Tied With a Bow

however, turned her gaze hopefully toward their corner of the room, rustling the sheets of music together.
    Hiding her amusement, Aimée addressed Mr. Hartfell. “I believe my cousin requires your assistance, sir.”
    He raised his brows, in no apparent hurry to heed Julia’s summons. “You do not play, Miss Blanchard?”
    Why did he not go ? “I do not play in company.”
    His green eyes filled with lazy amusement. “You are too modest.”
    Something in her rose to meet the challenge of those eyes. “Not at all. But since I am not in the running for a husband, I see no point in showing off my paces.”
    He laughed, a short, surprised bark that transformed his rather cool, disdainful expression to wry humor. “And if I were not forced into the running for a wife, I would keep you company in your corner.”
    She grinned foolishly back.
    Very foolishly, she realized a moment later as heads turned. She should not be seen amusing herself.
    She must not be seen amusing him .
    Too late.
    “Ah, Cousin Amy.” Her stomach dropped into her thin-soled evening slippers as Howard Basing approached from the direction of the tea tray. “Teasing another gentleman?”
    “Basing.” Hartfell nodded shortly. “You must not blame Miss Blanchard. She is guilty only of bearing with my company. I am at fault for monopolizing her attention.”
    She lifted her chin. “I was telling Mr. Hartfell I do not play.”
    Howard leered. “As I know, to my sorrow. You are cruel to deprive your admirers of enjoying your . . . hidden talents.”
    She was growing very tired of Cousin Howard, his wandering eyes and speaking pauses. But she must not make a scene in Lady Basing’s drawing room. “You must content yourself listening to the other ladies,” she said.
    “Must I? But they are tame entertainment.” Howard’s gaze flitted over her face and fastened on her bosom. “I prefer more vigorous, ah, pursuits.”
    Aimée’s cheeks burned.
    Freddy Keasdon had just enough wit to look embarrassed.
    Lucien Hartfell took a half step forward, looming very large indeed. “Your comments are offensive, sir,” he said, his voice chilled and soft.
    Aimée’s heart beat faster. She might have appreciated his gallantry— One rake defending her from another? —but it would not do at all for Julia’s chosen suitor and her brother to come to blows over a perceived insult to a poor relation. Julia would be mortified. Aimée would be disgraced.
    “I am sure Mr. Basing meant only that he would prefer dancing to singing,” she said.
    Hartfell narrowed his eyes. “Indeed.”
    She looked at Howard. “I believe your mother plans a ball on Christmas Day. That should be sufficient outlet for your energies.”
    “Then you must save me a set, Cousin.” Howard smirked. “I can only be satisfied in your arms.”
    Hartfell inhaled sharply. But as long as she did not protest, there was nothing further he could say.
    And nothing she could do , Aimée thought. Her skin crawled as if she had touched a slug. But her mother’s cousin refused to hear any criticism of her son. In Lady Basing’s eyes, any improper behavior must be Aimée’s imagination.
    Or her fault.
    She held her tongue.
    The silence stretched.
    Howard’s smile broadened. “You will dance with me? I have your promise?”
    The unfairness of her situation burned her throat. But she must be practical.
    She swallowed. “Yes.”
    “If the music is not your liking, Basing, I suggest you visit the card table,” Hartfell said, still in that calm, cold voice. “I see Lady Basing has set up a game. Perhaps Keasdon here will partner you.”
    Prompted, Freddy blushed and stammered his willingness to play.
    Hartfell waited while the two men made their way to the opposite side of the room. He bowed curtly to Aimée, his face impassive. “I will leave you to your amusements, Miss Blanchard.”
    Dismay washed through her. He could not believe she encouraged Howard’s improper attentions.
    But of course he could, she thought as he walked away. He had just heard her excuse Howard and then agree to dance with him. What else could he think?
    Howard probably thought the same.
    She felt faintly ill. And unreasonably disappointed. Why she cared for Hartfell’s good opinion she did not know.
    Except for that moment when their eyes first met and she had felt a quiver of . . . What? Recognition? Yearning?
    Foolishness.
    She watched him cross to Julia’s side, his broad, black back, his gleaming golden