His Desirable Debutante by Lynne Silver Page A

revealed neither escape, nor another human for whom Lord Brandford could possibly be headed. Suddenly aware of the ridiculous picture she made, Helene stood to her full height and pretended the blazing candelabra on the post in front of her was of sudden fascination. Perhaps if he thought her daft, he would bypass her altogether.
    No, of course her luck had abandoned her this evening, and, in fact, had done so long before. Not for the first time, she wished for some sort of magical carpet or contraption that would transport her three years past. Back to when she was the belle of every ball and eligible bachelors threw proposals at her feet. Before a wild whim led her to assuage her curiosity about her own desires.
    But no such magic existed, and here she was, firmly on the shelf and a laughingstock to boot. So, of course, the villain of the Ton would seek her out. He probably assumed she was just like him based on her degrading reputation. Well, she refused to succumb without a fight. If Lord Brandford thought to pull her into the muck alongside him, he had another think coming.
    She’d done nothing to even allow a whisper of scandal near her in three years, and sometimes she thought she saw some progress. There were certainly fewer whispers behind fans and fewer indecent proposals from supposedly decent gentleman. However, if her name became in any way connected to Lord Brandford, all her hard work would be for naught. All the pointed fingers, snide remarks and direct cuts would be placed in her path again. Permanently.
    And then he was upon her, accompanied by Lord Ryder, who was still accepted in most ballrooms, though his reputation bordered on being unacceptable.
    “Lady Helene, may I present Lord Pierce Brandford?” Lord Ryder swept a neat bow in her direction.
    She swiveled her head, praying her father would come rescue her as she’d seen most parents do when Lord Brandford approached their precious daughters. No such luck for her, of course. Father remained hidden away at the gaming tables in a distant room, not caring about his daughter’s reputation. Only that she not embarrass him further.
    “A pleasure, sir.” She faced her unwanted visitors again and extended a gloved hand and bobbed a miniscule curtsy as a screaming hint for the two men to leave her.
    “Lady Helene.” Lord Brandford bowed over her hand and gave a gentle, yet delicious, squeeze to her fingertips. A hint of humor winked in his eye, and he showed no concern for her clear resistance to his presence. “May I please have the honor of the next dance?”
    Time froze as she mentally rolled through excuses to absent her from further contact with this wicked lord. It was currently raining buckets outside, so she could not express a wish for fresh air, and that would only gain an unwanted escort to the balcony. Would they believe her father was looking for her? Before she could tell him she needed to use the ladies’ retiring room, he’d grasped her elbow and propelled her toward the center of the room where couples were finishing up a set.
    Helene had managed to catch snippets of Brandford’s misdeeds circling the opera house like wildfire when he dared put in an appearance at a performance a few evenings past. It had not helped that several of the female performers had winked and waved at him as the curtain fell to close the first act. And now the blackheart wanted to dance with her.
    To her horror the first notes of a waltz sounded, and Lord Brandford swept her into the first steps. Keeping her hands fisted at her sides would cause more comments so she gingerly locked her arms into position, careful to keep as much distance between them as possible.
    It was difficult. His masculine scent of brandy mixed with some subtle cologne tantalized every breath. Beneath her gloved hand, she could feel warm, male muscle that rolled and flexed as he led her through the dance steps. Helene ignored every stare and whisper directed at them and kept her eyes