Francesca Read Free Page A

to gain attention. Who could he be? He was right about Arnold’s possibly lingering outside. It was exactly the childish sort of thing he would do. She really must graduate to more urbane flirts, she told herself. These boys were becoming a bore. “May I offer you a glass of champagne, sir?”she suggested, indicating the table, where a half bottle still remained.
    Champagne, indeed wine of any sort, was not the reward Lord Devane had in mind. In any case, he would never drink another man’s leavings. But he was in no hurry. He enjoyed the preliminaries of love as well as the main event. He lifted his hand, ordered a fresh glass and a new bottle of wine. “I prefer port. You finish the champagne,”he said, holding her chair.
    As soon as he was seated, he pulled aside his mask. “I have nothing to hide, have you?”he said, hinting for her to follow his lead.
    Francesca felt herself being subjected to a frank, searching gaze from a pair of eagle eyes that lifted the hair on her arms. A slash of black brows lent her rescuer a menacing aspect. She touched her mask but didn’t remove it.
    Devane glanced at her left hand, and saw her naked third finger. She had cast the ring aside when she learned of David’s infidelity. Single ladies of quality did not come to such dens as this. She was therefore a lightskirt, and a demmed pretty one, to judge by those cherry lips. Her chin was small and somewhat pointed. He was eager to win a smile, to judge her teeth. He always took an interest in a filly’s teeth. He had noticed her lithe form and dashing gown some minutes before, while she was dancing. “Well?”
    “I really shouldn’t be here,”she said nervously. His raking gaze set her on edge.
    “I won’t tell anyone if you don’t. What is your name?”
    After Arnold’s somewhat scandalous exit she had no intention of revealing her true identity. “Biddie,”she said, reaching into the distant past for her baby name.
    “Biddie what?”
    “Wilson.”Her maiden name could mean nothing to him. “And whom am I to thank for rescuing me?”
    He noticed her accent was good, though somewhat countrified. Perhaps an actress, hoping to play a lady at Covent Garden? “Devane.”
    A little gasp caught in her throat. So this was the great Devane! She recognized the name from the journals and conversations overheard here and there. Devane was not in the government—she had some vague thought that he was a prominent Whig. She knew that a title attached to him, but couldn’t recall whether he was a duke or marquess, or perhaps an earl. “My—friend was somewhat impetuous,”she said apologetically.
    “A woman must be a little careful of her friends.”
    “Yes.”
    The port and glass came, and they drank without speaking for a moment. “The major leaves for the Peninsula in a few days,”she said to fill the stretching silence,
    “And he wanted some pleasant memories to take back with him,”Devane said insinuatingly.
    She disliked his tone, and the direction of the conversation. “He wanted me to marry him,”she said.
    Devane’s lips moved in silent derision. “And who shall blame him? The Dragoons are known for their excellent taste in ladies,”After how many bottles of wine had the fool suggested marriage—if he had suggested it?
    “He’s very young,”she said, and gave her characteristic shrug. Devane’s eyes lowered to her partially revealed bosoms.
    “Not younger than you, surely? You don’t look more than—”He hesitated. With her eyes hidden, it was difficult to judge, but certainly she wasn’t hagged. Her jaw was firm and smooth.
    “Oh, I am very old,”she said, and laughed. A silver tinkle echoed on the air. She felt a hundred, but as her companion’s lips moved unsteadily, she realized that she was not so old as he. He must be well into his thirties. Some feminine vanity urged her to point this out. “Perhaps not compared to you, but I am no longer a deb. I am a widow, in fact.”
    He discarded