What she’d seen so far with Dante, either her negotiation skills were better than she’d known, or he respected her enough to listen to what she had to say and allow her to do things of which he might not approve.
Her ruminations were interrupted by the carriage slowing down. Dante had apparently been lost in thought, also, since he drew his eyes away from the window where he watched the lights of London pass them by and smiled at her.
Oh, dear. His smile had her insides turning to mush.
He had the audacity to wink. “Are you ready?”
Attempting to calm her now racing heart, she took a deep breath. “Yes. I am.”
She gathered her shawl and reticule and moved forward on the seat. Dante stepped out and turned to assist her. His touch was strong, warm, and did not help her racing heart.
They made their way up the steps to the front door that was held open by a butler. “Good evening, Mr. Rose, Miss Sanford.”
Lydia was impressed that the butler had recognized them. It appeared their pretend courtship was becoming known.
They followed a footman upstairs and down a corridor to a room filled with other guests, gathered into small groups, chatting away.
Since they would not be announced as they would have been at a ball, they entered the room. And were immediately surrounded by women.
Dante had spent the entire carriage ride dwelling on the upcoming house party. Five days! That meant five nights, also. Five nights when he would be in a bed in the same house where Lydia was in a bed.
Hopefully, the men would be a distance from the women. Although he’d never attended a respectable house party—he grinned—from what he’d heard there was a great deal of room switching at the Upper Crust events.
Much to his chagrin and annoyance they’d barely stepped over their host for the evening’s threshold when several women walked in their direction and immediately surrounded him. Aside from his growing feelings for Lydia—not completely admitted just yet—it was rather bad manners for women to step up to him, edging aside the woman with whom he’d entered the room.
He pulled Lydia closer to his body. “Good evening, ladies. I assume you all know Miss Sanford?”
“Yes. Of course. She has been around for years.” Lady Emmaline offered a smug smile in Lydia’s direction.
“That is true, my lady. And the reason you know that is because you have been around for years, as well.” Lydia’s smile was friendlier, but still her words cut.
Dante had to forced down the laughter. He turned to Lydia. “Shall we find our seats.”
“Dante, I would love if you—and Miss Sanford—would join us.” She waved at another young lady seated in a group of chairs tucked away in a corner.
“Thank you so much, Miss Thompson, but I believe Miss Sanford prefers to stay closer to the music.” He glanced down at Lydia who seemed to be suppressing a laugh herself.
“Yes. I do prefer closer.” Lydia turned to the three women remaining. “I’ve heard the Misses Price perform before. They are very good.”
Dante nodded and moved Lydia way from the startled looks on the women’s faces. “Once the Ambassador arrives, we will probably have to switch seats anyway, and I didn’t want to be confined in the corner.”
She looked up at him. “Is that the only reason you declined her invitation?”
Bloody hell. The woman was still fixated on the attention he drew wherever they went. What was he to say, yes, that is the reason? Or admit he had become tired of all the innuendoes and open invitations he’d been receiving? Perhaps the most startling fact was that he’d had no intimate contact with a woman since he’d met Lydia.
Truth be known, this foray into the Beau Monde had him thinking hard about his life up until now. He’d always enjoyed a fondness for women, loved his single state and reveled in his work at the club, watching the business grow with his and his brothers’ hard work.
Lately he’d been feeling a bit uneasy about it all. Perhaps it was the women swarming him at every event, or the look of annoyance and in some cases, hurt, on Lydia’s face when he bantered with the ladies.
He knew in his heart he owed her nothing. They were partners, doing a job for the Home Office. Once the assignment ended, most likely they would never again cross paths since he had no intention of ever stepping foot into a ton ballroom or other event for the rest of his life. Yet never seeing Lydia again did not sit as well with him as it would have weeks ago.
“I suggest instead of taking a seat, we stroll the room and watch for the Ambassador to arrive,” Lydia offered.
They kept their heads together, speaking nonsense, just to avoid anyone interrupting them so they could watch the door for the Ambassador.
About five minutes before the musicale was to begin, the man entered, again accompanied by the same companion.
Lydia sighed. “I don’t think the man with the Ambassador is our contact. They spend too much time together speaking of Germany and what they miss of the place. I’m beginning to think they are merely friends.”