Page 61 of The Wallflower Ruse

Mr. Pearce swooped in, took her arm, and pulled her willy-nilly away.

~ * ~

Restive found Davis flirting with a gangly gladiator. As far as Restive knew, Davis had no sexual interest in other men, but he seemed to enjoy toying with them.

“Yolanda, my love,” Restive interrupted. “Abandon this poor sod and come with me.”

Davis struck a pose. “Cruel tease! You will lead me astray but refuse to satisfy me.” He batted his lashes at the hapless gladiator. “This courtly fellow will not be so unkind.”

“Never, kind lady,” the gladiator said. “That is, I shan’t intend to. I mean, that is—"

“The road to satisfaction is paved with good intentions.” Davis gave Restive a roguish look. “What shall you promise me, sir?”

“That you’ll be doing a good deed if you come with me,” Restive said. “A foolish young lady needs a safe escort.”

“Oh, dearie me,” Davis said. “I’d best be off to the rescue!” He wiggled his fingers in a cheery goodbye to the gladiator and hooked his arm in Restive’s. “Have you discovered what’s afoot?”

“Not yet, confound it, but in the meantime, Alfreda Whatshername is all but naked.” He described the girl to Davis. “When I last saw her, she was dancing with a Harlequin. She’s wearing a purple domino, but the dress beneath it is transparent.”

“Ah,” Davis said. “She’s pursuing you.”

Restive grunted, glancing around for a sight of the purple domino.

“And you feel it’s your fault.”

“To some extent, it is. I’ve had enough of this persona. I don’t care to ruin the reputations of any more foolish girls, and this one is worse than most. She believes she can trap me into marriage, despite all evidence to the contrary. I’d rather keep her intact and well out of the way.”

“So you can keep your eyes on the far more important Lucinda.” His eyes gleamed with friendly mockery.

“She’s the key to what’s about to happen—she and that poet of hers.” Restive pointed. “There! Oh, damn!”

The purple domino was about to leave the ballroom—and her escort was Henry the Eighth.

“It’s Wharton,” Restive snarled, threading his way through the chattering crowd, Davis tripping delicately behind him. “I thought you were going to watch him.”

“You wouldn’t let me kill him,” Davis said. “I got bored.”

“No, no, I don’t want to,” came Alfreda’s feeble protests from the passageway.

“You needn’t play that game, you little slut.” Wharton’s mask failed to hide the swelling on one side of his nose. “We both know what you want, and my, oh my, you are ripe and ready, aren’t you?” He clamped a hand over one breast as he hurried her along.

“Help!” Alfreda quavered. “Somebody help me!”

Wharton laughed. “You’re not much of an actress, love.”

“She’s not playacting,” Restive said. “Let her go.”

Wharton whirled. “Spoiling sport again? To hell with you, Restive. Keep your tedious Belair slut. This little sweetmeat belongs to me.”

Why couldn’t he have found himself a willing female instead of this hapless chit? Not that Restive would wish Wharton on anyone, but locking him in a room with a woman would have kept him out of the way.

“Lord Restive!” Alfreda cried piteously. “I don’t want to go with him. Save me!”

Nor could he have Davis play the seductress and woo Wharton away. Not only was Wharton obsessed with breasts—for which Davis had nothing but padding—but Davis would most likely take advantage of the opportunity to dispose of Wharton once and for all.

“Better not, Restive,” Wharton said. “You’ll have to marry the chit.”

Restive sighed, shook off the tempting thought of getting rid of him permanently, and once again landed him a facer.