‘For both sexes,’ I observed, seeing a young man shove an elbow into the ribs of one of them to escape a hand on the buttock.
‘Er, yes.’ James slid me a sideways glance.
‘I suppose they feel safe enough in this company,’ I said. ‘It is quite a shock to remember that it is a criminal offence to follow one’s preferences at this time.’
‘And it is not when you come from?’
‘No. Not at all. Where is our host?’ I asked before he could question me further. It wouldn’t do him any good to know that I had gay friends who were married. At least, I wasn’t going to break it to him in the middle of a party.
‘Over there.’ He sounded rattled and I cursed myself for saying anything about the young man. ‘Welney – excellent party!’
The tall, dark man who turned at the sound of his name nodded. ‘Franklin, heard you were back. Glad you could come. And who is this?’ His assessing, confident, gaze slid over me.
He probably had some cause to be confident with women – he was good-looking in a saturnine manner, old enough to intrigue and flatter the young ladies, with the flashes of silver at his temples and his air of confidence, and sophisticated enough to handle the more experienced.
Handle was probably the word. His look was like a touch. I smiled back and took a deep breath, drawing his eyes down to my diamond-embellished cleavage.
‘Cassandra, allow me to introduce you to the Viscount Welney. George, my American cousin, Miss Lawrence. She has just arrived in London, so I am taking her about a bit.’
‘Miss Lawrence.’ He took my hand and bowed over it but didn’t do anything as obvious as kiss it. I was beginning to appreciate his technique. ‘Allow me to take you around a bit here, see to whom I may introduce you.’
James stepped back and I put my hand on the proffered arm. ‘Thank you, my lord.’
‘Call me George, my dear, everyone does,’ he said. ‘And I will call you Cassandra.’
‘Cassie, please.’
We strolled about the room while George introduced me to perhaps a dozen people, all of whose names I promptly forgot, I was focussing so hard on not putting a foot wrong with him. A fine undercover cop I’d make. I forced myself to concentrate and then became even more alert when he swept me into an alcove. It was partly screened from the room by a hooked-back curtain that only needed a twitch to give the occupants total privacy as they sat on the chaise longue. Of course, it had to be a chaise longue – those spindly little gilt chairs would be no good for seduction.
I sat down, but I choose the side nearest the curtain tie-back: I had no intention of suddenly finding myself alone with him in private. Another glass of champagne appeared as if by magic and I wracked my brains for a way to introduce the subject of the missing Arabella.
‘This is a lovely party, but I confess I feel a trifle out of place here,’ I said. ‘There do not seem to be any unmarried ladies like me.’
‘Not very young ones, no.’ His heavy-lidded eyes regarded me as though watching for signs of affront. ‘When I say young I mean… inexperienced in the way of the world.’
‘I would have thought that they would want to come – the more daring ones, that is. I gather you have a certain reputation, George. A rather naughty one.’ I unfurled my fan without, by some miracle, dropping it, and used it to create a bit of space between us while making eyes at him over the top. ‘I should think that gate-crashing your parties must be akin to sneaking out of the house to attend some masquerade.’
‘Hmm.’ The sensual mouth twisted. ‘But those who might make good wives should give both my entertainments and a masquerade a wide berth.’
‘Wives? Are you venturing into the Marriage Mart, George?’ And presumably looking for some innocent miss while you reserve the right to screw your way round London with anyone you please, you hypocrite.
‘Sadly I am, I confess. Getting oneself leg-shackled is a depressingly serious undertaking, but duty calls. There’s the title to consider.’
Presumably duty called in the form of a fat dowry attached to the innocent miss in question. He had obviously sized me up as a miss without the innocence because he was making definite progress along the chaise towards me. I furled my fan and fetched him a playful, and probably painful, tap on the thigh with it and he smiled and stopped, accepting the rebuke for the moment.
‘You made your come-out in America, Cassie?’
‘Yes, in Boston. But my branch of the family is not in Society in the way that my cousins Lucian and James are.’
‘More… mercantile interests perhaps? Boston being such a fine trading city.’
‘Very modestly,’ I said, fanning myself and pretending not to notice the fishing.
‘Now you are bamming me, Cassie, sitting there with that exquisite necklace around your lovely neck.’
‘Oh, this? Borrowed from Cousin Lucian. He is so good to me.’
‘Indeed, it would appear so. Ah, I see Colonel Winstanley. Now, I know you would enjoy meeting him.’