Page 4 of The Baron’s Halo

“Is something the matter, Miss Devereaux?”

Lord MacKay’s deep voice startled her out of her reverie.

“Not at all, my lord.” She gazed up at him, struck once more by his rugged good looks that seemed oddly paired with his gentle nature. Of course, he had offered to kill Lord Barclay, so obviously he had a harsher side to him as well. But he’d been nothing but kind to her. “I was woolgathering, I’m afraid.”

“A pleasant pastime, to be sure. One I wish we could indulge in at some length.” A smile flitted over his lips. “However, as your newly acquired champion, I fear I must advise you to return to the ballroom before someone comes looking for you. I would not wish to save you from one compromising situation only to land you in another one.”

“Not even if you were the one to compromise me, Lord MacKay?” The teasing whisper in the back of her mind had suggested that very thing as soon as they had come out onto the verandah. Isabelle had hushed the voice during most of their conversation out here, but still the idea lingered. It was difficult for her to trust any gentleman. Even a man sworn to champion her.

“Not even then, Miss Devereaux.” His face had reverted to its stern lines, with the addition of pursed lips, that gave it the ring of truth. “I would never wish to so dishonor any woman, but especially not you.”

Isabelle liked him all the better for that sentiment. And strangely, she believed him, despite not knowing him much at all. She nodded. “Then let us go in by all means. As you say, we shall be missed and likely sooner rather than later.”

She started for the French doors, but his hand on her arm stopped her.

“I think I must retrieve my jacket first, Miss Devereaux.” His eyes glinted in the dim lighting, a wide smile showing his white teeth.

Dear Lord! Had she appeared in Lord MacKay’s clothing there would have been nothing that could have stopped the scandal. Isabelle shrugged out of the garment and shivered as the chill wind buffeted her exposed shoulders. She missed its warmth and the connection it had given her to its rightful owner.

Lord MacKay pulled the jacket on, smoothed it down with a practiced hand, and offered his arm. “Now we may proceed.” He stopped with his hand on the door’s latch. “May I ask for an introduction to your mother?”

Somehow the request made her heart flutter. “Of course, my lord. She will be happy to see I have found another gentleman I wish to stand up with.”

“You sound as though that were a miraculous thing.” He opened the door and they stepped back into the overly warm ballroom.

“It is, I assure you.” Isabelle immediately searched for her mother and noted she’d not changed her position. Still speaking to Lady Dalrymple, just as Isabelle had left her at least half an hour ago. She sighed. A more vigorous gossip did not exist in London.

“Then you are granting me a dance this evening?”

Her attention flew back to Lord MacKay, still at her side. His voice held a note of excitement that in turn sent a thrill down Isabelle’s back. “As you announced it to Lord Barclay, I think we must keep our word. I would not wish to provoke the man into calling you a liar.”

“Barclay can go hang, but if it gains me a dance with you, Miss Devereaux, then I am the happiest man in Christendom.” He perused the room. “Which lady is your mother?”

“There,” Isabelle nodded, “the one in the maroon gown speaking with Lady Dalrymple.”

“I see we are not going to escape being as least a footnote to gossip tomorrow. Here,” he tucked her arm securely into the crook of his elbow. “If it were done, ’twas best ’twere done quickly.”

They strolled swiftly toward Mama, Isabelle hoping against hope that Lady Dalrymple would take herself off before they reached her, but of course when she saw them headed toward Mama, the older lady fixed them with a knowing look and waited eagerly as they approached.

“Hello, Mama. Good evening, Lady Dalrymple.”

The lady took the two of them in as they stopped before her, her gaze resting solely on Lord MacKay. “Well, I see you’ve found a new partner, Sandy.”

Isabelle’s eyes widened, but she shouldn’t have been surprised. Lady Dalrymple knew everyone in the ton.

“Well, as you will no longer stand up with me, my lady, I have had to widen the field.” Lord MacKay sent the lady a flirtatious look. “I do hope you approve.”

“Indeed, I do.” Lady Dalrymple nodded so vigorously the brightly colored feathers on her turban threatened to take flight. She turned to Mama. “Mrs. Grey, may I introduce Lord MacKay, the tenth Baron MacKay to you? I’ve known him since he was born, my dear. Sandy, this is Mrs. Miranda Grey, a dear friend of mine.” Like quicksilver, Lady Dalrymple turned back to Mama. “His mother is the next youngest daughter of the Duke of Welwyn. She married Baron MacKay of Carnwath, up in the wilds of Scotland.”

“The wilds are rather civilized these days, my lady.” Lord MacKay shot Isabelle a too innocent look that made her gasp and giggle.

“All of Scotland is wild by my standards, young man. And I have reason to know.” She turned back to Isabelle’s mother. “I was almost absconded with by a Highlander back in 1823. A tall, beastly man with red hair and bushy eyebrows. I still have nightmares about it every once in a while.”

“I sincerely doubt he was any of my kinsmen, Lady Dalrymple.” Lord MacKay tried to sound respectful, but Isabelle could tell he wanted to burst out laughing in the worst way. “We MacKays tend to have shorter statures and dark hair. And we are more respectful of women than to try to carry them off.”

“A good thing you don’t, young man.” The lady gave an indignant sniff. “Should you attempt such a thing with Miss Devereaux I would inform your mother forthwith.”

“I must admit I do plan to carry Miss Devereaux off, but only as far as the dance floor.” He turned to Mama. “With your permission, Mrs. Grey?”