A slight nod from her bodyguard.
Well, what was she supposed to do with that? She could hardly tell the man to forego his principles and leave her be. But if she didn’t, she would never have any time alone with Francis. She’d simply have to find another way to elude the Viking.
“My father won’t mind if you enjoy yourself a little, tiny bit.” A new idea came to her. “Perhaps when I dance, you could dance as well.” Then she could slip away while he twirled his partner in a waltz. Except, it was rather difficult to imagine the Viking dancing or twirling anyone.
“I don’t dance.”
“Of course you don’t.” Her shoulders felt heavy enough to sag. “And I imagine you never enjoy yourself either.”
“Balls are not enjoyable,” he said.
“I don’t disagree with you on that point.”
The expression on his face flickered with surprise, and she smiled, pleased she had put him off his guard for once. “You think because I am on the Marriage Mart I love the opera and balls and all the rest? I suppose I enjoyed it all the first time I attended. I was a debutante last year, and it was all great fun for a few weeks. But now I’d rather be home in the country, spending time with my friends. I miss my friends, daughters of the country gentry.”
Francis had told her when they married he would buy property in Bedfordshire, and then she would always be close to her childhood friends and her family. How she missed the village schoolchildren she would visit daily when she was at Beauchamp Priory, her father’s estate, named after a baron who had built Bedford Castle not far from what had once been the monastery and then renovated into the Duke of Ridlington’s residence.
In the meantime, it was quite obvious that Francis was not on the terrace. Could he be waiting for her in the park? It was possible, but she didn’t want to venture into the unlit lawn with the Viking on her heels. There was nothing to do but return to the ballroom and make her apologies to the son of the duke. She really must try and remember his name…Lord…Something…
“Come on then,” she said to the Viking, and he followed her inside.
And then a wonderful thing happened. It was the sort of occurrence Lorrie would never have been able to plan or even anticipate. And it gave her exactly the opportunity she had been searching for.
As Lorrie made her way back to the section of the conservatory set aside for dancing, the Viking so close he would have tread on her train had it been a tad longer, none other than the Prince Regent stepped into their path. Prinny had taken little notice of her on past visits, and she had not expected him to pay her any attention now. Startled, she dropped into a low curtsy. The prince nodded at her. “Lady Lorraine, how good of you to come. I saw your mother a few moments ago. Delightful woman.”
Lorrie smiled, uncertain how to respond to the comment. Her mother was exactly the sort the prince seemed to prefer, as his mistresses were generally older, experienced women. “Thank you,” she said simply. She might have babbled on about the house or the ball. Lorrie could not stand conversational silences, but the prince’s gaze slid past her and up to her companion.
“You are one of Draven’s men,” the prince said. “Draven’s Survivors they call you, what?”
The Viking appeared as surprised as anyone by the prince’s notice, and he gave a stiff bow. “Yes, Your Highness.”
The prince seemed to expect more, but Lorrie knew the Viking well enough by now to anticipate he would not use any more words than strictly required.
“I want to thank you for your service.” The prince moved closer, and Lorrie was forced to step aside else she would be crowded out by the regent’s considerable girth. She moved behind the prince, not minding one whit that she was to be left out of the conversation. The Viking tried to keep his eye on her, but he was obliged to pay mind to the future king. “You are Kensington’s son—no, Pembroke’s.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
Lorrie stepped back again, back and into the crowd that always swarmed about the regent.
“Beaumont told me the most harrowing tale of when your group was ambushed in Lyon. Were you there?”
“I was, but—”
Another tiny step back and the crowd swallowed Lorrie whole.
“And what was your role?” the prince asked, excitement making his voice rise in pitch. “How did you and the others escape?”
Lorrie ducked and squeezed through the throng while the Viking gave what she knew would be a curt reply. But he would not be rid of the regent so easily or quickly, and that meant this was her chance to find Francis. Once again reminded that the dancing had begun, she started for the dance floor and had almost reached it when a man stepped into her path.
“Francis!” she said, all her breath whooshing out as soon as she recognized him. His golden hair was tousled and curled about his forehead and cheeks, his face smooth and cleanly shaven and just slightly rounded as though the last of his youth had not yet been honed away. His cravat was full and intricately tied, his coat tight over well-shaped shoulders and a lean back. She had remembered him as taller, and when she looked at him now she was startled to find they were of a very similar height. He had always seemed so much more. Now she realized there was probably less than two stones difference in their weight, and whereas before he’d seemed a head taller than she, he was at most only an inch taller. She doubted Francis would be able to lift her and carry her away from two brawling idiots outside the theater.
Lorrie bit the inside of her cheek and reminded herself that she did not need her husband to carry her about nor did she require him to be tall. All she required was his love.
“Francis,” she breathed. He caught her gloved hand and brought it to his lips, his light brown eyes never leaving her face and a wicked smile on his mouth.
“My darling, my lady. I have been waiting for a chance to have you all to myself.”
Lorrie’s heart fluttered at the way his gaze slid from her eyes to her lips and back again. “You must have heard that my father hired a bodyguard.”
“Oh, I heard.” He straightened but did not release her hand. “Interesting choice. Do you know who he is?”
“I do.” She nodded, her heart swelling with sympathy for his pain. “I’m sorry. I am certain seeing him must pain you.”
“Indescribably. And it’s made all the worse seeing him so close to you.”
“He is something of a bulldog. He takes his duty to protect me quite seriously, I’m afraid. I could not manage to evade him.”
“Yes.” Francis took her hand and led her toward a door leading back out to the lawns. “He is rather simple. One gives him an order, and he follows it. I suppose that is why he was such a good soldier. If my cousin was ordered to fetch, he would fetch.”