Miss Fellingham's Rebellion by Lynn Messina - Miss Fellingham's Rebellion Page B

surprised that Lady Sefton would trap him so brazenly into yet another dance with her. He could not be pleased.
    As Deverill answered Lady Sefton’s query, he kept his eyes fixed on Catherine, making her feel warm with embarrassment. “I would be delighted to have another waltz with Miss Fellingham. Assuming,” he added, a smile dancing across his handsome face, “of course, that Miss Fellingham would like to waltz with me.”
    All eyes turned to Catherine, who felt a tremendous urge to slide down in the curricle and hide from them, and from the imposing man on the chestnut mare in particular. But restraining herself, she maintained eye contact with him and said only, “Yes, of course.”
    Deverill sketched a bow in return. “I shall look forward to it, Miss Fellingham.” After much contemplation of her, he finally looked away. “And I must thank Lady Sefton for arranging it so deftly.” He kissed the hand of the lady in question. “I don’t know when I would have danced with Miss Fellingham again if it weren’t for your clever handling.”
    Lady Sefton laughed. “Doing a bit too brown, Lord Deverill. You are known for your clever handling of young ladies.”
    “Ah, but not ladies with as much countenance as Miss Fellingham here,” he said, with a sidelong glance her way.
    Hearing this, Catherine felt as if she had been punched in the stomach. All of a sudden, her head started to pound and she had trouble breathing . How could he be so cruel as to mock her like that?
    Catherine regained her composure and examined the group to see if anyone had noticed her odd behavior. A quick glance at Arabella revealed that she wasn’t following the conversational undercurrent as carefully as she could be. Indeed, Lady Courtland looked delighted with this turn of events and completely oblivious to the derision Catherine had suffered at the hands of her friend. Lady Sefton was equally unaware, and Mr. Pearson seemed miffed at the impudence of the marquess in arranging a dance with her under his very nose.
    Only Deverill appeared to notice something was amiss. His eyebrows furrowed and he seemed to be asking her with a look if she was well. She felt the heat rise in her cheeks again and looked away. Why must he be so perceptive?
    “Lady Sefton,” said Deverill, “Wednesday at Almack’s seems so far away. Perhaps you can arrange for Miss Fellingham to come riding with me tomorrow?”
    The patroness laughed, delighted by this ploy. “You are shameless,” she said admiringly. “Well, girl, will you do Deverill the pleasure of your company tomorrow for a ride around the park?”
    “I’m afraid my family does not keep stables in London. Alas, I must decline,” she said with insincere regret, pleased that she had a legitimate reason to demure.
    “Pooh,” dismissed the interfering Arabella. “Deverill keeps a full stable and would be glad to provide you with a mount.”
    “It is true, Miss Fellingham,” he said gently, as if taking care not to disturb her again. “I do have a full stable, and the truth is you would be doing me a favor. My horses do not get nearly enough exercise.”
    Catherine saw no gracious way out and, with an apologetic look at Pearson, agreed. “I’d enjoy that. Thank you.”
    Deverill’s horse began to fidget, and he pulled the reins in tight. “I’m afraid I must be off. Gale here has no appreciation for the finer things in life. Lady Sefton, I must thank you for a very profitable afternoon. Is nine acceptable to you, Miss Fellingham? Yes? Good. Until then.”
    Catherine bid him adieu and the two ladies followed closely on his lead. Catherine and Mr. Pearson resumed their ride, but for her the enjoyment had gone out of the afternoon. She responded to Pearson’s questions and even asked some of her own, but neither her mind nor her heart was in it. She was too busy thinking about other things—about what her mother would say when she found out Deverill was lending her a mount and dancing