The Rakehell Regency Romance Collection Volume 2(259)

"Wonderful news indeed," blakke said with a nod. "I shall be only too happy to help."



"We shall all be together, then," said Pamela, looping her arm through her husband's.



Arabella observed with a certain degree of shyness all the friends chatting together, but they went out of their way to make her feel included, widening the topics of conversation to the news of the day and other items she felt she could participate in.



Blake made sure all the wines were organized, and Arabella tried not to stare at him as he chatted with the Rakehells, or more particularly, the Rakehell women. There was no need to be jealous—but they were certainly to be envied, they all looked so glowingly happy.



If only she could find such joy, she thought with a sigh, recalling the soaring bliss she had only ever encountered once in her life, in Blake's arms that fateful evening at the inn.



Blake Sanderson, her guardian.





CHAPTER FIFTEEN



Arabella tried not to let her turmoil over discovering that Blake Sanderson, the only man who had ever set her afire with passion, was to be her guardian.



If she betrayed any unease at all, he might just send her back to Somerset, in which case she would truly be bereft of his wonderful company, and that was not something she thought she could bear.



No, she would watch and wait, observe what manner of man he was, and perhaps they could grow to be friends, if not more…



In the middle of this hopeful musing, Lady Pemberton came bustling up to tell them it was just about time for the first waltz.



"Well, my dear, if you are finished slurping, spitting and English kissing, shall we?" he said in an undertone, offering his hand.



"Might as well. I've loved learning more about wine, but dancing, after all, is what a ball is for."



"Plus flirting, gossiping, and so on."



"No, dancing is enjoyable exercise," she said with a smile.



She passed the small drawing room where the gaming tables had been set up.



"Card playing is fun, but it is as much luck as skill, and it's not amusing if people are going to get in too deep, lose all their money and become tied to an obsession. As for flirtation and gossip, I would like to think I do neither."



Blake smiled down at her warmly. "In that case, you truly are a paragon of women, and you will have suitors lining up outside the door to pay court to you."



It wasn't quite as bad as Blake predicted, but it was a close run thing. Every man in the room made a beeline for Arabella after each dance.



Blake would tell them if she were engaged or not, selectively picking only the decent chaps from the throng. If he could have sold tickets, he would have made a small fortune.



He was not entirely selfless, though. Every time he let her dance with one, he made her dance another with him. It kept them from clustering importunately all night, and gave Arabella a respite from all the pointed questions being directed at her as to her family and connections.



"I can see it in your eyes, my dear," he said at one point.



What?" she asked in alarm, for she had been looking at him and thinking that no one in the room could match his perfection.



"Confusion, weariness. It's hard work getting all the names and faces straight."



"What else do you see in my eyes?" she asked in a low tone.



He hardly dared look. He saw warmth and light and-



"You find most of your companions dull, and bad dancers," he guessed accurately.



"Not that I am so good, but that you are," she admitted candidly. "The rest step all over me or try to take liberties, which in this crush is all too easy."



Blake's jaw became like granite. "I'm sorry. I thought they were good men."



"It does not matter, except that if I tap you on the elbow it means I don't wish to dance."



"Uh oh, Philip Marshall at one o'clock, heading straight this way," he whispered.



"Notorious rake?" she guessed.



"Indeed, but a good friend of Thomas's, oddly enough, so I'm afraid-"



In the end, it was not as bad as Blake had feared. Philip had a fearsome reputation with the ladies, but seemed content to linger in the alcove they had found and chat about Blake's clinic, which he had been a very enthusiastic supporter of right from its inception.



"But we cannot talk about my work all night," Blake eventually said.



"No, I suppose not." Almost as an afterthought the tall, raven-haired and devastatingly handsome man with sherry-brown eyes said to Arabella, "Would you like to dance?"



At Blake's slight nod she went, and came back at the end none the worse for the experience.