Beside me, Lady Brompton’s cousin screeched like a teenie boy-band fan when the bosom groper sat down at the keyboard and played an arpeggio with great verve. The lovely Lady Lavinia gave Gideon a radiant smile and came forward with her green skirts rustling. I could see now that she wasn’t quite as young as I’d thought. But her singing was great! She sang like Anna Netrebko when we heard her at the Royal Opera House in Covent Garden two years ago. Well, maybe her singing wasn’t quite as great as Anna Netrebko’s, but it was a pleasure to listen to her, all the same. If you liked ornate Italian operatic arias. Which normally I didn’t, to be honest, but thanks to the punch, I did today. And obviously, Italian operatic arias went down tremendously well in the eighteenth century. The people in the room were really enjoying themselves now. Only the poor dog-whist … I mean Miss Fairfax was looking cross.
“Can I steal you away for a moment?” Gideon had come up behind the sofa and was smiling down at me. Of course, now the green lady was otherwise occupied, he’d remembered me again. “The count would be glad to enjoy a little of your company.”
Oh. That was something else. I took a deep breath, picked up my glass, and tipped the contents right down my throat. When I stood up, I felt a pleasant dizzy sensation in my head. Gideon took the empty glass out of my hand and put it down on one of those tables with the cute little paws.
“Was there by any chance anything alcoholic in that?” he whispered.
“No, only punch,” I whispered back. Oops, the floor was kind of uneven here. “I don’t drink alcohol on principle, understand? One of my iron principles. You can have fun even without alcohol.”
Gideon raised one eyebrow and offered me his arm. “I’m glad you’re having a good time.”
“The feeling’s mutual,” I assured him. Wow, these eighteenth-century floors really did wobble. Funny that I hadn’t noticed it earlier. “I mean, she may be a little old for you, but don’t let that bother you. Or the consolation the Duke of Wherever offers her. This really is a great party. People here are a lot nicer than I expected. So happy to make contact … physical contact.” I looked at the piano-playing groper and the second-rate Netrebko. “And they obviously like to sing. Very nice. Makes you feel like jumping up at once to join in.”
“Don’t you dare,” whispered Gideon, leading me over to the sofa where the count was sitting. When he saw us coming, he rose with the flexible ease of a much younger man, curving his lips into an expectant smile.
Okay, I thought, lifting my chin. Let’s act as if I didn’t know that Google says you’re not a real count at all. Let’s act as if you really had an aristocratic title and weren’t a con man of unknown origin. Let’s act as if you didn’t half strangle me last time we met. And let’s act as if I were stone-cold sober.
I let go of Gideon, picked up my heavy red silk skirts, spread them out, and sank into a deep curtsey. Only when the count reached out his hand with its many rings, all set with jewels, did I come up from it.
“My dear child,” he said, and there was a glint of amusement in his dark brown eyes as he patted my hand, “I do admire your elegance. Others can’t even speak their own names after four glasses of Lady Brompton’s special punch.”
Oh, so he’d been counting. I lowered my eyes guiltily. In fact it had been five glasses, but they’d been worth it, they really had! I couldn’t be sorry I’d shaken off that oppressive, vague feeling of anxiety. And I didn’t miss my inferiority complex, either. I liked my tipsy self. Even if I did feel rather unsteady on my legs.
“Merci pour le compliment,” I murmured.
“Delightful!” said the count.
“I’m sorry. I ought to have been watching more closely,” said Gideon.
The count laughed softly. “My dear boy, you were otherwise occupied. And after all, today we are first and foremost intent on amusement, are we not? Particularly as Lord Alastair, to whom I was extremely anxious to introduce this charming young lady, is not yet here. However, I have been brought word that he is on his way.”
“Alone?” asked Gideon.
The count smiled. “That makes no difference.”
The downmarket Anna Netrebko and the bosom groper ended the aria with a rousing final chord, and the count let go of my hand so that he could clap. “Isn’t she wonderful? A really fine talent, and so beautiful, too.”
“Yes,” I said quietly, clapping as well and taking care not to play pat-a-cake. “It’s quite something to make the chandeliers ring like that.” The clapping upset my sensitive sense of balance, and I staggered slightly.
Gideon caught me. “I can’t make it out,” he said angrily, his lips close to my ear. “We haven’t been here two hours, and you’re totally drunk! What on earth were you thinking of?”
“You said totally. I’m going to tell on you to Giordano,” I giggled. In all the noise, no one else could hear us. “Anyway, it’s too late. No point in locking the stable door after the horse has gone.” A hiccup interrupted me—hic. “Sorry.” I looked around me. “But everyone else is much more drunk than me, so leave out the moral indignation, okay? I have everything under control. You can let go of me again. I stand here as steady as a rock among the breakers.”
“I’m warning you,” whispered Gideon, but he did let go of me.
For safety’s sake, I braced my legs a little farther apart. Well, no one could see that, not underneath my huge skirt.
The count, amused, had been watching us. His expression gave away nothing but a certain grandfatherly pride. I glanced at him surreptitiously and was rewarded by a smile that warmed my heart. Why had I been so scared of him? It was only with difficulty that I could remember what Lucas had told me—how this same man had cut his own ancestor’s throat.…