She spied Harry in the 'throng, but was not the least surprised when her errant nephew showed no disposition to come within firing range. But it was not him she had come to see.

"Indisposed?" Lord Ruthven's cool grey eyes reflected honest concern.

"I do hope it's nothing serious?"

Well--it is and it isn't. " Em lifted a brow at him. " You're one who's far more awake than you appear, so I dare say you've noticed that she's been endeavouring to bring a certain recalcitrant to heel. Never an easy task, of course. A difficult road to travel--p.r.o.ne to find potholes in one's path.

She's a bit moped at present. "

Em paused to glance again at his lordship.

"Dare say, when she reappears tomorrow, she could do with a little encouragement, don't y'know?"

Lord Ruthven studied Harry's aunt with wary fascination.

"Ah--indeed."

After a moment, in which he recalled the numerous times Harry had cut him out when they'd both had the same ladybird in their sights, he said,

"Pray convey my most earnest wishes for a speedy recovery to Mrs Babbacombe.

I will, of course, be delighted to welcome her back to our midst--I look forward to her return with uncommon antic.i.p.ation."

Em grinned.

"Dare say you do."

With a regal wave, she dismissed him. Lord Ruthyen bowed gracefully and withdrew.

Fifteen minutes later, Mr Amberly stopped by her chaise. The instant the formalities were over, he asked, "Wondered if you'd be so good as to convey my regards to Mrs Babbacombe? Understand she's under the weather tonight.

She's a distraction sorely missed by us poor bachelors. Wanted to a.s.sure her of my continuing support when she once again graces our halls." Em smiled her approval.

"I'll make certain to pa.s.s your kind words on, sir."

Mr Amberly bowed and drifted away.

To Em's satisfaction, her evening was punctuated by a succession of similar encounters as, one after another, Harry's close friends stopped by to pledge their aid in furthering Lucinda's cause.

CHAPTER NINE.

LADY MOTT'S drum bade fair to being the most horrendous crush of the Season.

Or so Lucinda thought as she inched through the crowd on Lord Sommerville's arm. About them, the ton milled en ma.s.se; it was difficult to see more than five feet in any direction. "Phew!" Lord Sommerville threw her an apologetic glance.

"Pity the crance landed us so far from your companions.

Normally enjoy wandering the room--but not like this. "

"Indeed." Lucinda tried to keep her smile bright, no mean effort when she felt like Wilting. The heat was rising about them; bodies hemmed them in.

"I must confess that I've yet to divine why such a crowd, beyond the bounds of sense, should be considered so desirable." Lord Sommerville nodded sagely.

Lucinda hid a weak grin. His lordship was close to her own age, yet she felt immeasurably older. He was still striving for a position amongst the rakes of the ton; in her opinion, he had some developing yet to do before he would rival some she could name.

Harry's image rose in her mind; with an effort, she banished it, There was no point in bemoaning what was well and truly split milk.

Ever since she had flung his offer in his teeth, she'd been plagued by doubts--doubts she did not wish to countenance. She hadn't seen him since; he had not returned to go down on bended knee. Presumably, he had yet to see the error of his ways. Or else, despite her firm conviction--and what did she know of the matter, after all? --he did not truly love her.

She kept telling herself that if that was so, then it was all for the best--when he had forced her to put her thoughts into words, she had realised just how much a marriage built on love now meant to her. She had everything else she could want of life--except that--a loving husband with whom she could build a future. And what use was all the rest without that?

She'd been right--but her heart refused to lift, hanging like a leaden weight in her breast.

Lord Sommerville craned his neck to peer forward. "Looks like the crowd thins just ahead."

Her smile growing weaker, Lucinda nodded. The couple immediately in front of them paused to acknowledge an introduction. Trapped, they halted. Lucinda glanced to her left--directly at a gold pin in the shape of an acorn, nestling in the snowy folds of a cravat tied with mathematical precision.

She knew that pin--she had pulled it free a little over twenty-four hours before. A vice tightened about Lucinda's chest. She looked up.

Clear green eyes, the colour of a storm-tossed sea, met hers. Her heart in her mouth, Lucinda searched but could read nothing in his shadowed gaze. His expression was hard, impa.s.sive, the planes of his face an impenetrable mask.

Defeated there, Lucinda looked at his lips.

Only to see them firm, thinning into a severe line. Puzzled, she glanced up--and caught a fleeting glimpse of uncertainty in his eyes. She sensed his hesitation.

Five feet and two pairs of shoulders separated them. His eyes returned to hers; their gazes locked. He shifted, his lips twisted, quirking up at the ends. "Ah--there we are. At last!" Lord Sommerville turned and bowed, gesturing before them.

Distracted, Lucinda looked ahead and discovered the crowd had eased, leaving a path forward.

"Ah--yes."

She' glanced at Harry.

Only to see him turn aside to greet an imposing matron with a simpering young girl in tow. He acknowledged the introduction to the chit with a restrained bow.

Battling the constriction in her chest, Lucinda drew in a deep breath and turned away, forcing herself to listen to Lord Sommerville's patter with some semblance of interest.

From the corner of his eye, Harry watched her move away; he clung to the sight of her until she was swallowed up by the crowd. Only then did he give his attention to Lady Argyle.

"Just a little soiree--a. select few only." Lady Argyle beamed.

"So you younger folk can chat and get to know each other better. Not something one can readily accomplish in this crowd, is it?"

Her ladyship's protruberant eyes invited him to agree. Harry was far too old a hand to fall for the trick. His expression coldly impa.s.sive, he looked down on her from a very great distance.

"I'm afraid, Lady Argyle, that I'm otherwise engaged. Indeed," he continued, languid boredom threatening,

"I don't look. to spend much time in the ballrooms this Season." He caught her ladyship's suspicious eye.

"Pressing matters elsewhere,"

he murmured. With a smooth bow, he took advantage of a break in the surrounding throng to slip away, leaving Lady Argyle unsure just what, exactly, he had been telling her.