The Birth of Blue Satan by Patricia Wynn Read Free Book Online

at her aunt’s impertinence. There was something in his look that made her fear Lord Hawkhurst had had nothing good to say about his son’s feelings for Isabella.
    “It was nothing that should interest you, ma’am.” He turned his back on Mrs. Mayfield’s impudent stare. Keeping his eyes off Isabella and her partner with a remarkable show of will, he turned to Hester instead. “You are not dancing, Mrs. Kean. May I beg your hand to finish this set?”
    Hester started to smile, a quiver mounting from her stomach into her throat, though a drawn look about his eyes made her hesitate just an instant too long.
    “Now, my lord—” with a quelling look at Hester and a frown that threw daggers, Mrs. Mayfield intervened— “you would disturb the lines if you was to enter the dance this late. The set is just about over, I believe.”
    St. Mars was turning towards her in astonishment, when he caught Hester’s rueful expression, and an unmistakable flicker of amusement lit his eyes. A look of understanding passed between them. Faced with his awareness of her aunt’s machinations, Hester could not restrain a smile, and she had to bow her head to hide it.
    “We shall wait, then,” his lordship said, with a profound bow—more to disguise his own grin, she guessed, than to punctuate his statement— “until the start of another dance.”
    Hester did her best to squelch the feeling of hope these words gave her. Chances were, she and Lord St. Mars would never have that dance. But the look he had given her, a recognition that she was possessed of a wit he could enjoy, had done more to speed her heartbeat this evening than any other gentleman’s more formal attentions.
    The Duke of Bournemouth escorted Isabella back. Greetings followed in which Hester played no part. Being ignored allowed her to observe the gentlemen’s faces to see if she could determine the depth of their feelings for her cousin or indeed Isabella’s for them.
    As she’d expected, his Grace showed none of the need to feast his eyes on her cousin that the younger men did, though St. Mars did his best to conceal his desire. Much to Hester’s annoyance, the Duke seemed amused. An air of superiority attended all of his remarks, since he knew fully well his claim would be favoured over any other’s, should he choose to make it.
    But there was something in his attitude tonight that made her believe he had wearied of Isabella’s charms. Mrs. Mayfield would have noticed that his Grace had solicited her daughter’s hand for only one dance, when more would have been allowed. And, contrary to his behaviour at their last two meetings, he had made no attempt to get Isabella alone.
    Now Hester saw a distance in his expression, and she experienced a pang, the cause of which she instantly recognized. She could not be entirely thrilled that St. Mars would have an unobstructed path to her cousin, even though his plans to wed could have nothing at all to do with her. She simply believed that he could do much better for himself—that he would find greater happiness if married to someone other than Isabella. Someone with a livelier intelligence than her cousin possessed.
    Isabella had spoken to him with all the unaffected pleasure with which she greeted her swains. But she had quickly turned away and now was tapping her foot and looking about the ballroom at the ladies’ finery, to all appearances unaware of St. Mars’s burning gaze.
    If he would only look at her with that heat in his eyes, Hester thought, she would swoon on the spot. But, she reflected, neither St. Mars’s desire nor his looks should be of interest to her.
    When the Duke of Bournemouth took his leave, Mrs. Mayfield endeavoured to keep Sir Harrowby engaged in conversation so as to allow Isabella and St. Mars to talk aside. Anxious not to appear to be overhearing them, but trapped beside them in the crush of people, Hester turned her back so they would think she was enjoying the sight of the dancers she