"Do not fret, Miss Lucas," her ladyship declared, misinterpreting the sudden flush of color in Emma's cheeks that had bloomed at perceiving Winterly's knowing smirk, "we shall find you a respectable husband before the season draws to a close." With that she cast her eyes determinedly about the assembled crowd in front of the orchestra, ostensibly wasting no time in seeing that her resolve was met with a successful terminus.

And wasn't that exactly why they were all here? These furbelowed debutantes and fuddled coxcombs. To hunt themselves an eligible parti?

Emma determined that it was very likely that Lady Middleton was motivated to find her a beau, despite that she was quite on the shelf already, more out of a desire to avoid Winterly's cold glare than from any misplaced and, frankly, unwanted altruism on her part. For charitable the lady was not.

"And what manner of husband, pray, do you propose for a woman of Miss Lucas' intellectual capacity?" Winterly was becoming amused now, and Emma was not at all certain she enjoyed providing the fodder for his condescension.

"I know the very person!" Lord Middleton lifted his monocle and searched the sea of dandies, gowns, and perfectly coiffed heads. "I say, I rather think Mr. Wells would do pretty well."

"I should think not." Winterly's mouth quirked at the corner in response to Emma's pursed lips. "He is, after all, not a great reader; and Miss Lucas must find a partner of equal perspicacity." He then lowered his voice and, for Emma's ears alone, said, "And I understand him to be a ... confirmed bachelor."

She could scarcely credit what she was hearing. Surely he did not mean...?

"Male venery, Miss Lucas." His breath, his hushed disclosure, they way he protracted and emphasized the words, gently disturbed the hairs at her nape. And then he straightened, his countenance impassive; her mind, per contra, was left reeling from that shocking bit of intelligence.

"And are you a great reader?" Lady Middleton inquired, distastefully, examining Emma from the tail of her eye. 

How unobservant these people were. Could they not see the effect that Lord Winterly was having on her. Surely the whole room had noticed how he'd leaned in just then. How his wicked suggestion had imbrued her face with blood. 

"I hardly..." She swallowed, as yet mortified by their private exchange. 

He, however, appeared wholly unaffected. "She is indeed," Winterly opined, examining his cuticles.

"How misfortunate, my dear. I did not take you for a bluestocking." She gave an impertinent sniff. "Intelligence quite despoils the affect of beauty. One cannot be both, you understand." Her ladyship's nose therewith flared in further disapprobation, plainly convinced that Emma was neither. "It is as de trop in a woman as..." She was thoughtful a moment. "A beard or ... a balding pate. Quite unseemly." The lady beside her, Mrs. Something-or-other, with the insipid daughters, tittered her agreement.

Emma felt her outrage whelming in the pit of her belly. "You cannot mean that, ma'am?!" That anyone would belittle mental acuity in their own sex was outrageous. "I know of not a single person that would not appreciate wit in another."

"Perhaps not wit within the ranks of the educated nobility," she conceded, the baubles of her silly turban like a lurid cornucopia, "but education, come to that, is a virtue best not wasted on the bourgeoisie. The common man should, therefore, let his betters think for him."

That misguided and odious presumption was far too reminiscent of Miss Winterly's thoughts. It was no wonder that the two women, their contrasting ages notwithstanding, seemed to enjoy each other's deleterious society so well.

"And a sensible woman," she went on, implying that Emma was no longer deemed sensible in her estimation, "would know that her value is not in what she says; but in what she doesn't."

"Upon my word, those are extreme notions indeed!" Emma did not dare suppose that she was not in jest. Heaven and earth! were such opinions to be believed?! 

"On the contrary, I assure you, I find that ladies ought rather display a brilliance of countenance over a brilliance of mind. The latter can never be truly agreeable to a husband, and is certainly not an advantageous trait in a wife."

With a tenebrous smile, Winterly took that opportunity, as Emma fought to suppress her spleen, to address her ladyship's myopic views. "It is good then, madam, that you possess not that decidedly outré affection."

"No, indeed! You young people have such ideas!" She nodded sagaciously, mistaking Winterly's mordancy once again for sincerity.

"And let me assure you at once," he continued, as though she hadn't just spoken, "that your countenance can by no means be imputed to brilliancy."

This time her smile was somewhat hesitant, for she was clearly unsure of whether or not she'd just been complimented or insulted.

Emma endeavored not to evince the smugness that threatened her lips, and, therefore, feigned a gentle cough over her gloved knuckles instead.

"Miss Lucas," said Winterly, dismissing the Middletons altogether as he pulled his pocket watch from the fob at his breeches to remark the time, "I should be obliged if you would dance the next set with me."

That his question had sounded like a command was of no moment, for she was already engaged and would have to decline. "Mr. Croft wants the next dance," she told him; although, she suspected Mr. Croft was entirely besotted with Milli and only meant to dance with Emma out of kindness.

That gentleman had just enjoyed his second dance with her sister and now, as was only proper, he would dance with Milli no more and would, instead, have to settle for Emma. 

Then again, perhaps not...! 

Winterly, ignoring her gentle protestation, appropriated her hand directly and lead her onto the dance floor without a single thought for Mr. Croft's having claimed the next set. "Then he must want a little longer." said he. "I believe my want is of a more impatient nature..."

"You say such things as to be wholly ambiguous ... and suggestive, sir." She looked over her shoulder so as to assure herself that the Middletons had not caught that provocative remark, and, in so doing, saw that Mr. Croft had, by now, steered Milli back to the spot from whence she and Winterly had only just vacated.

Poor Mr. Croft was blinking stupidly as he watched her leaving on Winterly's arm. Well, she had failed to impress the lady patronesses on their silly dais and, thus, would not likely be welcomed back to Almack's; if indeed she had ever been welcome here in the first place. What did it matter that she was acting — and forcibly so — with impropriety. They would not see this as a sign of Winterly's impolitic behavior but hers.

"For the nonce, I ask only a dance," Winterly assured her. "I have no underlying agenda further than that." His dark eyes glinted with suppressed humor. "Or is your dance card already filled?"

"I am sure you know very well that it is not, sir." They were facing each other now, on opposite sides of the two lines of dancers. "Are you not a little sorry for your conduct just then?" she asked, gesturing towards Lady Middleton before she curtsied in answer to his bow as the set began.

"A very little," was the bored reply.

She could not help chuckling at his tone, nor could she blame the reason that had actuated his incivility. Lady Meddlesome had deserved the set down. He had only said what no other person would have dared to. But as for his conduct towards Mr. Croft... Well, she could not easily forgive him that. 

He was, she was beginning to understand, decidedly a caste all his own. A nonpareil, yet so much more...

The familiar notes of Mr. Beveridge's Maggot filled the ballroom as Winterly took her right hand in his, that unprecedented spark of energy pulsing between their fingers even through the gloves she wore. They had turned a full circle, eyes locked, when he took her left hand and repeated the motion, his gaze unblinking as they held hers in thrall. Never had she felt so vulnerable under a man's regard; and his was of such a potency as might have shocked her were she in her rightful senses. Which she was not.

The simple country-dance had never seemed such a sensual experience before this very moment; yet it certainly was that with him in the lead. He held her quite captivated and, though she was not a particularly efficient or graceful dancer, her movements were effortless as she allowed herself to be swept away by the music; and by him. He was fluid and elegant, unlike the spry dandies around him.

It struck her suddenly that he was like a wolf prowling amidst the pheasants. And she, apparently, the only bird aware of what he was.

"So you are a man little troubled with a guilty conscience?" She cleared her throat with every intention of resuming their discussion with a level head, intent on delving into his mysterious character.

"Not if I can help it, no."

"And yet you are never without an invitation to a soirée. Never without a horde of admirers..."

It surprised her that he was so sought after. He was rich and handsome, to be sure, but that did not perforce guarantee his entrée into every noble household; not when he was as like to scorn etiquette, and manners, as adhere to it. She knew very well that he was not without some savoir faire, but he exercised that diplomacy as and when it pleased him, obviously.

"Sycophants, you mean," he said, inscrutably as ever. "They hardly know me."

"One need not fully understand something to admire it." She did not need to know what secrets lay behind the Mona Lisa's smile to know that the painting was exquisite. In truth, it was the obscure meaning of the smile itself that was beautiful. Perhaps that was why Winterly aroused her interest so utterly.

"But to admire is to esteem..." he answered her. She felt that he would say more.

The music enveloped them suddenly like a warm vapor. They were the only two figures moving in the set and, indeed, in the cavernous room itself. As the notes brought them closer together, his right shoulder brushed hers briefly, almost dreamlike, as they moved past one another. The strange effect he was having on her was such that even time had slowed as he disappeared behind her, their backs inches apart as they moved, and then, finally, reappeared at her left.

They stepped backwards, their left shoulders touching this time, and it was at this point she heard his words fall at her ears as though he'd brought his lips within a fraction of a space from her neck. "And I am neither admired, nor esteemed. You'd do well to remember that." Her flesh puckered instantly.

She ran her tongue lightly over her bottom lip before pulling air into her lungs. "If you like," she whispered, hardly knowing what it was she was saying as her gaze touched his beautiful lips. And then she blinked the mesmeric haze from her eyes. "But surely your family esteem you?" She could not believe that there was not even one among his kith that loved him.

However, he answered her in kind: with a question of his own. "And you, Miss Lucas? Who is it that you admire above all others?"

"God," she said. Surely that should be the right answer?

"A one-sided love affair, don't you think?" he snorted, drolly.

Her eyes widened in dismay at his heretical remark, delivered so casually. "You must not say such things!" She looked around to ensure that none had attended him. Upon assuring herself that he had, fortunately, not been overheard, she made to ignore him therewith, thoroughly discomfited now.

First the talk of ... male venery, and now he was revealing himself to be impious too. It was too much! But it was not only what he said that she found harrowing. He was altogether dangerous in demeanor as well. Everything about him declared an unfathomable darkness that eluded all plausible explanation. 

"I have offended you." 

She finally met his pertinacious gaze as they faced each other again, and the sharp curve of his smile instantly occasioned the furrow that settled at her brows.

"Ay, you have." 

"Pity." His face relaxed into its usual granite contours and his eyes narrowed marginally, but there was no apology forthcoming.

"But, in all fairness," she said, "you did warn me, just now, that you were not to be venerated." And, therefore, not trusted.

That seemed to amuse him again. She preferred it to his coldness and congratulated herself, although silently, that she had been the one to coax it from him. Lord Winterly, she imagined, was not easily diverted. That she had occasioned his good humor was a boon in and of itself. With a troubled sigh, she wished that she did not take such pleasure in his approbation.

"How intriguing," he said, but more as an incidental aside than to her directly.

"Is that allowed?" she asked him, but before he could answer they separated momentarily.

They maneuvered behind the dancers beside them, continuing down the line, as the pair at the bottom made their way to the very front. Her movements mirrored his exactly, as though she was an extension of his every gesture.

Once they had joined hands again, it was to form a row of four with their neighbors, all of them hand in hand with Winterly and Emma at the center. He regarded her from the corners of his eyes with a questioning lower.

She saw then that she would need to clarify her meaning. "You would have your acquaintances express no veneration towards you, but do you permit one to feel intrigued, I wonder?"

It was far too late for that. Despite that he both repelled and attracted her, she was, for the most part, fatally intrigued by this froward man. Truth be known, she had been lost the moment he'd pulled her from the speeding carriage.

"I do not think there is much that doesn't intrigue you, Miss Lucas." It was as though he'd read her thoughts as easily as if they'd been inscribed in her eyes. "The cogs of your mind seem to spin interminably. Truly, I own that I find myself curious. Very curious indeed. I wonder, far more often than I ought to, at what illations you hide..."

"I wonder at them myself." She was blushing again, damn his amoral charm!

And damn those black, mephistophelian eyes!

🌟Hmm... By thunder! these two are far too intense for Almack's, wot wot. 🌟

🌟Q/A: What do you think Winterly's intentions are? Or does he even have intentions? Why do you think Victoria's invited the girls to Whitby? What about the Solecist Ball? I hope you're looking forward to it? 😈 Because I am!🌟