Page 7 of A Rogue to Reform

“There’s Miles,” Grant said, and they watched as their friend, dressed from head to toe in black, escorted a slender blonde to the dance floor.

“Do you suppose he could singularly afford to sponsor the ship?” Grant asked Evan. “Miles is wealthy, why did he not volunteer to do it?”

“I believe he will pay his portion and not more. He is responsible for handling his family’s fortune. The portion that is his may be sizeable, but it is hard to tell.”

Although Miles often footed the bill for their entertainment, it was rarely extravagant. Mostly he ensured there was delicious food, expensive whiskey, and the female companions were from a house of good standing.

The song ended and Felicity made a beeline for her brother. With flushed cheeks, she accepted a glass of punch from a passing tray.

“Do you plan to bid on any art, brother?” she asked Grant. “I have a piece I’d like to try for.”

Grant gave his sister a bland look. “No, I do not plan to bid. I haven’t the funds for such things.”

“What about you, Evan?” Felicity gave him a perfectly feigned innocent look. “Are you to purchase the bright portrait you so admired?”

“Miss Felicity.” Harvey Lewiston materialized, his gaze pinpointing Felicity before looking to Grant. “I have been in search of your beautiful sister in hopes she will honor me with a dance.”

Felicity looked to Evan.

“She was just saying how much she loves this song,” Evan said.

As the yellow-toothed man guided her away, Grant gave Evan a warning look. “If I were you, I’d keep my distance. My sister is quite adept at the art of revenge.”

A group of women walked past, purposefully hesitating in front of them. Each of them a debutante, none the kind either of them was interested in.

“I must admit. It has been a long time since I’ve seen so many beautiful women,” Evan said while searching for his target. “It is unfortunate that I have little to offer.”

Grant lifted a glass in salute and sauntered away. Past him, Evan spied a woman whom Grant often consorted with.

The woman was married to a much older lord, who despite failing health, attended every ball. Once he was parked along a wall with a blanket over his lap, his wife would enjoy the evening, rarely paying the man, who inevitably fell asleep, any mind.

At noting that Sorcha had made her way to one of the settees, he hurried there before another man got the chance.

“I am afraid I have bad news,” Sorcha said when he approached.

Ensuring to meet her gaze, his never wandering, he asked. “Oh, what is it?”

Her plump lips pursed as she flattened her hand over the top of her breasts. A ploy to get his attention directly where she wished. “Since you did not return to place a second bid, you were outbid by Mister Lewiston.”

“A pity,” Evan said, allowing his gaze to travel from her eyes down to where her hand remained splayed. “I prefer the masterpiece before me to the art piece. Therefore, I am not as heartbroken as I would be if someone else had delivered the news.”

The statement had its desired effect and she gasped. “Mister Macleod, you say the most flattering things.”

“It is the truth.”

It was obvious he had to do but one thing, insinuate an assignation and she would agree. However, he had to be patient with how to approach the woman.

“Mister Macleod…” she began.

“This dance?” he asked, proffering his arm.

With a surprised expression, she accepted and allowed him to guide her to the dance floor.

As they turned and face other people, Evan found himself face to face with Felicity. Her fiery gaze met his. “That dreadful man will not leave me be.”

“What do you wish me to do about it?”

They turned away and circled again with their partners before stepping around to the opposite person.