Flirting With Fortune by Erin Knightley Page A

to avoid fortune hunters, but it could also be used for exactly the opposite purpose. Did he not know what they would be looking for now? He could use this knowledge to his benefit.
    He picked up the magazine and scanned the letter once more. A fortune hunter danced only with women of a certain worth? Fine. He’d go out of his way to dance with any woman he found interesting. Actually, he quite liked that strategy. It felt much more natural to enjoy a lady based on her own merit, anyway.
    Unbidden, an image of Lady Beatrice flashed into his mind. Some of the stiffness drained from his shoulders, and he smiled absently. Their tour had been every bit as enjoyable as he’d imagined it would be. She was so much more than he ever expected a privileged daughter of the nobility could be. How many other debutants could have inspired him to dance a Scottish reel in the middle of a gallery? And more to the point, how many other debutants would have taken him up on the offer?
    “What are you over there grinning like an idiot about? Nothing good can come from that blasted letter, my friend.”
    Colin raised an eyebrow to his cousin as he set down his plate and pulled out a chair. “On the contrary. This letter did little more than arm us with the knowledge we need to avoid raising suspicions.”
    John slowed in the process of laying his napkin in his lap. Colin could practically see the man’s military brain going to work. “By Jove, you’re right, old man. Don’t know why I didn’t think of it before.”
    “Too much time away from the battlefield can make any man go soft. Mustn’t blame yourself.” He grinned at the sarcastic expression John threw him before picking up his fork.
    “No, I think it is the lack of stimulating conversation around here. Regardless, you have your battle plan. Dance with a variety of ladies. The trick of it is having a care not to lead on any of the unsuitables.”
    “Agreed.” The last thing he wanted to do was hurt some girl’s feelings. He had to be charming and agreeable with the ladies he considered prospects and cordial but impersonal to those who weren’t.
    Of course, if he adhered strictly to that plan, it would mean no more ill-advised romps with the enchanting Lady Beatrice. He smiled wryly. So far, he had shown a complete lack of judgment when it came to his
stór
.
    And he wasn’t sorry for it.
    It was a bloody rotten time for him, and if there was one person in the mess of it who made him feel like an equal, as though he actually had something of true worth to offer her, then he wouldn’t apologize for whatever small amount of time he could spend with her. There was literally no one else in London, or on the planet, for that matter, who could offer her what he could, and he planned to enjoy that.
    Tonight at the Westmoreland ball, he would dance every set, with any young lady who took his fancy. He had only two goals for the evening: to further charm prospective brides and to dance a proper dance with Lady Beatrice.
    •   •   •
    Beatrice had been expecting the knock for so long, it was a relief when it finally came. “Enter,” she said, setting down her paintbrush and turning to greet her sisters.
    Just as she expected, Jocelyn and Carolyn let themselves in, their blue eyes bright with the anticipation of sharing their discovery. Beatrice had known they would come and had painted with half an ear to the stairway since the time she heard the knock on the servants’ door exactly two floors below her studio almost an hour earlier.
    It was Tuesday, after all: delivery day.
    “Oh my word, Bea, you will never believe what they printed in
A Proper Young Lady’s Fashion Companion
this week.” Carolyn was ahead of her sister by half a foot, holding out the periodical in question. They hadn’t even taken the time to properly dress, each wearing wrappers over their night rails with their hair simply braided.
    Good. Beatrice liked to think that girls all over the city were