sense in denying what he already knew. Maybe there was still hope for this scheme after all, even if it had been turned topsy-turvy. “That is what Philip and Daniel suggested, and Philip agreed to do it. They said that nothing piques a man’s interest in a young lady like seeing another man shower his attentions on her, especially if that man is generally known for avoiding such things, for keeping himself above any potential entanglement.” She tried to sound blasé but her cheeks flushed with warmth.
“Well, then, I am your man.” He slapped a hand against his chest. “I have never singled out any woman, publicly or privately, so if I am seen acting the mooncalf over you, it will certainly be noticed. Ah, the dance is about to begin. Pay attention, my girl. Observe my uncanny ability to make everyone here believe I am madly in love with you.”
And he did. He even made her believe it. He never took his eyes off her, except for those moments when the steps required him to link arms or hands with another man’s partner. At all other times, his gaze never left her. Sometimes it was so intense, locked so ardently with hers that she almost felt as though they were alone on the dance floor.
It was all perfectly glorious. Except, of course, that it was not real. He was merely play-acting, and doing a splendid job of it.
When the second dance of the set was about to begin, Geoffrey led her out of the line. “Parched, did you say? Then by all means allow me to procure you a restorative glass of chilled champagne.” Lowering his voice, he said, “Let us find the refreshment room and make our plans for the rest of the evening.”
Ever the proper gentleman, Geoffrey first located her mother and told her where he was taking Lydia. She looked puzzled — it was the first set, after all, and had so far not been lively enough to have worked up much of a thirst — but nodded her approval. One small ante-room had been set aside for light refreshments and, as it was still early in the evening, it was almost empty of guests. Geoffrey led her to a table in a corner, then flagged down a footman who brought them glasses of champagne. She had not often partaken of the pale sparkly wine, and smiled when the bubbles tickled her nose, which made Geoffrey laugh. She had been too nervous to eat before the ball, so even a few sips had her feeling slightly giddy. Maybe the champagne would help her get through this odd evening, allow her to enjoy the ridiculous situation instead of walking around in alternate states of confusion and panic.
“How am I doing so far?” he asked.
“You are playing the part beautifully, Mr Danforth.”
“Excellent. Has he noticed?”
“Who?”
“The man I am trying to make jealous, of course.”
“Oh. I … I am not certain.”
“I say, Lydia,” he said, his brow furrowed into a frown, “you had better tell me who the chap is. How am I to make sure he sees me mooning after you? In fact, I believe this whole scheme is doomed to failure unless I know its object. So, tell me. What lucky man has stolen your heart?”