She saw the Duke of Burnrath leave the dance floor and go into the gaming room. At first, she was chagrined to find her attention upon him once more, but then she was inspired. A debutante wouldn’t be caught dead there, especially if she were following an unmarriageable gentleman inside. Such an action would ruin her for certain. And if she happened to get a closer look at His Grace, well, it would be more than worthwhile.
She checked to make sure her mother wasn’t watching. Relief and irritation warred as she saw Mother chatting cozily with Lady Osgoode and Lady Makepeace. No doubt attempting to auction her to the highest bidder! Angelica suppressed a derisive snort and headed for the card room.
The second she entered the smoky room, each gentleman looked up from his cards and stared. As a few awkward coughs echoed, her face heated and she was overcome with the urge to flee.
“I thought I saw you come in here,” Victoria said from behind her. “This is really not the place for an unwed lady, but I am sure you are merely curious.”
Her voice was oddly triumphant. Angelica smiled in comprehension. Victoria wanted Angelica’s reputation ruined to raise the odds of her sister making a better match. Let Claire have them all! She stifled the urge to giggle. Champagne, she decided as liquid euphoria tinged the edges of her consciousness, was ever so nice.
She spotted a group of ladies clustered around the faro table, watching the high-stakes play. They waved at Victoria and smirked at Angelica, whispering behind their silk fans.
“Well, I suppose that as long as you are with me, you should be suitably chaperoned,” Victoria said, tugging her farther into the room.
True to her words, the male audience seemed to relax as Angelica joined the group of women. By their presence in this room, they must be of the “fast” set. Mother will have an apoplexy if she sees me here! For some reason, the thought brought back her giggles as she fetched another glass of champagne from a passing footman. The other women looked at each other and laughed. The room tilted and for a moment it seemed that there was two of everything. She blinked and looked back at the women. The way that the jewels at their throats caught the light was extraordinary.
***
For the first time in over two hundred years, Ian was losing a game unintentionally. The Winthrop girl was distracting him. At first he thought she had purposefully followed him into the card room, but since she hadn’t looked at him since she’d come in, he was not so certain. His gaze surreptitiously flickered over her in annoyance. Whatever could she be planning?
“I daresay,” Lord Ponsonby drawled, tapping out his cigar. “That little minx over there is diverting my attention from the game. I am tempted to quit the table and endeavor to receive an introduction.”
“Unless your aim is marriage, I would not consider it.” Lord Makepeace scratched his muttonchop whiskers. “That’s the Pendlebur heiress.”
Ponsonby shook his head. “She couldn’t be. An heiress would not risk her reputation coming in here.”
“I am certain that my wife is responsible for this,” Viscount Wheaton’s brows drew together in consternation. “This has the signature of one of Victoria’s pranks. The poor miss likely has no idea she is doing anything wrong.”
“Well, if the damage is already done…” Ponsonby stood. “My breeches haven’t been this tight in years. Anyone care to wager that I can seduce her before the night is out?”
“You will not,” Ian countered with a growl and rose from the table, confused that he felt so strongly about a girl naive enough to allow her reputation to be ruined. Or maybe the thought of Ponsonby’s limpid hands upon her silken flesh was what vexed him.
Ponsonby raised a brow. “God’s teeth, Burnrath, I thought you didn’t dally with maidens.”
“I do not.” He crossed the room behind Ponsonby. “I merely believe someone should be mature enough to put a stop to this foolishness.”
Ponsonby ignored him and approached the girl. “And who is this beautiful lady?” he said, straining to peer down her bodice.
Ian followed close behind, ready to throttle the sod if he so much as touched the innocent beauty. Oblivious to the tension filling the room, the debutante hiccupped and retrieved a smoldering cheroot from the table. Her gaze was laced with scorn as she, unbelievably, put it to her lush lips and inhaled.
All eyes fixed upon her in stunned silence as she blew out a cloud of smoke and quoted, “‘Taught from infancy that beauty is woman’s scepter, the mind shapes itself to the body, and roaming round its gilt cage, only seeks to adorn its prison.’”
Ian couldn’t suppress his laughter. He didn’t know what was more amusing about her quote: the fact that the chit was well-read, or that a beauty such as she was reciting the words of the infamous Mary Wollstonecraft.
She swayed on her feet and his amusement dissipated as he realized that the girl was foxed. Frowning, he extracted the cheroot from her dainty fingers and took her hand.
“I believe I owe you a dance.” He forced a casual tone, hoping to get her out of the card room and back to the ballroom without a scene.