A Game of Persuasion: Extended Prologue for the Art of Ruining a Rake (The Naughty Girls Book 3) (15 page)

But she knew the answer to that even before Delilah scoffed. “It is all I’ve ever wanted. You must be
happy
for me.”

Lucy bit her lip. She was being a spoilsport.

Feeling chastened, she snuggled closer to Delilah and wrapped her arms around her dear little sister, who’d always managed to be the perfect combination of irritating and adoring. “I am,” Lucy assured her, “I promise. I’ll miss you, though. Gloucester is a long way from Bath.”

“It’s half the distance to Devon,” Delilah pointed out reasonably. “You can come for Christmastide.”

Lucy nodded slowly, considering. Visiting her sister on her holiday, two young women with their own independent lives, was all she’d ever dreamed, and it was just days away from becoming reality.

“Trestin will be very angry. Things have been so much pleasanter since he and Celeste…well. This will rile him up again.”

Delilah sighed. Then she turned to face Lucy and tucked her head against her elbow. “I know. But don’t you think he’ll be more understanding, now that he is in a like situation? Miss Smythe is even less suitable than Mr. Conley.”

“He’s not marrying her,” Lucy reminded her sister.

“Not yet, but I do hope he comes to his senses soon.” Delilah fluttered her lashes at Lucy. “Roman seems to be improving. He’s rather sweet on you.”

Lucy remembered the way he’d towered over her, and the longing in his eyes when he’d been—she’d been so
sure
he’d been about to kiss her. But she was still afraid to admit Roman might indeed be coming around. What would she do if such a virile, experienced, untrustworthy man declared himself in love with her?

“You’re the one he was flirting with,” Lucy said, a bit churlishly.

Delilah laughed. “It was
you
he pulled aside. What did he want, anyway? It was very bold of him to take you away right under Trestin’s nose.”

Lucy pushed the coverlet to her waist as the room suddenly seemed too warm. “I think he wanted to kiss me!”

“No!”

Lucy crowed gaily. “It crossed his mind, I’m sure of it.”

Delilah’s eyes went wide. “What did you do?”

She sobered. “Nothing, unfortunately. He realized his mistake before anything exciting could happen. It was the most disappointing moment of my entire life.”

“He’ll try again.”

Delilah said it with such certainty, Lucy wanted to believe her. But she worried the edge of the coverlet and let her mind fill with doubt. “He didn’t come to Lady Julson’s tonight. I think he might be avoiding me.”

“Then you must go to him.”

Lucy shook her head, though she very much wanted to do just that. Wielding her feminine power meant waiting imperiously for him to come to her—a tactic sure to try her nerves. “Celeste was very specific. He must be the one who relents, not me. Look how long she waited for Trestin! Not once did she try to call on him. It took months, but finally, he broke.”

Delilah pursed her lips. “If you wait too long, you’ll be in Bath.”

Lucy was silent a moment. “I hadn’t finalized the date of my departure, but now that you’ll be leaving London and Trestin will throw himself into a fit of hysterics the moment he learns of it, I’ll need to go sooner than I anticipated.” She bit her lip. “Once Trestin and I part ways, I’m unlikely to see Roman for months, if not years. There must be a way to speed things along.”

Delilah gazed at her. “Have you any notion which routs he will attend? You could make an appearance at one of them. It wouldn’t be going to him, exactly. Just making it a little bit easier for him to come to you.”

Lucy did like the idea of looking in on him, for a change. “When it comes to
ton
events, I can only guess which ones he will grace with his presence. But he did tell me about a salon he frequents each Thursday.”

“Oh? That sounds promising.”

Lucy pressed her lips together. “Yes, well… I’d like to think I’m brave enough to set foot inside Madame Claremont’s salon, but I’m not naïve enough to believe I wouldn’t be recognized immediately. Perhaps your idea won’t work, and I must be patient, instead.”

Delilah pulled a face. “Patient! If you are any more patient, you’ll be dead.”

It was true. If Lucy didn’t complete this little game of cat and mouse with Roman, she’d die of anticipation.

She blinked as a brilliant idea came to her. If the problem was being seen, she could solve it by being
unseen
. “I have it! I’ll wear a mask. I can disguise my voice, too, and my mannerisms. He’ll never recognize me, because he won’t expect me.”

Delilah gaped at her. “Lucy! Are you mad?”

“I must be!” Lucy chortled and folded the coverlet neatly across her lap. “Never mind the poetry reading,” she murmured excitedly, knowing she’d never sleep now. “I’m going to attend a Cyprians’ ball.”

Chapter 11

LUCY ADJUSTED HER demi-mask as it began to slip down the bridge of her nose. Lord de Winter, one of the men Roman had attempted to introduce her to at the start of her Season, caught her black silk-gloved hand. “You’re the only woman in this room I don’t recognize. Even one arching eyebrow might be enough to stimulate my memory. Let me see your face.”

She pulled him toward her and flipped her wrist so that she held his hand, instead. The demi-mask made her bold. So did this man’s dogged determination to flirt with her. A hundred beautiful women in the room, and he’d set
her
in his sights. “You don’t know me, my lord, and I prefer to keep it that way.”

He flattened his palm against hers and threaded their fingers together. Had it been Roman caressing her, she would have ached with longing. Instead she gave in to the power Lord de Winter’s attraction fed her.

She stepped backward slowly, so that they circled each other in an elegant little dance.

“I can be very persuasive,” he said.

“Luckily for me,” an unfamiliar voice drawled behind her, “there is no rule that a woman must accept the first offer that comes her way.”

Lucy turned to see the new man. She didn’t untangle her fingers from Lord de Winter’s.

Never had she felt such command; now she knew what Celeste had been trying to teach her all these weeks. But how could she ever have learned
this
under her usual circumstances? Even when Roman had skirted propriety, he’d always held her at a figurative arm’s length, never forgetting she was Trestin’s sister.

The man who had approached was another stranger. Tall, like Roman, and blond, but much younger, perhaps a few years older than herself. He bowed to her. “Lord Chelford, madam. I hope I am not too late to rescue you from this braggart.”

She released Lord de Winter’s hand so the earl had no choice but to let her go, then she dipped to Lord Chelford. “Rescue me, my lord? Are you brave enough to call for pistols? He told me he will fight to the death for my attentions.”

Lord Chelford cast a playfully disdainful look at the other man. “This dandy? I cut my teeth out-shooting him.”

Yet another hopeful approached. This one looked familiar. Ah, yes, she did remember him. The first time Roman had taken her for a turn, this man had been kissing a woman on the balcony.

One of the man’s arms was slung around a cat-eyed woman with flaming orange hair. Her lips pouted in a sultry moue while the man looked Lucy up and down as if she were a delectable morsel.

“What have you blocks-for-brains found?” He patted the auburn-haired woman on her backside. “Go on, now,” he said, sending her off.

She sauntered away, not the least bit put out. There were a hundred more men in the room.

Lucy had three admirers now—and not one sign of Roman. She searched for a glimpse of his golden halo, but none of the guinea-haired men she spotted were tall enough to be her quarry.
 

What if he didn’t come?

A fourth man some several meters distant caught her eye as her gazed passed over him. He raised his glass to her. She smiled coolly, then craned her neck to look about the rest of the soiree and almost had an apoplexy from fright.

Her brother had entered the room.

Celeste was on his arm. Her stunning gown proclaimed her queen; she could have worn rags, however, and Lucy would have known she was no common lightskirt. Men and women alike stepped away to make room for her and Trestin to pass. No one attempted to approach her. Yet the way they gawked at her, as if they’d just encountered royalty, reminded Lucy that Celeste had been a courtesan for many, many years.

Perhaps even as long as Lucy had been alive.

Lucy had just experienced an inkling of that power. Celeste owed no one, she bowed to no one, and yet she remained kind. Even Trestin, upright soul that he was, was under her spell. Why else would he have come to a place like this?

Lucy quickly faced her new admirers again. Neither Trestin nor Celeste seemed to have seen her. Thank Zeus for her demi-mask! Never in her life had she expected to encounter her
brother
here.

At least he was distracted. But his presence meant she must leave soon. Where was Roman?

A fifth man had joined their group when she wasn’t looking; she could hardly keep them straight now. She edged closer to Lord de Winter, whom she didn’t know, but who must be honorable, if Roman had considered them making a match.

Her stomach turned. It still troubled her that he’d tried to foist her off on his friends.

Suddenly, the entire room seemed to pulse with expectation. Lucy glanced toward the top of the staircase and her heart gave a little leap. Roman stood there, looking impeccably handsome in a black coat and ivory waistcoat. His square jaw was freshly shaved, and his hair curled in perfect, gilt ringlets.
 

He brandished his voucher for the majordomo, then frowned at the room. Lucy inhaled sharply as the ticket was presented. But no, he thrust it back into his pocket without examining it.

He didn’t seem to realize he was one coupon short.

Slowly, she released the breath she’d been holding. Bit by bit, she forced herself to stop staring at him and return to the conversation taking place around her. But her heart started racing again as, from the corner of her eye, she witnessed him cut a proud figure through the crowd. Straight toward her.
 

She turned abruptly. Great Zeus. He must have seen her.

“Gentlemen,” he said behind her head, “that will be all.”

Oh, no. Oh, no. This wouldn’t do at all. What in Hades was she going to do if he tried to make her leave? She couldn’t make a scene, not with Trestin near enough to witness it.

Chelford brought his glass to his lips. “You can’t have your cake and this one, too. It’s unfair to the rest of us.” He took a swig of wine.

 
“Agreed,” Lord de Winter said. “We gave you Miss Lancester. This one is ours.”

Lucy’s skin pebbled. That was
quite
the possessive statement. But it was the implication that exhilarated her. Had they maintained their distance because they’d observed some unintended signal from Roman, as Celeste had described, or had Roman frightened them away?

She’d give a half crown to know the answer. Yet she dared not turn and face Roman, let alone ask.

“If only I cared a fig about your opinion,” Roman drawled, “but it appears I don’t. Be off with you, and take Scotherby with you. This poor girl doesn’t deserve a lecher like him.”

Lucy forced herself not to turn around. Things were already progressing better than she’d imagined. Celeste had said Roman must be the one to approach her; by coming here, Lucy had gone against that advice. But Roman’s sweeping away her suitors like yesterday’s rubbish was surely the grand gesture Celeste had wanted him to make.

“Very well,” Chelford said, backing away. “But I’m only surrendering because she looks like she’d rather be with you. The life of a songbird, I suppose. All the ladies want to pet you.”

“Perhaps she’ll let him wash her dishes when she realizes he’s no money to pay her,” the balding man who must be Scotherby said with a smirk. Then he, too, took himself off.

The last two men made similar remarks before removing themselves so that only de Winter remained. “The wonderful thing about me,” he murmured to her, “is that I
would
fight for you, if you wanted it.”