Mad Morelands Collection Volume 1 by Candace Camp

Author:Candace Camp [Camp, Candace]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781488091339
Publisher: HQN Books
Published: 2018-10-15T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 13

Lady Tarkey’s rout was the crush that Kyria had predicted. They had to first wait in their carriage as the line of vehicles inched forward, and then at last when they were able to disembark, there was another line snaking up the steps and into the house. At least, Kyria thought, if she had to endure the wait, it was some consolation that she was doing it with Rafe. Aside from being the most handsome man in the crowd, he also enlivened their time with sotto voce questions and comments about their surroundings, from the explosion of plasterwork cherubs and nymphs on the ceiling to the small man sporting orange-colored mustaches so waxed and intricately curled that whenever he moved his head, he seemed in imminent danger of putting out his female companion’s eye.

Kyria smiled and nodded at various acquaintances, noticing that her arrival with a handsome stranger caused a ripple effect of heads turning all up the staircase.

After she and Rafe greeted their hostess and her daughter at the top of the stairs, they strolled into the main ballroom, barely making it past the doorway because of the crush of people.

“Lady Kyria!” They turned to see an eager young man making his way through the crowd toward them. As he was large and somewhat clumsy, his progress was not easy and left more than a few people glaring in his wake. “Excuse me. Beg your pardon. Lady Kyria! I’m so dreadfully sorry. Was that your toe? My sincerest apologies. Excuse me…”

He arrived at last at Kyria’s side and bowed extravagantly over her hand. As he bumped into the man behind him, his greeting was less the elegant gesture he had envisioned than a bit of buffoonery.

“My dearest lady, you are more beautiful than ever,” he told Kyria, beaming down at her. “It seems a year since I have seen you.”

“It is something more like a month.”

“London is dreadfully dull without you.” His gaze slid to Rafe, standing at Kyria’s side, and he frowned.

“Oh, Lord Crandon,” Kyria said, following his gaze, “please allow me to introduce Mr. McIntyre. He is visiting us from America.”

“How do you do?” the young man replied politely, but Rafe could see the jealousy in his eyes.

As they made a rather limping attempt at small talk, another gentleman joined them, this one older and suaver, but as patently suspicious of Rafe. Within five minutes, they were surrounded by no fewer than six bachelors, all of them jockeying for Kyria’s attention.

“You must give me your first waltz,” said one who was dressed in a resplendent uniform and regarded the world with a face permanently frozen into an aristocratic sneer.

“Must I?” Kyria replied coolly. “I am afraid, Captain, that I have promised the first waltz to Mr. McIntyre.” She slipped her hand through Rafe’s arm.

“Yes,” Rafe confirmed, closing his other hand possessively over Kyria’s where it lay on his arm, his gaze remaining on the captain’s for a long, challenging moment. Then he turned toward Kyria, smiling. “And I believe I hear them striking up now.

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