Lucy had paid him with a choker, of all things, of topaz and emeralds. The piece was pretty, and as he’d taken it to the little shop on Ludgate he discreetly patronized, it occurred to him the jewels would go well with Vivian’s coloring.

Where in the hell had that ludicrous notion come from?

Now, more than ever, he needed to put thoughts of Vivian from his mind, and now, more than ever, his imagination returned to her like a lodestone. She was a beacon of pure goodness in his otherwise sordid existence, and as spring advanced to its full glory, Vivian kept invading his mind and pushing darker thoughts aside.

So he squired Leah about, and took Emily for the occasional quiet hack, and popped down to Kent to check on John, and dreaded the next summons from Lucy or Blanche. They’d backed off, and Lucy at least seemed content to be cast in the role of victim, but it wore on Darius like being her abused pet never had.

As if he could enjoy hurting any woman, even her, even for her pleasure.

“Looking for me?” Blanche appeared at his elbow and wrapped her arm around his, pressing her breast to his bicep. He nearly gagged in response.

“Lady Cowell.” He eased back and sensed this was to be his punishment. Lucy and Blanche might allow him to recast his part in their games, but they’d have their revenge for his attempted escape, and accosting him in public was a good place to start.

“I have a few dances free.” Blanche reattached herself to his side. “I’m told you’re grace itself on the dance floor.”

Darius turned to pick up his drink and managed to dislodge her again. “For that, you need to dance with Lord Val Windham.”

“The pianist?”

“The same.” Darius kept his drink in his hand, for Blanche wasn’t about to risk spilling something on that gown of hers. Ye gods, it was barely decent.

“I’d rather dance with you.” She eyed him as if he were a hanging ham and she a starving bitch. “Later tonight, as a matter of fact. On my sheets.”

Vivian. The thought of her circled in his mind like a tired old prayer, a child’s futile wish, a forlorn hope. He opened his mouth to put Blanche off when rescue came from an unlikely quarter. His sister approached, the tallest man in the room at her side. Leah began on introductions, but her escort cut her off.

“We’ve met.” Nick Haddonfield smiled blandly, while his piercing blue eyes assessed Darius closely. “Lindsey, a pleasure to see you in Town. And Lady Cowell, a pleasure as well.”

“Nicky,” the woman clinging to Darius purred, “always a pleasure to see you, but I don’t know as I’ve met your young lady.” She added a particular female emphasis to the word “young,” the slightest, nasty little inflection, so in the way of unkind women, it implied its opposite.

“My sister.” Darius spoke up and shifted to shake Blanche off his arm once and for all. “Lady Leah Lindsey. Leah, Lady Blanche Cowell.” Darius was amused to see Leah did not curtsy but merely inclined her head.

Reston winged out an arm thick with muscles no amount of finery could disguise. “Blanche, perhaps you’d favor me with a few minutes of your time. It has been at least since the holidays since our paths crossed. Lindsey, Lady Leah.” He offered Leah a slow, deep bow, one unmistakably intended to convey respect, and took his leave, Lady Cowell on his arm.

Darius nodded at Reston’s retreating back. “So where did you meet that?”

“I met him in the park with Emily,” Leah said. “Where did you meet her?”

Swimming in the Channel with a school of sharks who will cheerfully destroy you.

“She’s frequently at the same functions you are,” Darius lied, oh, so easily to his dear sister. “She travels in a slightly less genteel circle.”

“Lord Reston apparently frequents the same set.”

“You needn’t sound so offended.” And to anybody but her brother—any of the hundred or so people milling around the ballroom with them, she probably wouldn’t have. “I doubt either of them will be joining us for supper.” He’d run screaming into the night if Blanche presumed that far.

“I think we might see more of Lord Reston. He seems to have taken an interest in Emily.”

The topic was now familial, so Darius took his sister’s arm and steered her toward the corner of the room reserved for chaperones, companions, and other wallflowers. “And Wilton will probably allow it. The man’s heir to an earldom, though birthing his get will likely kill little Em.”

“You don’t like Reston?” Leah asked, her curiosity evident.

“I like him well enough, though I can’t say I know him.”

“What do you know of him?” Leah asked, and Darius was reminded she’d asked about Reston before.

“He’s a favorite with the ladies, at least the ladies like Lady Cowell,” Darius said meaningfully. “He pays his bills, looks after a herd of younger siblings, and is quite the horseman. Not sure what else there is to tell, except that he’s the largest titled lord I’ve seen, and his papa, the earl, is old as dirt. Haven’t I said as much previously?”

“And his papa is not in good health,” Leah added, causing Darius to study her more carefully.

“Is he trifling with you, Leah?” He’d flatten the man if he were. Leah had troubles enough as it was, and a good bare-knuckle fight would fit on Darius’s schedule with appalling ease.

“He most assuredly is not. Is Lady Cowell trifling with you?”

Sisters knew how to shut a man up. “I am not going to dignify that. Shall I lead you out or find you a place to hide?”

“Leave me in peace.”

Because Hellerington hadn’t been again in evidence, Darius acceded to her wishes. He danced with his share of wallflowers, kept an eye on Leah, and saw her later sharing supper with Reston. Wouldn’t that spike Wilton’s guns, if Reston were courting Leah and not angling for little Emily?

When Darius loaded his sister into the coach, he tucked an arm around her shoulders, and she budged up with a sigh of relief.

“Do I tell you often enough what a good brother you are?”

“I’m not a good brother,” Darius replied, thinking of John hidden away in Kent and Lucy threatening what little peace Leah enjoyed. “But I am a noticing brother. What was that business with Reston and the strawberry?”

“The strawberry?”

“He sequestered himself with you behind the ferns, Leah, and in the course of sharing supper with you, fed you a strawberry from his own hand.”

“He was flirting.” Leah yawned. “Nick likes to flirt.”

“Nick.”

“Lord Reston.” She straightened up, but Darius gently pushed her head back to his shoulder.

“You said he might be trolling for Em,” Darius reminded her. “What if he’s trolling for you?”

“He might offer, just to wave Hellerington off.”

“He might hurry Hellerington up, if he offers.” Darius frowned into the darkness. “Do you need me to speak to him?”

“No.” Leah sounded firm on that. “If there’s ‘speaking to’ needed, I can address the man directly.”

“That’s unusual, for you to be forthright with a man other than me or Trent.”

“He’s an unusual man.” Leah’s voice was dreamy, and Darius wished there were enough light that he could assess her expression. “He said to warn you off that woman all but humping your arm.”

The description left no room for confusion. “Blanche is a casual acquaintance.”

“If Nick said to beware of a lady, and Nick makes no bones about enjoying women, mind you, then you need to take heed.”

“Nick, Nick, Nick.”

“Lord Reston.”

Darius jostled her affectionately. “Keep telling yourself he’s Lord Reston, but to me, it looks like he’s already gotten to first names, strawberries, and God knows what else.”

“And if he has?”

“Marry him,” Darius said flatly. “He’s big enough and man enough to face down Wilton, Hellerington, me, whomever.” Lucy and Blanche. “You could do much worse, Leah, and he’d take care of you. If he’s courting you, he has my endorsement.”