Lady Lorraine was only slightly less aggravating and that was only because he did not have to go to the trouble of breaking her neck or throwing her off a building, although there had been several instances in their brief acquaintance when he had considered doing one or both.
Now he merely wanted to break the neck of the man she danced with. He was a thin fellow. Ewan estimated the boy probably weighed as much as Ewan’s left arm. If the lad needed to shave more than once a fortnight, Ewan would have been surprised. But he had the dark, brooding looks Byron had made so popular. This son of a viscount or pasha or whatever the hell he was had long, dark hair that curled about his face, sad eyes that reminded Ewan of a pug his mother had once owned, and stark cheekbones that were in want of a good meal.
As the pug-eyed boy twirled Lady Lorraine about, making her laugh and sending her looks of puppy-like adoration, Ewan imagined wrapping his hand—it would only take one—around the lad’s neck and snapping it in two.
“You wore that same look on your face when we were trapped in that tavern in Strasbourg,” said a voice at his right arm. Ewan glanced over and was not at all surprised to find Rafe Beaumont standing beside him. Beaumont was a model of style and elegance, and Prinny had come to value Rafe’s opinion on matters of fashion after the famous falling out between the prince and Brummell.
“You remember my expression?” Ewan said without any formal greeting, for none was needed between the two men who were far closer in some ways than even brothers.
“Perfectly.”
“I remember you had your head up a trollop’s skirt.”
Beaumont grinned. “I remember her too. My persuasive tactics succeeded in convincing her to show us the cellar where her father hid his best wines and tobaccos. If we hadn’t hidden there, we would never have taken the soldiers by surprise after they stormed the building.”
Ewan did not point out that all the hiding spot had done was given them a slight advantage before the attack. He had still fought his way out with a ferocity that would have made a berserker proud.
“Is that your charge?” Beaumont asked, nodding to Lady Lorraine, still firmly entrenched in the pug’s arms.
Ewan folded his arms over his chest and gave a quick nod of assent.
“She’s pretty, although she smiles rather too much.”
Ewan had noticed how often she smiled at the man she danced with as well. He had supposed it was out of sympathy for the ugly lad’s attempts to amuse her. But just because she smiled too much for Ewan’s liking did not mean Beaumont should comment upon it.
Rafe held up a hand in defense. “Pray don’t look at me like that. I’d like to keep all my limbs in working order, if you don’t mind.” His gaze narrowed. “Is it because I remarked that she smiles too much? It was not a criticism, Ewan. I was merely surprised because daughters of dukes are usually so proper and haughty. She does not strike me as fitting that description.”
Ewan’s thoughts flashed back to the garden and the way she’d nipped his lip. Proper and haughty did not begin to describe Lady Lorraine. No proper lady would have nipped him so. And no gentleman would have reacted as he had, giving in to the sudden rush of desire that had him moments away from claiming her virtue. Ewan couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so out of control with need for a woman. In fact, he didn’t think he’d ever felt that way before.
Control. Restraint. Those were the words of the day.
“But I forget how loyal you are,” Beaumont drawled. “It is one of your best qualities, and since I have benefitted from it more than once, I am ever appreciative of it. Therefore, what I should say is that Lady Lorraine is all things perfect and wonderful and lovely.”
Ewan clenched his fists.
“Now what have I said?” Rafe demanded, and this time he did take a step back to what Ewan assumed he considered a safe distance.
It wasn’t. Ewan could have reached his throat easily.
“You cannot imagine I have designs on her,” Rafe said. “Hell’s teeth, man, I have enough trouble with the fairer sex. I needn’t add to my miseries with the daughter of the Duke of Ridlington. Francis Mostyn, little bastard that he is, is the man you want to throttle.”
“I caught them in the park.”
Rafe’s eyes bulged. “What? That arse had lured her into the park? For what purpose?”
“I am not certain it was Francis who lured the lady.”
“I don’t follow… Oh, I see what you mean. Well then, you have your work cut out for you, don’t you? Neil did say the lady was trouble. Since she is your trouble, you will have to be on your guard. Fortunately, you excel at such tasks.”
Ewan made a noncommittal sound. The reel or jig or whatever the hell it was she’d danced had ended and now she was on the arm of another man. This was one was a bit older and hadn’t yet looked away from her bosom.
“You may breathe easier now, my friend,” Rafe said, slapping him lightly on the shoulder. “Your cousin has departed. I saw him waiting for his carriage just as mine arrived.”
That news did allow Ewan to relax slightly. At least he would not have to worry his charge would arrange any further clandestine meetings with Francis, and as she thought herself in love with him, she would probably resist the overly enthusiastic attentions of every other gentleman as well.
Still, he intended to keep her in his sights the rest of the evening. Until she was behind the locked doors of her father’s house, he would not take his gaze off of her. Even then he could not relax. He still did not know if she had used the door or climbed down the tree when she’d tried to elope. Ewan didn’t think any plans to elope had been made tonight. The conversation he’d heard seemed to indicate otherwise, but that did not mean plans would not be made in the future. Lady Lorraine seemed to possess a talent for having her way, and if he hadn’t been able to resist her, he doubted his idiot cousin would.
“All of this talking has parched my throat,” Beaumont said, backing away. “I’d better find refreshment.”
Footmen circled the room with silver trays of champagne, but before Ewan could snatch one for his friend, he noticed the voluptuous woman making her way toward them. She moved like a lioness stalking her prey, and Rafe—the prey—would not wait to be caught. “I’ll see you at the club,” he said and dove into the crush of guests. Ewan, being one of the taller men in the room, could see him move expertly through the throngs, but Rafe would be quite obscured from the lioness’s vision.
Ewan glanced back at the dancing, observing his charge with arms folded across his chest. Once or twice in the course of the night, the forms dictated that she stand near his side of the room, and she always glared at him.
Finally, at about two in the morning, supper was announced. Ewan neatly stepped in front of the man who’d been about to escort her into supper, and took her arm himself.
“Well, that was rude,” she remarked, giving her former dance partner an apologetic smile over her shoulder. “He is supposed to escort me to supper after the dance.”