Perhaps she ought to be introducing Seth to eligible ladies, and not Alice to gentlemen. The infatuation seemed entirely on his side, not hers. From the small hint she'd given me, I gathered that Alice saw Seth as an amusing person, but she had no interest in him. He, however, couldn't take his gaze off her.
He thrust out his hand. "Will you dance with me, Alice?"
She paused. Her gaze flicked to his mother. Lady Vickers' nostrils flared. "I can't think of a single reason not to," Alice said, accepting his hand.
Lady Vickers watched them go then stormed off. Lord Marchbank had also disappeared, although I hadn't noticed him go.
I clasped Lincoln's elbow. "You don't have to go anywhere near him if you don't want to."
We stood side by side, watching couples assemble on the dance floor, neither of us speaking. A troubling thought struck me.
"You won't do anything foolish, will you? In the prince's presence, I mean."
His gaze slid to mine. "When have I ever done anything foolish?" At my arched brow, he added, "Disregarding the time I sent you away."
"And the time you kidnapped me. And when you-" I cut myself off before I mentioned the darker things he'd done. "Never mind." He was in no mood to be reminded of them or treat them lightly.
"I won't do anything foolish tonight," he said. "I won't speak to him at all."
"Then neither will I." I took his hands in mine. "You promised me a dance."
We moved to the edge of the dance area and waited for the music to end and another tune to begin. It was a waltz, and it necessitated us to be close to one another, much to my delight. As with everything he did, Lincoln was a very good dancer and made me feel like I was better than adequate, which was quite a feat given my lack of lessons.
We moved aside when the dance ended and made our way to the refreshment room. Lincoln retrieved a cup of tea for me but nothing for himself, then we fell into quiet conversation.
A few minutes later a woman dressed all in white with a white mask rimmed with seed pearls entered. Dark hair trailed down her back, stark black against the white, a tiara sparkling in the light from the chandelier. Voices rippled around her, following her path to the footman holding the tray of ices. I thought the chatter was because the cut of her bodice was too low, but then I realized it was most likely because the woman behind the mask was Lady Harcourt. Ever since her secret past as a dancer became public, society madams had snubbed her. Apparently Lady Hothfield had decided to make an exception.
I was in two minds as to whether we ought to acknowledge her when she spotted us. She didn't approach, however, but simply bowed her head in greeting, set down her ice without touching it, and glided out again.
"She'll probably ask you to dance later," I said to Lincoln.
"I doubt it. I'd wager she's given up."
"On you? Unlikely. Losing is not in her nature."
He turned to me. "You don't need to fight her, or anyone. I'm yours."
A lump rose in my throat. I swallowed. "If I did have to fight, I would win. My right hook is rather good."
He chuckled quietly. "That it is, Charlie."
We'd restarted our training sessions after Christmas. Lincoln had been teaching me how to fight off an attack, with and without weapons. Even though the supernatural imp in my necklace could save my life, it needed to be out of its amber orb to do so, and I may not always be able to summon it. Knowing that I was capable of throwing a punch as skillfully as any pugilist made both Lincoln and I feel better. It also allowed us to touch one another without raising eyebrows.
A man wearing ordinary evening clothes of tailcoat, black waistcoat and white tie sauntered over to us. I recognized him from his lazy, arrogant walk, and the fact that his black mask-the only item of clothing befitting a masquerade ball-covered very little of his face. I tried to hide my distaste of Andrew Buchanan, but I doubted I succeeded.
"Well, well, if it isn't Bluebeard and his mistress," he drawled, looking me over with a critical eye. His gaze settled on my breasts, somewhat insignificant affairs compared to those of his step-mother, Lady Harcourt. He sniffed.
Neither Lincoln nor I took his bait.
"Your disguise isn't all that good, you know." Buchanan's little finger wiggled at Lincoln's chest. "I knew it was you immediately."
"You're looking for Julia," Lincoln said.
Buchanan bristled. "What makes you say that? I'm here for the refreshments." As if to prove his point, he inspected the table laden with cakes, biscuits, bonbons and sandwiches.
"She just left," Lincoln continued.
"I told you, I'm not-"
"Go away."
Buchanan backed off, hands in the air. The footman had to step nimbly aside to avoid a collision.
"He's already drunk," I said, watching Buchanan retreat to the ballroom.
"And he'll be even drunker soon."
"Do you think he'll embarrass himself? Or her?"
"It's likely."
A commotion by the door drew our attention. Surely Buchanan hadn't made a fool of himself already. Whispers of "He's here" rippled across the room to us.
"The prince," I announced.
"Shall we dance again?" Lincoln asked.
"Is that wise? Perhaps we should stay in here."
"I'm not going to attack him, Charlie, or confront him. I simply want to dance with you."
"Oh," I said and bit my lip.
"Besides, have you ever seen a member of the royal family?"
"No."
"Then now's your opportunity." He held out his hand.
I placed mine in it. "You're going out there, near him, just so I can catch a glimpse of a prince?"
"Is that such a bad thing?"
"Not at all." Yet I didn't quite believe that he was doing it for me. There must be a small part of him that wanted to observe his father, too, even from a distance.
We exited the refreshment room, but couldn't catch sight of His Royal Highness through the throng. Everyone seemed to want an introduction. It took a good hour before the crowd thinned and we could see the man himself. He was a strong looking fellow, and handsome for his age, although his florid complexion and paunch told the story of his excesses. According to Lady Vickers, the Prince of Wales enjoyed the company of women, although not that of his wife, and drank champagne as if it were water. Sometimes, he even bathed in it, but only when he frequented Paris's exclusive brothels.
"There you are." Lady Vickers caught my hand as soon as Lincoln and I ended our dance. "Come with me, Charlie, and meet the prince before he gets too drunk and makes a play for you."
My eyes widened.
She waved her hand. "You've heard what he's like."
I turned to Lincoln, but the crowd had already moved into the space between us. Apparently he had no intention of following.
We scooped up Alice as we passed, tearing her away from the conversation she shared with Seth and four others, and advanced toward the prince and his friends like an army marching on its enemy, our steps sure and steady, our gazes focused dead ahead. We were out maneuvered, however, by Lady Harcourt. She was already there, her tinkling laughter floating on the drafts. The prince laughed too, his gaze not lifting higher than her heaving bosom.
"That woman," Lady Vickers ground out between her teeth. "No one breathes that deeply. She's doing it to show off her breasts. As if we haven't already noticed them."
"We can still meet him," Alice said.
Lady Vickers' brows drew together with determination. She scanned the room. "I wonder who his friends are. Where is our hostess when she's needed? I want to be introduced to them."
"We don't need to meet his friends," I said. "They're rather too old for, er … " I glanced at Alice again.
"For me," she said flatly. "They're too old for me. Thank you for your efforts in finding me a suitable husband, madam, but I think I can manage on my own."
Lady Vickers let go of Alice's hand as if she'd been stung. "No! You can't!" She glanced behind us to where Seth stood, his focus on Alice.
"I don't particularly care to meet the prince or his friends," I said before the conversation steered too far out of control. "But thanks for thinking of me, Lady V."
She jerked my hand hard against her side. I prepared to be dragged over to meet the prince.
But we never got the chance.
A heavily accented woman's voice pitched over the music. "I must speak! I must speak to prince!"
Everyone turned toward the voice. Dancers stopped mid-step, and the band quieted.
"Who is it?" the prince demanded, trying to peer over heads.
A tall, slender woman with waist-length gray hair and tanned skin broke through the crowd. No one tried to stop her. Everyone seemed too curious to see what would happen next.
The strangest reaction came from Lady Harcourt, however. She gasped then covered her mouth with her hand. She glanced past me. I turned to see Lincoln standing there, his gaze fixed on the woman. He'd gone pale.