Page 2 of A Scoundrel in the Making

His indecision lingered for another instant, then manly pride surfaced. “Of course. For you, it is no trouble.”

She sighed in genuine relief. “You are too kind.”

He bowed, then turned and began to plow his way toward the refreshments room, located on the other side of the large ballroom.

“By the time he returns, the set will be over,” Fanny said.

And I will be gone, Abigail thought. There were two more parties she could attend tonight. She needn’t return home before two, if she chose. She cast a glance at the violinist. Even those broad shoulders weren’t worth Havisham’s company for the night.

“Wherever did you learn to make such awful moon eyes?” Fanny asked. “I expected him to drop to one knee and profess undying love, then offer to slay any dragon you named.”

Abigail finished her champagne. Glass number four. “You are one to talk. I seem to remember you insisting that Charles bring you cakes from downtown Inverness during the heat of an August day.”

Fanny shrugged. “That was different. I was in love with Charles.”

Abigail grimaced. “Lucky Charles.”

Fanny narrowed her eyes. “You know what I mean.”

“Indeed, I do. You wanted to see how long the poor fellow would let you torture him before he cried foul.”

Fanny gave small shrug. “Something like that.”

Abigail lifted a brow. “How long did it take?”

A mischievous grin tugged the corners of Fanny’s mouth. “I’ll let you know when he does so.”

Abigail’s gaze snagged on a woman who paused near the hallway to the refreshments room. What was Lady Elana Galloway doing in Inverness—at this party? They’d last parted in Paris. Something was wrong. Abigail hadn’t expected to ever again see the spymaster known as The Raven.

Lady Elana turned, started down the hallway, and disappeared from view. Abigail returned her attention to Fanny. Her plans had changed. No more champagne. She would need her wits about her.