Lucien Tregellas by Margaret McPhee Read Free Book Online Page B

expression fell into none of those categories.
    She smiled.
    Lucien traced the outline of it with his eyes. He doubted that he would see her smile again once he told her his name.
    The band played on. Their feet moved in time across the floor. Silence stretched between them.
    â€˜I am Tregellas.’ There was nothing else he could say.
    â€˜Tregellas?’ she said softly.
    He watched while she tried to place the name, the slight puzzlement creasing a tiny line between her brows. Perhaps she did not know of him. And then he saw that she did after all. Shock widened the tawny glow of her eyes. The smile fled her sweet pink lips. Uncertainty stood in its stead.
    â€˜Earl Tregellas? The Wick—’ She stopped herself just in time.
    â€˜At your service, Miss Langley,’ he said smoothly, as if he were just any other polite gentleman of the ton.
    Her gaze fluttered across his face, anxiety clouding her beautiful eyes, before she masked them with long black lashes. He thought he felt her body stiffen beneath his fingers.
    â€˜I’m not Farquharson,’ he growled. ‘You need have no fear of me.’ Hell, he was trying to save her, not ravish her himself. And anyway, he had no interest in young ladies of Miss Langley’s ilk. Indeed, he had not paid attention to any woman in five long years, or so he reminded himself.
    She raised her eyes and looked at him, really looked at him, as if she could see the man beneath, the real Lucien Tregellas.
    â€˜No, you’re not Farquharson.’ Her voice was scarcely more than a whisper.
    Lucien found that he could not take his eyes from hers. The censure that he expected was not there. There was nothing except an open, honest appraisal.
    The music came to a halt.
    â€˜Thank you, Miss Langley,’ he said, but whether it was for the dance or for her recognition that he and Farquharson were miles apart, he did not know. Her small hand was still enclosed in his. Swiftly he placed it upon his arm and escorted her back to her mother in silence.
    And all the while he was conscious that Miss Madeline Langley had seen behind the façade that was the Wicked Earl.
    Â 
    â€˜Madeline, what on earth do you think you’re playing at?’ her mother demanded. ‘Do you know who that is?’ she whispered between clenched teeth.
    â€˜Earl Tregellas,’ Madeline said slowly, her words slightly stilted.
    â€˜Of all the most ill-mannered men. He takes you off without even consulting your mama! Not so much as a by your leave! How could you dance with him when Lord Farquharson’s name is written clearly upon your card against the waltz!’ Mrs Langley’s hand scrabbled for her handkerchief. ‘I declare my nerves are in a terrible state. Oh, Madeline, whatever were you thinking of? He has the blackest reputation of any man in London!’
    â€˜I could not refuse him without causing a scene.’ She omitted to mention that she would rather have danced with the infamous Wicked Earl a thousand times over than let Lord Farquharson lay one finger upon her. ‘I did not wish to embarrass you, Mama.’
    â€˜Embarrass me? Embarrass me?’ The words seemed to be in danger of choking Mrs Langley. ‘Never has a mother been more embarrassed by the actions of such a vexing daughter!’ She dabbed at her eyes. ‘And what will Lord Farquharson think of this?’
    Madeline held her tongue.
    â€˜How could you do it, Madeline? It was as good as giving him a cut in front of the world.’ Mrs Langley’s bosom heaved dramatically.
    Madeline tried to ignore the numerous stares that were being sent in her direction. She made no sign of having heard the whispers from the ladies in the seats surrounding them. ‘No one knew what was on my dance card. Most likely they would have believed it to be empty as is usual.’
    The whispers grew louder.
    Angelina tugged at her mother’s arm. ‘Mama,’ she said.