The Wickedest Lord Alive by Christina Brooke Read Free Book Online Page B

a complicated cravat, his waistcoat was embroidered with subtle gold thread, and a single fob hung from his watch chain. Steyne’s sole adornment was a blazing diamond pin.
    Memory came on a rush of emotion that was all the more powerful for being locked away so long. The air seemed too thin to draw into her lungs.
    Dear Heaven, it was hot in here. Too close, too many people. She needed to escape, but the set was ending and now Lydgate made his way through the crowd toward her to claim his dance.
    Of Steyne, there was no sign.
    The effort cost Lizzie greatly, but she did not spin around to search the room for him. She greeted the viscount with every appearance of calm.
    “Good evening, my lord,” she murmured. “How delightful to see you again.”
    His grin flashed out. “Miss Allbright, I’ve been counting the seconds. Shall we?”
    They made up a four with Clare and Mr. Perkins. There was no opportunity for extended conversation as they moved through the figures of the cotillion, a circumstance for which Lizzie was grateful.
    Perversely, she began to wish she might get the forthcoming confrontation with Steyne over and done—for confrontation there must certainly be. She ought to have agreed to dance with the marquis, loath though she was to pander to his arrogant assumption of authority over her.
    He stood with Lady Chard, the squire, and the squire’s wife. Steyne seemed to converse with them civilly enough, but his face bore its usual expression of cold indifference. With a stab of apprehension, she realized that his attention never left her.
    Which was nothing out of the ordinary; most of the crowd watched either Steyne or Lydgate and, by extension, her. Strangers were uncommon in Little Thurston. Even rarer were two single gentlemen. Two single, wealthy, aristocratic gentlemen as blindingly handsome as fallen angels, to boot.
    Miss Worthington, dancing in the next set, threw Lizzie a look so loaded with venom, it was a wonder Lizzie didn’t collapse at once, foaming at the mouth. Wryly amused, Lizzie suffered the envious glances of other young ladies, knowing that she’d pay the price for being singled out in this manner. She resolved to keep Lydgate fully occupied and dancing with all the local belles in the hope that would soothe any ill feeling her good fortune might cause.
    She would even introduce his lordship to Miss Worthington. Truly, Lizzie deserved a sainthood for such generosity.
    Too occupied with her thoughts to engage in much conversation, Lizzie watched Lydgate’s laughing exchanges with Clare as the dance progressed. Mr. Perkins, on the other hand, threw the viscount a suspicious glare.
    Mr. Perkins excused himself with a bow as soon as the dance ended and departed from the group with a wounded air that had no effect whatsoever upon its intended audience. Lizzie would have left Lydgate and Clare together also, since they appeared to like each other so well, but her escape was cut off.
    The Marquis of Steyne materialized before her. Lizzie barely repressed a start of dismay. Plague the man! His power to disconcert her seemed almost supernatural.
    He bowed. “Miss Allbright.”
    He was like a cat—no, a panther—with a mouse.
    Lizzie marshaled her defenses and curtsied deeply. “Good evening, Lord Steyne. I must present to you my friend, Miss Beauchamp.”
    “Charmed,” said Clare as he bowed over her hand. She stared up at Steyne in her open, appraising way. “Lord Lydgate was just telling me of a picnic he has planned for tomorrow. Do you join us, my lord?”
    One black eyebrow quirked up. “That depends on the business I must execute while I am here.”
    Lydgate said to Clare, “Oh, he’ll come, never fear. Will you need to seek permission from your aunt?”
    “Yes, of course,” Clare said. “Let me take you to Aunt Sadie and we’ll ask her.”
    She slid her hand into the crook of Lydgate’s arm and led him away, oblivious of Lizzie’s predicament. On the one hand, Lizzie was