Page 6 of To Break the Rules

Matilda Hunt—the closest thing that Lucia had to a friend and, in recent days, her new landlady—turned with a look of mild surprise in her blue eyes. Lucia could understand her reaction as she had never shown an interest in any of the men here before, treating them all with the same mixture of exasperation and tolerance she might show an overly exuberant puppy. Far from putting them off, her complete lack of interest seemed akin to waving a red flag at a bull, or in this case a ballroom full of them.

“Oh, that’s Silas Anson,” Matilda said, leaning closer to whisper in Lucia’s ear. “He’s an intriguing one. His father died recently, making him Viscount Cavendish, not that he seems to care. He despises society. I wonder what he’s doing here? It’s rare to see him at this kind of event. He doesn’t do small talk and polite chat.” Matilda laughed. “He’s been known to walk away in the middle of a conversation if he finds it tedious, and he’s blunt to the point of rudeness.”

“He looks a surly type, to be sure,” Lucia said, wondering what on earth the man was doing at Lady Grasmere’s ball if he despised everyone so, but then she had her reasons; she could only assume he had his.

“Oh, he is,” Matilda agreed, smiling. “Though I must say I rather like him. One knows where one stands with a man like that. He always seems to say what he thinks. There is nothing hidden, and that is rather refreshing.”

“Hmmm,” Lucia replied, frowning a little. There was something about the fellow which was rather disconcerting, though she couldn’t figure out what it was.

“Come along, I’ll get St Clair to introduce you.”

“Oh, Matilda, no,” Lucia exclaimed. After being cut by him it would be mortifying if he thought she was interested in him, but too late as Matilda didn’t have the least difficulty in attracting the earl’s attention.

Lucia cursed inwardly as Matilda summoned St Clair to come and speak with them with an imperious little gesture and a smile. To her consternation, the earl was having the devil’s own job persuading Cavendish to accompany him. He clearly had no desire to meet her. Indignation swelled in Lucia’s chest. She knew she was hardly good ton, and she knew the rumours that circulated about her, but a man that looked like he’d slept in a hedge had no business being so high in the instep.

Now, of course, the dratted man would think she was interested in him as Matilda had summoned them both over.

“Lord St Clair,” Matilda said, greeting the earl with warmth. “How nice to see you again.”

“The pleasure is entirely mine, I assure you, Miss Hunt, Miss de Feria. I am delighted to spend time in the presence of such divine beauty.”

Lucia could see the viscount cringe at the fulsome compliment, and her irritation climbed a notch higher.

“Ladies, may I have the honour of presenting my good friend, Viscount Cavendish? Cavendish, these ravishing creatures are Miss Hunt and Miss de Feria.”

Lucia watched with interest as the glowering brute beside him inclined his head a little.

“Ladies,” he said, showing not the slightest sign of interest or pleasure at the introduction.

“My lord, it is unusual to see you at such an event,” Matilda said, addressing the viscount with all her usual ease and charm. “Though you are a welcome addition with such a poor ratio of men to ladies. There are simply not enough of you, and we lack for dance partners.”

To Lucia’s astonishment the man snorted, a disparaging sound. “There may be some ladies here lamenting that fact,” he said, sneering a little. “Somehow I doubt either of you are among their numbers.”

“Was that a compliment or an insult?” Lucia asked him, having had quite enough of the ill-mannered fellow after seconds in his company. “How strange that my friend here told me you were a direct man who said what he thought, and yet I can’t tell.”

A pair of intense blue eyes met hers and for a moment Lucia felt the impact of his regard with a sensation that prickled all the way to her toes. For a horrifying moment she feared she might blush, but she forced herself to remain calm and hold his gaze.

“What do you think?” he replied, his tone low and unsettling.

“I think you mean to insult, my lord,” Lucia said, refusing to look away from him. “Though you’re not quite brave enough to do the job properly.”

There was a flash of something in his eyes that might have been approval, but he quickly hid it.

“I doubt that is a quality you lack, Miss de Feria,” he said, and once again she could not tell if he meant it as an insult or not.

“Indeed not,” Lucia replied, giving him the most dazzling smile she could manage. “If I meant to insult a man, I’d waste no time in telling him he was acting like an ignorant caveman and complimenting his ability to dress the part too, but then I have better manners than to say such things in polite company.”

There was a taut silence as the air all but sizzled around them until Lucia noticed the presence of another man at her side.

“Señorita de Feria.” Lucia tore her riveted gaze away from the viscount to see the lanky frame of a Mr Richards beside her. The young man beamed at her. “My dance, I think,” he said, a flush of enthusiasm colouring his face and making him look like an eager boy.

“Oh, yes, Mr Richards,” Lucia said, only to start in astonishment as Lord Cavendish took her outstretched hand.

“No,” the viscount said, giving the young man a look that dared him to contradict the statement. “You’re mistaken, this dance is mine.”

Lucia gaped, so astonished by the arrogance of the man that words failed her. She could hardly make a scene though, so she sent Mr Richards a look of deep apology and held her tongue.

It didn’t last.